Great Grandma's Miracle Moth

On the farm my grandmother raised her family on there were two homes right next to each other. The white house was where Great grandma lived (pictured below), the original farm house on the family farmstead. The yellow house was the new house, where my grandma and grandpa lived.

My uncle Wayne was home from Alaska, and they call caught up over coffee in Great Grandma's house, the white house. Wayne and Grandma and Grandpa returned to the yellow house, as Great Grandma climbed the stairs to her bedroom, alone. She went down the hall to close the window when the window lost his grippings and slammed down on both of her hands. Great Grandma was old and frail and with her fingers trapped under this window, she could neither sit nor stand. She was left hunched over.

The window was facing the field, opposite of the yellow house. She cried, “Help me. Help. Help me.” An hour passed. She continued to cry and her voice grew weak and soft. She turned her cries to God. Unable to sit or stand, her legs were growing weak and three more hours passed as she continued to cry for help, “Help me. Help me, God.”

The sun was setting and back in the brightly lit yellow house a moth landed on the living room window. The moth was grey with brown spots, three inches across. Uncle Wayne saw it and commented on how  his nephews would love that moth for their 4H bug collection. So he and Grandpa walked outside to catch it. But just as they got close enough to the window, the moth snuck away and flew towards the white house. Again and again the moth would land and each time they’d just miss it, taking them farther from the yellow house and closer to the white house. And when they came around the white house closest to the field, the moth landed and they caught it.

As they sat to inspect this moth they heard the strangest sqeeking coming from Great Grandma’s. Wayne commented that there must be an owl on the roof. But Grandpa replied, “that is not an owl. That is your grandma!” They looked up and saw great grandma hunched over in the window, whimpering in pain.

My grandma tells me that as they sat on the bed, Great Grandma rubbed her hands and asked Wayne if she could see the moth. And when she saw it she cried and proclaimed, “That’s my miracle. That miracle moth was sent for me. God heard me when I cried.”

We still have that moth and my grandma brings it out and tells this story frequently with her voice proclaiming our all-powerful God who still works miracles today.

I love that God used a dusty grey and brown moth to be his messenger. Isn't that just like God? He didn't send a butterfly with turquoise wings and a magenta body. He sent a not-so-special, run-of-the-mill moth to perform his miracle. Which is good news for us not-so-special, run-of-the-mill messengers willing to do his good work.

1 comment:

annika said...

Love it. Is that the story written as grandma B wrote it? Thanks for this post.