8-yr-old has a new friend. His name is George. George the caterpillar. George has visited our home each weekend on a field trip from school. We get to watch 8-yr-old empty his container, feed him new milkweed, and watch in awe as George grows exponentially every day. Watching my little man's joy in each incremental change has reminded me how easily and quickly I dismiss hundreds of things each day. And had George not visited our home as the beloved science-experiment-turned-pet, I would have dismissed him as just another little bug like all of the others on the sidewalk. George has reminded me that even the littlest things count--a hard reminder for my typical existential- angst- filled self. George changes so quickly, that if we were to turn away for too long, we would miss his growth--we must stay in the moment with him.
I'm thinking that maybe God thinks I need a healthy dose of bugs this week, because while I've been musing about George, two of my AP Lit students, unbeknownst to each other, chose Frost's A Considerable Speck as their poem to memorize for my class. The conversation that ensued following each recitation was fascinating to me--listening to my just-turned Seniors work their way through this very challenging read caught me up entirely. The bell rang before any of us were aware--or for that matter, ready. When the students had gathered their things and left my room, I just sat for a moment and let myself remember that it was for moments like the one we had all just shared that I spend so much time preparing--a little like George and his preparations for becoming a butterfly. He'll get there when he is ready, but in the meantime my guess is that he'll stay in the moment, blissfully unaware that he is "supposed" to be moving on.
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