Joy the Color of Fireflies

The sky is inky blue, a swirl of dark and light. Day and night do a slow dance before the moon rises high above the trees. The music we can't hear beckons the fireflies from their hiding places. One by one they appear, little lights twinkling against the backdrop of an early summer evening.

I first caught fireflies as a girl of seven or so. Taking my brother and I to the porch, my grandmother handed us a mason jar. "Be gentle," I'm sure she told us. Then she watched and smiled from the edge of the flowerbed in a wheelchair. (She had polio at age 29, younger than I am now.)

I don't know where these creatures live, what they do in the winter, why they come again...but I do know each one is like a bright and beautiful memory floating through the air.

And, because of this, I still catch those flickers of brightness even though childhood has long gone. I place them (gently, yes) into jars, water bottles, whatever I can find. When I have twenty or so I let them go and watch the homemade fireworks display.

Saturday I did this for the first time of the season. Our dear friends, Sean and Kim, were there. We sat on the patio and as the fireflies appeared, I begged my guests to go with me. Sean joined the chase while Mark and Kim watched from the patio at our crazy zig-zags across the yard.

In my firefly moments I feel more alive, happy, and closer to heaven than I do almost any other time all year. It's as if everything that's sweet, good, and right is made real in tiny flashes of light as I think of my Grandma and all she taught me of joy.

In the hospital after being told she would never walk again, her pastor said, "Frances, you can choose to let this make you bitter or better." She would tell me again and again with a twinkle in her eyes, "I chose better."

My Nana knew joy, like a firefly, flits about you. But if you are serious about it, you must pursue it. And she knew joy, like a firefly, often comes surrounded by darkness. Perhaps that is what makes it so brilliant and beautiful.

Yes, on the porch beneath a summer sky I still sense my grandmother's smile. And as the last lingering firefly disappears into the night I smile too...knowing I will find it again some other evening or, when least expected, it will once more find me.

Comments

[LauraLee Shaw]

From title to end, your story lit up my heart with its warmth and beauty.

"And she knew joy, like a firefly, often comes surrounded by darkness. Perhaps that is what makes it so brilliant and beautiful."

Yes, magnificent.

[Leeann]

How much this essay warms my heart! I, too, grew up catching fireflies in a mason jar, and every time I go back down home in the summer I look forward to seeing them again. Now, part of my joy comes from sharing that chapter of my childhood with my husband and children. I now know how my parents must have felt watching me and my siblings chase the blinking little creatures around for hours on summer nights. I enjoy watching my husband 'help' the children catch them and love hearing their laughter as it carries across the yard to where I am sitting.

[Nancy Smith]

This is beautiful, Holley. The imagery is perfect. And the lesson so important. Thank you!
I saw my first firefly when I was 32 years old, when I first visited Arkansas with Brian. I was immediately enchanted (how had I made it through childhood without them?). What a wonderful creation. They remind me of God's amazing creativity. He didn't have to make an insect that glowed. I think He knew how much joy they would bring, to 'children' of all ages.

[Dona]

Holley,
When I was a little girl my Grandma in Ohio taught me how to catch fireflies. I remember how beautiful and delicate they were. We do not see them here down South, and I miss them. Thank you for a sweet memory of my childhood with my Grandma, who is no longer with us.

[jane]

beautiful entry. i have yet to see my first firefly~ hehe

[Monica]

Firefly moments. I choose better, too!
Monica