The mosquito is light brown, almost tan. Four hair-sized legs attach it to the windshield. As the truck pulls out of the parking lot, the wind stretches the mosquito toward the top of the truck. The legs, once bent at the knee, now straight as arrows. One leg detaches, then another. With the front two legs still clinging, the mosquito begins drifting up the glass – slowly sliding up, up, up. Its entire body is now a line with the forelegs at the bottom, the hind legs in the air. Now, it begins to rain.
Some people live life like that mosquito – barely holding on and feeling like the whole world is trying to cast them into the unknown. They don’t know why their world started moving faster, why the wind is 20 times more than normal. But they expect the rain to wash them away at any second. The problem is they’ve been holding on to the wrong thing. What they thought was a stationary place of safety is actually something that moves and turns unexpectedly, and has cataclysmic weather. These metaphorical unsafe resting places include money, jobs, good health, intelligence, attractiveness, power, romantic love, and a host of other misplaced hopes.
Hiding in desert mountains and caves, David refused to place his hope in an earthly place of safety. He prayed, “The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” What are you resting your hopes on? Is it something that may pull the footing out from under you at any moment?