The Grace of Again

Abby saw it first.  A freshly emerged dragonfly, hanging magnificently from her last-stage shell on the railings of the deck stairs, wings still wet. 

I have come across the crunchy, deserted pre-winged remnants lots of times.  Un-beautiful bug-ghosts, stuck to the side of the dock, or on the outer walls of the cottage proper, or places on the deck, like this.  Over the years, I have also made friends with probably hundreds of dragonflies in all their adult glory, as they've landed gently on the page of my journal as I was writing, or hitched a ride on the gunnels or even my hat while out in the canoe. 

But I had never met one quite so new. 

I wish I could say we were patient photo-scientists, staying faithfully on the stairs to capture every detail of this newly released creature's first moments.  I could have posted pictures of her first wing spread, and perhaps even her first flight.  But the truth is that something distracted us from our find - perhaps that pesky seagull Scout trying to steal another peanut and scaring away the chipmunks - and when we looked again, the dragonfly was gone.  On the lift of a breeze, no doubt.  It was less than 20 minutes, for sure.

But I'm glad for this picture.  It's how I feel these first weeks back from my summer Sabbath.  Free of the crunchy, un-beautiful fatigue and any creeping cynicism of last season's demands,  It's as if, in the sunlight and by the water, I emerge fresh, new, and ready to fly again.  For this dragonfly, it would only happen once.  For me, it seems as if I am given this grace every year.

I will need new wings for these next two months in particular, as I prepare not only to help launch Highview into a strong and forward-moving ministry season, but also to spend three months in Thailand for my educational sabbatical.   I will need the filling of the mornings on the deck and the evenings on the dock.  I will draw from the times spent with the kids in longer, more relaxed ways, and the laughing, easy time spent with Ken uninterrupted by, well, anything.  I will be fed by my solitude and reading and dancing gently in the kitchen, making supper and listening to Steve Bell while the sun diamonds the water between the dock and the shoal.

I am hanging in expectation, wings still wet, curious to see where the wind of the Spirit will take me.