Caterpillars, stones and slopes. Let's hear God together.
An interactive post.
Usually, I tell stories and share what God was speaking to me about. But this post is a little different. It is meant to be interactive, I have left the space for Holy Spirit to speak in and through you.
Read with open ears to the Holy One.
Share at the end what He said! Who knows how God may encourage another through your words.
There are three short stories from walks with my daughter. Enjoy 🧡
The Caterpillar
‘Mum, cat-a-pill-ar!’
‘MUM! Cat-a-pill-ar!’
I am holding her bag, my bag, trying to get the pram out of the car, whilst simultaneously trying to stop my sunglasses from falling off my head.
‘MUM! CAT-A-PILL-ar!’
(yes, my 2 year old calls me ‘mum’ like a 15 year old. I kinda love it.)
‘Where, baby?’ I reply.
She points into the air and looks at me with wide eyes that exclaim, ‘Here!! How can you possibly not see this?!’
I put everything down, and follow her little finger, searching with my eyes for this caterpillar that apparently flies.
And then I see it. A tiny green and black, chubby, wriggling caterpillar hanging from a thin silk thread in front of my daughter. Honestly, this thing was tiny.
‘Oh wow, it’s a caterpillar’, I reply to her.
She is beaming now, ecstatic to be able to share her discovery and so eager to discover more.
We watch the caterpillar abseil from the tree on it’s silk thread. I don’t know if it meant to do that or whether it was a clumsy caterpillar, but either way it only felt right to catch it with a leaf and return it to the tree.
My daughter watches me wide-eyed as I stand on the garden wall and place the caterpillar back into the tree. In her eyes, I have just become one of the great heroes of history.
I see myself from an outsider perspective. My daughter watching me, the pram and bags abandoned, my black sandals and denim shorts flashing from underneath a cherry tree. All to save a little green larva, that will probably get eaten by a bird in a few hours.
And I smile.
This is why I love going out with my daughter.
The Stones
Her fists are full.
Her fingers are grasped shut tightly.
Her hands are no longer soft and dainty, but soft and strong, purposed and purposeful.
In them, little rocks.
Grey, white rocks, the ones that people use to fill their driveways. The ones that aren’t particularly beautiful, special or unique.
They are the standard cut dusty grey-white rocks that fill gaps in the ground pretty much anywhere.
But to her, they are treasure.
She doesn’t pick each one out one by one, no. She squats and plunges both her hands into the ground, like those claw-grabbing machines at the arcade. And she picks up as many as her little hands can hold, which is about 4 per hand.
And there they will remain, her little treasures.
‘My stones’ she will call them, and they will come home and be added to her other treasures. They will become items in her shop, food that she cooks with, or ornaments she lines up and admires.
She sees beauty where we see road filler. She sees creativity where we don’t see any.
She sees treasure.
The Slope.
‘Mummy…’ she murmurs as she reaches her hand to mine.
Her feet are pointed down a slope, a mixture of uncertainty and determination on her face.
This slope isn’t small; it’s big enough for an adult to slip on, and one would not choose to run down it. To her, this slope is giant.
Its incline is steep, and her little feet aren’t used to ground that points degrees away from her.
I hold her hand and we go slowly down the slope. She reaches the bottom and squeals with delight. She leads me back up again.
She walks down again, this time more confident, but still holding my hand.
Up and down we go, slowly as she finds her balance and understands the nature of gravity.
Up and down and up and down.
Until I stop to chat with a neighbour. They are selling their house and I want to hear all about it.
From the corner of my eye, I see her looking over the edge of the slope, courage building on her face.
She takes a step down the slope and balances herself. Then another step and another.
Step by step, she makes it down the slope, breaking into a little joyful run at the end.
She is beaming.
She turns and heads slowly back up the slope. Carefully pushing herself up step by step.
She turns and goes down again. This time faster, more confident.
She is just as joyful as the first time.
Up and down, up and down. Her little legs steady beneath her. Each journey up and adventure down adds another memory of overcoming into her bank.
She beams.
I beam.
What stood out to you? Why?
What moved you? Why?
What do you sense Holy Spirit speaking through these stories?
Are there any memories, stories or scriptures that they remind you of?
I can’t wait to hear!
Love, Anna x
Your stories of “childhood wonder” are delightful. But, what caught my attention was “Each journey up and adventure down adds another memory of overcoming into her bank.” How I wish I had made more notes of overcoming! I know they are there in my memory bank. I forgot to take note of them. Or to give thanks to the one who was holding my hand as I traversed the ups and downs of life. Thank you Lord, for not letting go of my hand.
The stones story told me this: God has our true names and identities in the palm of His hands and He delights in them, in us. “Anyone with ears to hear must listen to the Spirit and understand what he is saying to the churches. To everyone who is victorious I will give some of the manna that has been hidden away in heaven. And I will give to each one a white stone, and on the stone will be engraved a new name that no one understands except the one who receives it.” - Revelation 2:17 NLT