DEAR BUG ON MY HEAD,

I know you can’t read, but this is my letter to you.

You are not the first bug to land on my head, and you won’t be the last.

However, your timing is impeccable, therefore I am writing to you.

You’re probably wondering “gee, Helena, why am I so special?”

Little bug, I sat in front of my laptop and pondered all the silly, goofy things about which I could possibly write a blog. Then you landed on my head, and began to crawl in my hair.

My first instinct? To kill you. But I didn’t.

The ones before you got swatted. Some got smashed if I was sweaty enough to not care about a dead bug in my hair. But you? You get to live, because you inspired me to write this blog.

There are few things in life that I’m practically guaranteed: the love of my Savior, bills, taxes, sunshine and rain, affliction, opportunities to display patience, and that bugs will continue to land on my head.

So you live to land on someone else’s head another day, and maybe inspire them to take a moment out of their day to be thankful for the littlest, creepiest, crawliest of things.

Creep on creepin’ on, little guy.

Peace,

Helena