He was beautiful, but tangled up in spiderweb detritus on his right front legs. Would he be able to hunt with that mess hampering him?
As soon as I saw him, I went to the other end of the house and tapped on John and Alex's door. "There's a big dragonfly on the kitchen screen door," I said. In a matter of seconds, Alex was out there to see him, and Bernie had his phone out there to take a picture of him.
We're that kind of people. A new bug, a beautiful bug, an amazingly beautiful flower, a sunset, a rainbow -- we stop everything to "go see." Life is so ephemeral, but don't our memories and appreciation last forever?
What would bring this dragonfly to land on our screen, of all the other screens in the neighborhood? How could he know that we honor dragonflies greatly, for their predation of nasty destructive bugs? How could he have been guided to possibly the one house in town in which resided a human who could gently and respectfully take that matted spiderweb from his front leg?
"He's just cold," Alex said, and without harming him, cleaned up his leg for him.
Once the sun came around and warmed things up, he was gone. Cleaned and warmed, he went on his way to eat more mosquitoes and flies.
If God cares enough about a dragonfly to send him to the right place, how much does He care for the people to whom He sent him?
