IT HAPPENED TO ME

Feasting On Worms

By Megan Dale

It was 6:30 am. I had woken early, only to be met by the sight of a rained-out world on a day our extended family had planned to go on an outing together. I didn’t mind the rain much. Heaven knew the land needed it. I paused and looked out into our garden to see a little brown bird hopping around, eyeing the soggy earth in hopeful expectation of finding a meaty feast in the form of a hapless almost-drowned worm.

At the moment I felt like that poor worm. For months prior to this, dark clouds had slowly been gathering over our little family. Our young son was facing developmental delays that resulted in him having frustrated, heart-wrenching tantrums and affected his happiness on a daily and sometimes hourly basis. He often even awoke in the middle of the night crying out. When he was himself, he was a sweet, sensitive, affectionate, and delightful little boy. But we needed to know more about his challenges so we could better meet his growing needs, and we needed to know now, while he was still young and malleable, before the secondary and sometimes more tragic effects of low self-esteem and depression entered his tender little life.

To make matters even more challenging for us, four days earlier my husband and I had received the news that his place of employment would not be available for much longer, and as a result we would have to find a new job and a new house. In the past I had leaped with dizzy anticipation into the arms of an unknown future, hopping the globe and chasing my destiny wherever the breeze seemed to blow me. But now I cowered in the face of such a major change coming right at this crucial time in my son’s life.

Four days had seemed like four years as I clung hour by hour to some straw of hope, usually in the form of a Scripture or quotation, in the midst of the deluge. Many great men and women down through the ages faced dark and trying times, and they lived to write anecdotes or poems or hymns about them. I clung to those inspirational thoughts now. Sometimes I quoted one line over and over, like a mantra, just to keep my presence of mind as I continued to care for my children and tend to household duties. It was working, too.

Standing in my doorway, looking at that little brown bird, I heard the voice of comfort I have come to know so well as my Savior’s. “You’re not the earthworm, dear, but the bird. The rains and storms that I have allowed to fall on your world have provided for you a feast that you would otherwise have to dig for.” Suddenly my perspective changed. Jesus was laying before us a spiritual feast in this seemingly dark and dreary time. Treats we would have had to dig for under normal circumstances were coming to the surface—the special gifts of greater closeness to Jesus and each other, greater love and appreciation for our friends and family, and a fervent desire to commit our daily needs and fears to Jesus in prayer.

Has the rain stopped? Not yet. While some of our prayers have been answered wonderfully (we moved and my husband found a new job) and we are encouraged, we still face major challenges on other fronts. But we will remain bright and happy little birds even through the rain, because odd as it may seem, we’re feasting on worms!

P.S. As if on cue, the day after my rainy day revelation, our neighbor’s eight-year-old bounded up to me and held out a handful of wiggly worms. “There’s tons more in the leaf pile if you want some,” he informed me.

That’s okay. I’ll stick with the metaphor. •

Megan Dale is a member of the Family International in Australia.