Cicadas are the silent sleeper. For 17 years.
For 17 years they live cozily underground, sucking sugar out of tree roots. Living for themselves. Bothering no one.
You never see them. Never hear them. Then things heat up.
When the soil reaches around 64° Fahrenheit cicadas seemingly come alive. (Over the next several weeks billions of cicadas will do just that in the U.S.)
They sprout from the ground and sprout wings. Make a ton of noise. Mate. And die. All within a matter of 14 or so days.
You and I often live like cicadas. Hang out underground. Gravitate to the sweet stuff. Try not to get into anyone’s business.
But then 64° happens.
Some situation triggers a life-change. Good or bad. Celebration or suffering. A situation we’ve longed for, or one we prayed would never happen.
We find ourselves in a new environment. Forced to sprout wings. Make a ton of noise. Put our faith into action.
Allow the truth of Good Friday to empty our souls of guilt
Allow the truth of Easter to fill our souls with hope.
We all have 64° days. Weeks. Years. Events where our tombs move from fantasy to reality. Stretches where our mortality walks lockstep and never leaves.
Jesus also walks lockstep with you. Always. Forever.
When your 64° happens, what kind of noise will you make? Which type of song will you sing?
A quiet Good Friday thanksgiving piece? An exuberant Easter proclamation?
They both work well. Compliments of the cicada Creator.