Fast Lane

I now know what it must be like for God to save lives one minute and dispose of them the next. I do it every morning before and after my shower. Saving lives is straight forward and fun, but then why I would I then turn around and insure these same lives get disposed of with such aplomb. I mean what does that say about my personality; and, dare I ask it, God’s?

When I go into my bathroom every morning the first thing I notice is these black speckled things flying around the tub. Then when I begin to step into the tub and turn on the water, there is always one or two who have went too far and too fast. I see them struggle frantically to live. Just this morning one was turned upside-down onto its back, its little legs wiggling in a agitated attempt to right itself. Another one was floating towards the rush of water spouting down at the front of the tub. It swam mightily trying to avoid the nearby Niagara.

Now, who wouldn’t take note of such brave, minute, silent, harrowing attempts at the continuation of life—even a life in the fast lane. Haven’t we all qualified for a medal from a similar fast lane? Haven’t we all wiggled our little feet in fear as the red sports car with the souped up muffler turns fast in front of us on the freeway, slipping and sliding into this lane and that, after it skim our front bumper by a mere inch? No silent lady bug here, we can vent our anger. But our little hearts beat just as wildly and our hands grip tightly to the wheel as we let expletives fly.

But what of my charges, those little ones who dare brave the tall, slick, white slopes of harried life? Their silent struggle reaches right to my heart. So, monster size, I reach down and with a mere finger flip the black spotted lady bug right side up. I have read they are not real lady bugs like the ones we chanted at to fly away home to save it from fire when we were kids, but merely beetles. Well, regardless, I have just flipped one little bug out from the turmoil below the falls just in time, then set it on the edge of the tub. Another one I lift from its up-side-down struggle and set it right-side-up on the white vista of a slippery ceramic landscape.

What must it think of such quick release from suffering and death? I can’t help wondering if the spotted things are grateful for all the effort I have exerted on their behalf. Why, some other monster God might just let them slide quickly down the drain. But I, in my magnanimousity, take note of their plight and save each one of them.

Are they grateful? Have they learned their lesson by now? Do they stop running in the fast lane? Stop the car and get out? Or do the same little perps I saved yesterday keep running too fast today? Well, I prefer to think not. Fear must have taught them something. It may be new ladies every morning who have fallen on bad times.

No matter, life must have its out. We drive where we must just as, I suppose, these little things must fly into danger and I will continue to flip and lift them from their dangerous predicaments.

I have even saved them from dangers they could not predict or see. My two cats love to come into the bathroom after my shower is done. At first I wasn’t sure why and was delighted at their new interest in my habits. But, yesterday I found Princes hanging on the plastic curtain and reaching her paw out towards one bug while Antzi was busy sneaking under the sink towards the edge of the tub where one of the rescued lady bugs sat, breathing a sigh of relief, I am sure.

Both cats were on the big hunt, their instinct revved up, and ready to pounce. A million years bound up in muscle and sinew, taunt, ready to spring in the perfect stance of the hunter. The king of the jungle should have it so good with prey in such close quarters as a five by five, yellow tiled room with plastic shredded curtains. Ancient blood still warm in their bones but this catch is thwarted. I chased the cats from the room.

But, life is fickle, isn't it? This same monster God who can reach down with such ease and grace to lift a tiny life out of doldrums of woe and pain, just as often has walked forgetfully away. At work I realized that again today I forgot to close the door.