I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. John 10:28

Have you noticed the caterpillars?

They seem to be everywhere this year. Every time I rake I send a couple of them flipping onto their backs in their c-shaped you-can’t-see-me posture and have to apologize for disrupting their day. Maybe they like this fantastic weather as much as we do, I don’t know. But they’re out and about everywhere you look.

I am reminded of autumn out in the country where we used to live. Each fall we were treated to an invasion of inch-long critters, fuzzy hairs sticking out every which way, charging across country roads, on their way to fulfill their bug-ly destiny. I would try to drive slowly when I saw them, veering to avoid squishing the determined little guys who obviously had somewhere important to be.

On our way home from school one day the kids and I stopped to examine a big, rust-colored fellow. He happily climbed onto the fingers I offered him. Slowly the caterpillar sniffed around my hand, curious about this new environment, looking perplexed when the ground beneath him began trembling as I fought to control the giggles brought on by his many tickling feet.

The kids’ eyes shone as they examined our new friend. His fur (fur on a bug — isn’t God awesome?) looked soft and inviting as he sat calmly in my palm. One of the kids reached out a finger. Touch! Instantly the caterpillar (he looked like a George to me) was off and running. And could he run! He raced up my arm and would have flung himself off my elbow into the great unknown of my van’s interior if I hadn’t put out another hand for him to tumble onto. He picked himself up and kept on running, from hand to hand to hand to hand as I worked to keep up with him.

George finally slowed his pace to catch a breather, until a curious finger reached out again, and, touch! and George was off and running. Running, running, a blur of fuzz and little legs, from hand to hand to hand.

I said softly, “Where ya goin’, George?”

Poor George really thought he was getting somewhere as he ran and ran and ran, but all the time he was in one place — my hand.

I think I understand you, Georgie boy. I run and run, too. I’m in a rush to do what needs to be done, to get to the next Big Event, to reach tomorrow. I push blindly forward, hoping that wherever it is I’m going will be better than where I’ve been, and neglecting to see where I am. And I’m pretty sure that I’m not really getting anywhere at all.

Sometimes, of course, I stop running. Like when my that small child with bright eyes is suddenly in high school and I realize how quickly time flies and how fast children grow. Or when a friend struggling with real hurts and worries notices that I’m blue over some petty problem and brings me a bowl of raspberries to sweeten my day. Or when a giant moon stretches a beam of light across a big water toward my toes and invites me to take a quiet breath. Then the nowhere race stops and I look around me, surprised by the stillness, and see where I am.

I halt, take a breath, and see that I am, as I have always been, in one place … safely in my Father’s hand.

Any moment, I know, I will be off and running again, but in the pauses, in those precious, sometimes frightening moments of stop-in-your-tracks clarity, I am able to see where I am, and where I’ve been, and where I’m going. Through it all, for every footstep of my sometimes frantic, sometimes giddy race through life, I am held, carefully and lovingly, by my Heavenly Father.

He who gave me life once with the creation of the world, twice with the creation of my body and thrice with the death of His own Son in my place now treasures me and sustains me, even when I don’t remember He’s there. Whether I’m racing off to nowhere or sitting still and savoring the moment, I am securely held in the hands of a God who gave a Son who stretched out a hand to accept a nail for me.

Go on, George, run all you want. You won’t get very far, but that’s OK — I’ve got you. Just be sure to take a break once in a while, and see where you are. See? You’re in my hand.

Julie Riddle is the mother of three boisterous children and the wife of Pastor J. Derek Riddle of Peace Lutheran Church in Rogers City.