When my family moved from Texas to Georgia, I discovered a new world right beneath my feet. The absence of friendship in this new place drove me to a fascination with insects. I think my interest in grasshoppers, worms, spiders, and other creatures most people avoid was always there, but my intrigue grew after my friendships shrank. Summer days were spent with my eyes at grass-level, searching for those who dwelt closest to the ground.
Our yard was memorably full of grasshoppers – the big kind. I would catch them, put them in my unparalleled plastic bug-catcher, put grass and sticks and water in the cage, and observe their every movement. Eventually, I let them out and they would all hop away.
One day, during a grasshopper escapade, I discovered a grasshopper that didn’t hop away when I let him out. So I affectionately named him, Hoppy. For a couple days, he would hang out in my bug-cage, and when I let him out, he wouldn’t run away. He was my pet. I loved that bug.
Then the unimaginable happened. My younger sister ran him over while she was on her tricycle. I wept. I was inconsolable. I still feel something soul-crushing when I see a big grasshopper, and if I think about it long enough, tears are inevitable.
I’ve cried over the loss of several innocent insects: spiders, beetles, and butterflies to name a few. Jest and joking accompany these tears at times, some of that is warranted, I’m sure. After all, they are just bugs, right? They are insignificant.
One of sin’s most exceptional deceptions is to convince us of our insignificance.
No one cares for you the way they should if they really loved you, Sin whispers, like the snake that it is. Your work is empty – you should be doing so much more, beckons the Liar. What is your life? Why do you even try?
Anxiety floods your soul. You now believe you are invisible to most. You toil insignificantly beneath blades of grass sure to wither up by the end of the day (Psalm 90:5-6). You criticize yourself with passion – no one could possibly hate you more than you hate yourself.
Consider the birds, the sparrows, the lilies, the very hair atop your head (Matthew 6:26-30, Matthew 10: 29-31).
Doesn’t God feed them, hold them, adorn them, number them? Such insignificant things, such fleeting contributors in God’s creation – and yet He knows and cares for the created world vastly more than we could ever imagine.
If God, who fashioned every creature together with His very words, knows and cares about the lowest portion of the animal kingdom, what does that mean for you and me?
If God feeds the birds, holds the sparrows, adorns the lilies, and numbers the hairs on our head, are we not worth so much more?
I am certain that God cared that my grasshopper was gone too soon from this world. I am sure He cared about the spiders, beetles, and butterflies I’ve mourned too.
I am certain that God cares unequivocally more for me.
What undeserved love. What boundless grace. No insect rebelled against God, but I did. Vile, selfish, sinner that I am, lower than the lowest worms of the earth. But God.
God Himself intervened. He sent the most significant person (Himself) to a lowly place. Jesus suffered in this world until the bitter end so that we might be raised up with Him. The blood of Jesus now establishes my significance. Without it, I am nothing. With it, I have everything. When I am tempted to believe in my unworthiness, I can consider the grasshoppers of the earth and how not one of them falls without our Heavenly Father’s consent.
How much more He considers me!