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Firefly Night
by Traci Dutson
Winkler, Manitoba, Canada
"Have you ever seen a firefly?" Grandpa asked me one cool summer evening. In all my 13 years, I hadn't. "Get your sweater. It's a good night," he said.
We walked down the road, and through the light of the streetlamps over the hill, not saying much. Then we came to a marsh with cattails and high grass, where we stood hand in hand.
Suddenly Grandpa pointed to a dim light. Then it was gone. Again, a tiny flash. There! And there! Fireflies! I joined in, pointing. Grandpa's face brightened. We tried to see who could spot them first. Soon there were too many to count and we just a watched, silent.
Grandpa shivered and coughed slightly. I looked up at him. He had been diagnosed with cancer, and I had come to spend the summer with him. I wondered what he was thinking. He looked down at me and then back at the fireflies.
"Why do they light up?" I asked. Grandpa said I should research it one day at the library.
After a few minutes we headed home. When I turned to get one last glimpse, the marsh was aglow with the light of fireflies, hundreds of them.
I'll never forget that summer. Even when Grandpa grew weak, we got in the car and drove down to the marsh. Once, I held a firefly in my hands. Grandpa told me that when God holds us in his hands, we light up with his love.
In August, as the light of the fireflies faded, so did Grandpa's life. When they came out the next summer, Grandpa was gone.
It is believed fireflies use their light as a mating signal. They brighten with love. One night last summer, a good night, I went back to the marsh. And there, aglow in the night, I caught a glimpse of us, of Grandpa and me and the fireflies, all of us together in God's hands.
The above article originally appeared in the September 1994 issue of Guideposts.
Submitted by Richard
by Traci Dutson
Winkler, Manitoba, Canada
"Have you ever seen a firefly?" Grandpa asked me one cool summer evening. In all my 13 years, I hadn't. "Get your sweater. It's a good night," he said.
We walked down the road, and through the light of the streetlamps over the hill, not saying much. Then we came to a marsh with cattails and high grass, where we stood hand in hand.
Suddenly Grandpa pointed to a dim light. Then it was gone. Again, a tiny flash. There! And there! Fireflies! I joined in, pointing. Grandpa's face brightened. We tried to see who could spot them first. Soon there were too many to count and we just a watched, silent.
Grandpa shivered and coughed slightly. I looked up at him. He had been diagnosed with cancer, and I had come to spend the summer with him. I wondered what he was thinking. He looked down at me and then back at the fireflies.
"Why do they light up?" I asked. Grandpa said I should research it one day at the library.
After a few minutes we headed home. When I turned to get one last glimpse, the marsh was aglow with the light of fireflies, hundreds of them.
I'll never forget that summer. Even when Grandpa grew weak, we got in the car and drove down to the marsh. Once, I held a firefly in my hands. Grandpa told me that when God holds us in his hands, we light up with his love.
In August, as the light of the fireflies faded, so did Grandpa's life. When they came out the next summer, Grandpa was gone.
It is believed fireflies use their light as a mating signal. They brighten with love. One night last summer, a good night, I went back to the marsh. And there, aglow in the night, I caught a glimpse of us, of Grandpa and me and the fireflies, all of us together in God's hands.
The above article originally appeared in the September 1994 issue of Guideposts.
Submitted by Richard
