Fireflies and God's Still, Small Voice
We went camping recently in the beautiful Piney Woods of East Texas. I rarely sleep well on the first night of a camping trip, so I stay up as late as I can, hoping that exhaustion will enable a better sleep. The problem with this approach is that I usually end up in a terrible mood as the evening progresses, and, 9 times out of 10, also have a headache. This first night was no exception. Why do we even do this? I thought angrily as I trudged sulkily up the hill to the bathroom at around 11 pm to brush my teeth and take off my contacts. I’m miserable, and —what do I even like about camping, anyway?
My grumpy mood soon gave way to low-grade fear. My path was very dark and completely desolate, and the light shining from my lantern did little to calm my apprehension. Headlines vaguely formed in my thoughts: “40-year-old woman found dead in Texas State Park bathroom.” I wasn’t genuinely afraid—just unsettled and still just angry that we were even on a camping trip at all.
Then, on my way back from the bathroom, I saw a tiny flash of yellow light in the distance between the trees off to my right. I turned my lantern off so I could see better what it was.
Imagine my surprise when I very gradually realized that I was surrounded by hundreds of blinking, glowing fireflies! Leaving my lantern off, I slowly started walking again. All around me—even high above my head—was the most beautiful display of fireflies I had ever seen. Somehow I had missed it completely on my way to the bathroom, mulling and stewing in my miserable thoughts.
I was gently comforted by the sight of that dark and eerie forest lit intermittently all over by glittering insects. It wasn’t dramatic or showy. It felt like God was saying to me quietly, I’m here. But I had to turn off my lantern to see God’s message for me.
It felt a lot like the still small voice Elijah heard: Quiet. Small. Subtle. Those fireflies seemed to embody the still small voice of God. And even though it wasn’t any less dark, or any less desolate, I was comforted by those little fireflies.
I wonder if we sometimes miss God’s still small voice because we are too busy looking for Him in the Big and Dramatic—in the great wind, the earthquake, and the fire. Perhaps we miss hearing what God has to tell us because we too often aren’t humble enough to turn off our lanterns and pay attention to the humble little fireflies that are all around us.
Why do we at times stubbornly keep our lanterns on, thinking that we can trust to our own devices to get through a difficult patch? What else have I missed hearing from God because I was clinging tightly to my own light, refusing to trust Him enough to turn it off and look around me? God’s still small voice is available to bring us peace and comfort—but we must trust him enough to turn off our own light and watch and wait for His light.
Keep seeking the virtuous and the lovely,
Shannon
And if you’re looking for my best tips on how to camp with children, here’s an evergreen essay I wrote last spring:
Break the Script: Why Camping is Memorable
All of us follow a “script” or a routine. As the earth turns, revealing and hiding the sun predictably every morning and night, so each of our days often looks similar to the one before: work, pray, eat, rest, play, on repeat. Rhythms and familiar routines ground our days, weeks, and even our years (hello, beloved Christmas traditions!…
"Perhaps we miss hearing what God has to tell us because we too often aren’t humble enough to turn off our lanterns and pay attention to the humble little fireflies that are all around us."
Thanks for sharing this little moment in time, which speaks volumes.
Very good essay. I grew up in East Texas and enjoyed the Dance of the Fireflies many nights. Thanks for the reminder of a good memory.