What's With the Cicadas?

The bug bit in May 2016 (no pun intended):

They visit only once every 17 years! 

I could not remember 1999’s and barely remember 1982’s emergence.  I did remember hearing them in 1965 at age 8 decorating Uncle Dale’s grave in Morgantown around Memorial Day. A distant sound and my dad announced, "Those are locusts!" (They were really periodical cicadas...daughters never correct their fathers in our house.)

This year I became CURIOUS!  I wanted to be present and enjoy the experience.  AND BOY DID I!  I also learned some lessons!

For some perspective, seventeen years ago:  

I had no college degree // I had not begun birding // I had not picked up a DSLR // There was no Facebook // AOL was still the online "game" in town // The threat of the moment was the Y2K bug // My mother had not yet been affected by Alzheimer’s // The twin towers were still standing in New York City // Lydia was still in school // I had no grandchildren // Bill Clinton was president // Caleb got his nissen fundoplication // I was still a secretary // My Space, Napster, and Bluetooth was officially introduced // Boy bands were big!

This season I have pondered, "Where will the next 17 years take me?"

The adult cicada lives about 4 weeks after emergence.  There’s a quote that says, “Nothing in the cicada’s song suggests they are about to die.” 

They emerge, molt, sing, fly and live with single-minded purpose: to establish the next generation for the future. 

Like them, my death is certain.  The when and how is up for debate.  How am I living my life?  Am I focused and intentional?  How much am I pouring into the lives of others?  Am I seeking God’s guidance each day so I can make an impact with the time I have left?  What kind of song am I singing with my life that others hear?

It amazes me how God uses His creations to teach His children priceless truths, if we will just see...and listen. May He see me singing like cicadas every moment of the rest of my life.  Others are listening.  Sing with me?

With gratitude!

Your humble correspondent.