Yesterday morning I opened the living room door which faces the back of our house. It was a sunny and warm morning with only a slight breeze–one of those mornings when you breathe in deeply and proclaim Life is Good. Part of the yard was in the shade with cool, dewy grass, but the sun shone hot on the area in front of the door. I could see the mosquitoes rising up from the grass in the sun in their daily commute to the cooler, more protected woods. All of a sudden a dragonfly swooped by and ate the mosquito I was watching! Then I witnessed the aerial breakfast maneuvers of a number of dragonflies. The mosquitoes would rise from the grass, the dragonflies would dive down and hover underneath them for an instant, then gracefully and easily eat them. I foolishly thought I might be able to get a picture of them, but they were far too fast. This was one of those times when my attention was all that was needed. Three or four of the dragonflies patrolled the area I was watching, and it was evident that it was a stealthy attack–I never saw them miss. Soon I was wondering how many mosquitoes one dragonfly could eat!
Later in the day when I walked out the driveway to get the mail, a dragonfly landed right in front of me. As I got closer, he flew just a few feet ahead of me and landed again. He really didn’t want to move from his resting place, and I thought he must be feeling the Thanksgiving Day effects of his gluttonous meal! I was able to go back to the house and get the camera while he rested on his camouflaged napping place.
A few weeks ago, another moment happened that I was unable to capture on camera. I was sitting in the living room enjoying a cup of tea and looking out our picture window. It was not yet dusk. In the same place that I watched the dragonfly hunt, I saw a fox trotting across the lawn, not five yards from where I was sitting. She was red with black legs and a black stripe down her back and bushy tail. Her coat was shiny and in prime condition, most likely from the black oil sunflower seeds she had feasted on in early spring under the bird feeders. She had probably already given birth to her pups and was out on a hunt. She trotted slowly, but steadily. She was on a mission. We had seen her various times before–crossing the road from her path in the woods, eating the birdseed at night, and in early morning mouse hunts. The seconds I watched her trot across the yard were slowed down. She was so beautiful. Her world and my world merged for a moment. I could have so easily missed that moment.
Why are we witnesses to such moments? With both the dragonflies and the fox, I felt privileged to see them and experience the short time with them. It made me realize the huge, complex world outside of ourselves that goes on around us, most often without our knowledge. The mama fox has a story all her own, yet not unlike ours, of making a den for her young pups and spending time and effort to feed and care for them. There are two components of being a witness–one is to be an observer or eyewitness, to be present at an event. The other is to attest or substantiate that something occurred. To be present and attentive in such moments takes away the past and the future, and time “takes care of itself.” We are drawn into a serendipitous place that is fulfilling and whole in and of itself. But as witnesses, when the event is over, we are called on to confirm or authenticate what just happened. In essence, we need to do a little evaluation. Why are we witnesses to such moments? Because they feed our souls, they make us realize the bigger picture, they help us put things in perspective, and I, for one, can attest to the wonder and glory of God.
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