Tuesday, October 18, 2016

A Slow, Soft Inchworm

A slow, soft inchworm rapped on my driver-side window while I sat at a stoplight earlier this afternoon. Nearly a millimeter long, it's fluorescent lime-green body begged me to allow him inside, so that I may save him from impending highway hell. Filled with a sense of the divine, I realized that its life was in my hands.

I decided to have mercy and rolled down my window to allow this innocent fellow into my car. My heart warmed as he inched his way toward the interior of my vehicle. At one point he stopped and looked up at me, as if with a smile, to thank me for my kindness. I could see his tiny pinpoint eyes and gave him a little wink.

The green light was fast approaching, so I mentally willed my new friend to hurry and make his way to safety. When he approached the gap of the rolled down window, I realized that he was too small to make it across the black plastic slit between the outer and inner part of the window. Feeling generous and extremely gentle, I went to help him across, intending to free him on a juicy leaf in my back yard once I returned home.

Reaching out as carefully I could, I missed picking him up and accidentally knocked him into the deep, dark chasm where my window lay concealed, forever losing my freeway friend. I thought that maybe, if I rolled up the window, he would be sitting on top of it, safe and sound like a king conquering a new land. He wasn't. The light turned green and I was forced to drive away.

Not one car around me sensed this great loss. Not one person could imagine my sorrow. I wondered if this is how God feels every time divine intervention takes a turn for the worst. Would this inchworm have lived if I had decided to leave it alone? These thoughts and feelings of loneliness filled my mind as I raced away from this morbid scene forever.

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