Painting Revelation Blog

It was early July when I found a tiny praying mantis recently hatched from its egg case. Then a couple weeks later I spotted it—or one of its nest mates—half-grown. Now it’s Autumn and as I was flicking fallen leaves from the mum plants I was going to use to decorate my daughter’s wedding, I was shocked to see one leaf was actually a full-grown praying mantis. It sprung from my hand and to the base of the forsythia bush where I’d first hung the egg case last spring. It was no longer content to sit on my finger and in fact seemed quite afraid as it extended its praying hands into a defensive position.

Full-Grown Praying Mantis

A queen snake visited me again last week also. My daughter and I were looking at the clearing in the woods—on a point overlooking the ravine and nature preserve where she was going to say her wedding vows—when we spotted a small coiled snake in the middle of the knoll where the ceremony would take place. As I bent closer, the snake spit a long red tongue at me and hissed as our dog nosed his way in. I picked it up with a stick and the creature continued to lunge and curse. I tossed it down the ravine and quickly said a protective prayer for the woods, the wedding, the marriage, and the upcoming celebration.

Our daughter is married. A new chapter has begun. Fall has arrived. I’m startled by the red and yellow maple leaves peeking from behind the soft green needles of the white pines like a curtain for the next act when a whole new set will be revealed. The sun no longer warms our deck; its weakening rays have dipped below the tree tops. Winter is coming. The news is bleak. We must huddle and regroup, reassess our treasures, solidify our trust in God. I gave a toast at the wedding, addressed the 100 guests squeezed under the tents on our deck, and confessed that autumn is my saddest season. That I love spring and daffodils and new growth. And the naked freedom of summer. And even the harsh simplicity of winter. I don’t like to see the backside of the sun. But fall has its purpose. Ripened fruit holds the seeds of next year’s life. Autumn is a call to seriousness, to planning and saving, to bravery and hope,

I am so glad our daughter found her husband—and he her. They met on a train and I know they are on the same journey together. May each of us find those who have the same destination in sight and may we go forward, helping one another, until we all find our way home.

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