There’s a quiet kind of wisdom that only arrives when we slow down—when we stop trying to be efficient, productive, purposeful, and simply waste a little time. Not in a careless way, but in a soul‑restoring way. The kind of slowing that lets the heart breathe again.
At our lake home, the seasons always teach me this. Right now, it’s the season of love bugs abundant, floating, drifting, attaching themselves to one another as they move through the air like tiny, winged reminders of connection.
I find myself watching them longer than I intend just sitting there doing nothing letting the time stretch. And strangely, it feels holy.
There’s something fascinating about the way they stay attached, no matter how awkward their flight becomes. They bump into things, wobble, drift sideways, and still they remain connected. It’s almost comical. But it’s also quietly profound.
Because in an odd way, they remind me of God’s presence.
Even when I’m distracted, when I turn away, when my mind is racing or my heart feels heavy. Even when I forget to pray or forget to notice.
Still, God is attached. God is near. God is holding me in ways I barely perceive.
Slowing down enough to watch those little creatures felt like a gentle nudge from the Spirit: “See? You and I are always connected. Even when you’re unaware.”
Sometimes the most important spiritual practice is simply pausing long enough to notice what’s already true. To waste time with God. To let reflection rise naturally. To let the ordinary become sacramental.
The love bugs won’t be here forever, their season is brief. But the reminder they carry is lasting:
We are never alone.
We are never unheld.
We are never out of God’s reach.
Even in the smallest, strangest moments, God is attaching us to love again.
Smitten With Goodness 