Ladybugs
When I think of all the creatures typically associated with Christmas, reindeer, elves, and animated cartoons of happy woodland animals come to mind. I even remember how much my service dog, Tucker, enjoyed opening his Christmas toys.
Bugs of any kind are not on my list.
Ladybugs, however, have come to symbolize Christmas for me this year. Let me explain.
Like geese flying south for the winter or swallows returning to Capistrano, the annual ladybug migration begins around December. For reasons I can’t explain, their migration brings them to my bathroom when the weather gets cold. Ladybugs crawl on the window, floor, and walls. This year, they seem to have colonized a corner of the ceiling. I have checked to be sure the window and seals are tight. The ladybugs may be entering through the exhaust fan. Or perhaps—like Nemo in the Matrix—they have mastered the art of walking through walls. Whatever the case, ladybugs are the first thing I see when I walk into the bathroom.
I could declare war on the invaders—smushing or spraying them into oblivion. That’s my usual response to every other bug in the house. By any means necessary, I aggressively search and destroy them.
The ladybugs, however, never really bother me; most are stationary or crawl slowly along on ladybug business. That’s because ladybugs remind me of my mom. And this Christmas, the ladybugs have been a reminder of both joy and sadness. Both evoke intense emotions.
Ladybugs are joyful to me because I have a solid memory of encountering a ladybug one day while sitting on the front step of our house with my mom. It must have been summertime because it was warm as we sat in the shade out front. I couldn’t have been much more than four years old. As we sat, a ladybug landed on my arm. Not knowing what to think or do (and in the early stages of freaking out), I turned to my mom. She smiled and laughed joyfully. She moved the bug from me to her hand, and we watched it crawl. She started telling me that ladybugs were lucky and began singing about them. I was enthralled. With rapt attention, I listened to her sing and snuggled in closer. I wish I could remember the song, but it’s been nearly 60 years since she sang it to me. As I walk into the bathroom and see the ladybug colony, I return to the joy and innocence of my youth, captured by my mom’s song, joy, and her connection with me.
Ladybugs also invoke sadness this Christmas because my mom is no longer with me. She passed away from COVID in early 2021. Fortunately, I’ve been able to grieve her death and am at peace with the loss. She is in a beautiful place, and I will see her again.
As I reflect, I realize that it’s not the absence of mom’s presence that brings sadness. The ladybugs remind me that I miss most the joy, wonder, hope, and connection mom brought to my life. These are the kinds of things that season life irresistibly. They turn the mundane into the special and add an unknown joy of wonder as I explore life deeply connected to one who loves.
I know enough about Codependency to realize that nobody can do those kinds of things for me. Trying to find another person to return those back into my life would be toxic for them and me. I have close family and friends who love me deeply. They’d do anything for me – but expecting them to fill my gap is impossible.
There is One, however, who is up to the task. My encounters with the ladybugs remind me that the joy and wonder mom brought to my life are all characteristics of God’s heart for me. I need to go deeper in my connection with Him – even though I’m not sure how. This desire leads me into uncharted territory for which I don’t have a map or compass. God’s heart seems big enough for the challenge. He is far more interested in helping me to know His Heart better than I am. The sadness has gotten my attention and allows me to ask Him to take me deeper. Like the small boy on a front step with a ladybug, I place my hand in His and ask Him to lead me.