A Case of the Weevils

We drove to St. Louis on a Tuesday. We moved into our apartment on a Wednesday. We frantically worked to get as settled as possible before Sam started a Greek Intensive course on Monday. We did fairly well. We even visited the zoo that Saturday. Sam’s parents came to visit. The kids and I traveled to North Dakota for several weeks to visit my family. My mom stayed with us for a week after that. The dust began to settle and our apartment started to feel like home. I grocery shopped and meal planned and worked to make a life here for my people. Things felt slightly strange but each moment brought a new sort of normal to our world. The boxes were unpacked and pictures were hung and I felt relaxed.

While my children napped one day, I worked to bring a little more order to our kitchen. As I was doing this, I spotted a tiny bug crawling across our kitchen floor. I took care of the bug and moved on. Until I found more and more. I kept thinking I had defeated them, but they kept coming back. After finally discovering what they were – a weevil, a type of bug that breeds and lives in rice and flour – I came up with a plan of action. My strategy involved lots of vinegar, bay leaves, and freezing our rice and flour. “There,” I thought, “we did it”.

But we hadn’t. There were more. And I cried. Goodness, did I cry. Wasn’t it just days before that I finally felt like the ground beneath my feet was solid for the first time in months? Hadn’t I just finished figuring out my kitchen?  And now here I stood, at a complete loss, tired from scrubbing and spraying, my nerves shot, my anxiety levels high as the contents of our pantry lay scattered around our home.

I finally admitted defeat and threw out almost our entire pantry. (Read about weevils if you dare and you will understand the necessity of this step.) I had fought to avoid this step; because you see, when your husband quits his job and you move several states away so he can attend school, money can be a major source of stress. And throwing out over $100 in food hurt, and to be completely honest, it terrified me.

I was frustrated, tired, and a little angry with God. I feel silly even writing this now, because to be angry over bugs seems a bit ridiculous. But I was. I was angry. My anger ebbed and flowed while I anxiously waited to see if we had really, truly, once and for all, taken care of the bugs. As I waited, I would hear: “Do not be anxious.” “Right, I’ll work on that”, I would think quite sarcastically. “Sure, I just won’t be anxious about these bugs or money or food or how my home feels turned upside down... again.”

We beat the bugs. We moved on with life. And my anger dissipated. I slowly refilled our pantry and tried very hard to not be anxious about money or food. And then one day while my children napped, there was a knock on our door. I looked down and there sat a box from Omaha Steaks, a box filled with meat. And then came that small voice: “Do not be anxious.” Tears welled in my eyes as the words of Matthew 6 flooded my heart:

“Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

This generous gift was in every way undeserved. This person didn’t know about our bugs. But God knew. And isn’t it just like our God to replace rice and flour with steak and burgers?

I pray this post finds you in a place of peace; but if not, I pray that you will hear His voice – “Do not be anxious” – for He knows every need.