Baby ladybug.

As I ate one piece of pizza at school, which was very good and I was enjoying it slowly, a bug fell on me (again) and I swiped it off quickly and then realized it was red. A very small red bug. About 1 mm wide. A baby ladybug.

I picked it up and set it on my finger, then moved it to my palm as my finger got tired of holding it in that position.

Just before it fell on me I was praying to God about some fear I have. Physically with Amber, I’m afraid to go slow. I know that sounds dumb, but seemingly everyone moves so fast in relationships and I grew up knowing only how to please myself, using a woman as an object, but I am not feeling that with Amber. Every time that thought comes up, it’s as if I’m trying to stick a square peg into a circular hole. And it feels not good, and I realized that’s what it was last night: God wants to reteach me sexuality.

And he wants me to move slow. And that’s scary. As I drove home last night, I was thinking about this, having a kind of peace because I had realized what it was. A Wilco song came on which I hadn’t been singing to, and then as it got to a part in the chorus I just started singing, and as it came out it was like I knew God was talking to me, through my voice. I thought about what the words were that I just sang.

“If I could, you know I would just hold your hand till you understand: I’m the man who loves you.”

Holding hands.

The fear comes from, well, if I don’t give her more, this rushed feeling of lust and desire, she won’t want me. But I don’t want that.

So I was praying, in the shade, eating a pizza, that he would help me to not be afraid about starting off so small, with baby steps.

And then a baby ladybug fell onto my arm. This ladybug just learning to fly.

And it flew away, with small wings outstretched.

God speaks to me in ladybugs.

(I’d rather please God than please her.)