I am drawn back to that rocky shore on Rosseau lake in Canada. I sat there, relaxed yearning for something, perhaps to hear the voice of God?

God, how much I wanted to hear your voice, to feel your presence, but… there was nothing, only silence.

Oh yes, there was the sun on my face, and shimmering, glistening, sparkling on the waves that bathed the shore at my feet.

I glanced at the toe of my left shoe and there, sitting demurely, was a crimson damsel fly and you do know; she was beautiful.

Yes, crimson, a deep brilliant, living, deep, deep red, she sat there.

You might ask how I know she was a she but she must be a she, otherwise why would she be called a “damsel” fly?

She sat there, multifaceted eyes sparkling in the sunlight, her lacy, delicate, gossamer wings still for that moment.

I sat, waiting. What was I waiting for? You might ask. Well, I hesitate to say it lest you think me mad, but I was waiting to hear the voice of God.

Nothing.

Silence.

God, I was waiting, where were you?

I glanced at the damsel fly. She, it, he, honestly I don’t know, but it sat there, beautiful, gemlike, glorious, magnificent, and yet very much a damsel fly.

God, I am waiting.

The damsel fly turned and silently lifted its wings and flew to my knee and sat there staring at me.

Darned damsel fly distracted me from my quest. How was I supposed to know when God made His appearance if I am watching a damsel fly?

Suddenly I was at peace. For some strange reason, I don’t know why, a sense of calm swept over me.

The damsel fly lifted into the air and hovered in front of my face and then, swiftly, it darted away.

I walked away, disappointed that God had not spoken, but then I thought, that damsel fly, beautiful creature that she was, could God possibly speak through her?

After all, when you think of it, all of nature testifies of God’s glory, even a little jewel-like damsel fly.

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