I sat on the stuffed rocker, my feet resting on the red ottoman, my laptop on my lap. The windows were dark with night and three lamps formed islands of light in the living room.
Jon sat in one on the other side of the room. I had just finished blogging for the night and I was reading his post about “little ways of doing good.”
When I read the quote by St Therese of Lisieux, I stopped, my eyes staring into the space in front of me not seeing. Inside of me, I was making space for an idea, a feeling that was resonating with me but that I didn’t yet quite understand.
“I can prove my love only by scattering flowers, that is to say, by never letting slip a single little sacrifice, a single glance, a single word; by making a profit of the very smallest actions, by doing them for love.”
It was the words, “by making profit of the very smallest actions, by doing them for love.” that brought me back to the water bucket and the moth I had lifted out of it that morning.
Is that what was happening? I wondered.
I had just written about the experience but I still didn’t quite understand it. The paradox of killing some insects and helping others survive depending on where they were still didn’t make sense to me.
Jon saw it more clearly than I did. Even explained it in words that made sense. He told me that was just what I was doing.
But still there is something about it that I find elusive. I’m not sure where the love comes in. My mind is grasping like I have bits and pieces but not all the parts to make them fit together.
I imagine it will come. One day I’ll watch a speck of an insect make its way from my finger to a leaf and I’ll suddenly understand.
For now I’ll just keep saving and killing insects. And when I do, I’ll think of St Therese’s words like a mantra…by making a profit of the very smallest actions, by doing them for love.”