What the Locusts Eat
Looking out my window one day, I noticed a large area of my lawn that had turned brown. Within a few hours, the area expanded as more grass died. Going out to take a closer look, I quickly found the culprits: not just one, but hundreds of ugly brown caterpillars. An internet search revealed they were not just any caterpillars – they were armyworms. And they had invaded our town, descending by the thousands and devouring every blade of grass in their path.
Confused and somewhat horrified yet unable to tear my eyes away, I watched as the insects worked their way through swaths of healthy grass, leaving nothing but dead stalks in their wake. And as I stared, mesmerized and feeling a little sick, memories began to stir deep in my psyche, like a bad movie flashback.
I remembered Parents’ Night, September 14, 2010. My youngest son was starting second grade, and the event was an opportunity to get to know the teacher and connect with other parents. My son was excited for me to see his classroom and the special book that he made as a gift for me.
The event fell during an exceedingly difficult week; my sister was nearing the end of her life after a four-year battle with ALS, a progressive and fatal neurodegenerative disease. But because those four years had given me plenty of experience juggling the responsibilities and sorrow of ALS with the everyday tasks of raising three growing boys, I still planned to attend Parents’ Night.
However, just hours before the event, my sister died. As the house filled with family, the doorbell rang, my phone buzzed, and my heart shattered, I forgot about Parents’ Night. That is, until my son asked me if I was still going. Of course not, I wanted to say, but staring at his expectant face, I felt anger and sadness well up. The armyworms of ALS had taken enough. Like the biblical locusts, swarming and destroying, they had not just taken my sister and caused misery and suffering for years, they had also eaten other precious, hidden things. I refused to let them eat more.
So, I went to school. My only memory of the evening is when another parent asked how my sister was doing. As I calmly replied, “She died today,” the look on her face told me my decision to attend was questionable. Still, I have never regretted visiting my son’s classroom that night. After somehow making it through the evening without crying, I walked home, clutching the book he made for me to my chest.
I often reflect on all the ways the locusts of suffering break and take things. They devour everything in their path, indiscriminately fracturing hearts, severing relationships, taking opportunities, diminishing health, and more. Suffering has the unique ability to turn lush and beautiful parts of our lives into dead and ugly remnants. It feeds on what is good and sucks the life out of it, stealing peace, comfort, and security in a way nothing else can.
When I remember what the locusts have eaten in my life through death, illness, rebellion, injury, sin, and more – I feel anger, sorrow, and frustration. But I also feel a longing for all to be made right. We were not made for such brokenness. God created us to live in paradise, walking with him in perfection and beauty. Sadly, what humans unleashed in the Garden still slithers through our lives today, looking for something or someone to devour. In this world, locusts will always eat things.
Mourning about the destructive effects of suffering and loss is to be expected. God even gives us the words to use, especially in the Psalms. But this season, the fifteenth anniversary of my sister’s death, God has been reminding me of something I tend to forget. In the Old Testament book of Jeremiah, he says, “I will restore the years the swarming locusts have eaten.”
God promises to restore everything that earthly suffering steals and destroys: our strength, joy, health, and even our lives. He will even restore his creation, giving us a new heaven and earth. In Christ, even the losses of the past, the ones that feel set in stone, unchangeable, and unredeemable, are not hopeless. When God is part of the story, the locusts of suffering, sorrow, destruction, and devastation do not have the final word.
In my yard, it took a deadly remedy to get rid of the armyworms. Now, when I look out at my lawn, green and glistening in the sun, you would never know a plague ever descended on it. And in Christ, because of his death and resurrection - his deadly remedy - we will gain back all that we have lost in this life and more. Our futures glisten in light of Christ. Imagine what it will look like when God turns the plague of brokenness into an eternity of joy and singing.
In the interim, the locusts are going to continue eating precious things in my life, and I will lament over what they take. But knowing that God restores whatever they destroy reminds me why I am able to mourn with hope.
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Photo credit: Andreyc on Pixabay