Antagony

By all rights, we should not have allowed John Boy Walton to live.

Ants like John Boy have this obnoxious tendency to call in the rest of the Walton family to do their best impression of Hugh Jackman as Jimmy Fallon's Aussie houseguest. So I reiterate, John Boy's laborious trek across Kristan's pockmarked concrete floor should have been curtailed the moment we spotted him trying to cart off remnants of our apartment-christening picnic.



Ants in the DR generally have overactive lifestyles, anyway... Hundreds (literally) of the little toilers have taken up residence in the walls and under the floor of my room, until drinking ants in my coffee is a pretty unshocking event, and I've even tried a peanut butter and honey with ant sandwich, which was quite delicious. Standing at my dresser feels like a visit to a peculiar kind of arcade, where "Whack-an-Ant" is the main attraction... as my friend Jay so accurately depicts here:

Ah, a life overseas.

Kristan's thoughts on ants and cohabiting with them generally resemble my own... This is, of course, why she and I have found a remarkably solid friendship. That plus a bunch of other things. Ant-hatred is an important detail in life and relationships.

But instead of conspiring to assassinate this wee invader, we turned into the paparantzzi, getting down on his level to try to get a selfie with the crumb-bearing celebrity.

"I GOT HIS GOOD SIDE!" Kristan hollered.

She did, too. Entertainment is hard to come by here, what can I say?

So we snapped some photos, then sat back to finish our picnic and watch as Walton struggled across the pitted and peeling concrete floor with a burdensome crumb as big as he was, and it almost looked like he was traversing a map of the world, continent by continent, canyon by canyon.

Like us.

I think we all feel like John Boy Walton from time to time, weighed down by a load heavier than we can bear, trying to make our goal and get our stash from point A to point B, a journey that probably only matters to us ourselves, though we might get surprised by the occasional paparazzi squad of onlookers who don't help so much as provide irritation or maybe entertainment. Because our journey isn't the same as anybody else's and giants might lurk somewhere out there, ready to squash us at their slightest whim. A journey like that, in a big, big world like that, where we feel so small and insignificant, makes it easy to cower in fear and never even get our crumb from point A to point B.

The Israelites felt that way as they were looking at the Promised Land. Great produce, fertile country... but they were just one nation... plus, GIANTS!!!

They rebelled against their journey, and it took 40 years in the desert for them to realize that the giants didn't matter because God fought for them. He fought for them, and he won them a home. They were only responsible for carrying their crumb and trusting.

I am responsible to carry my crumb of my purpose and trust that in his greater, bigger plan he will guide my steps to fulfill his goals and get all the glory. If I am truly his daughter... that's all I need.

Night Momma. Night Daddy. Night Mary Ellen. Night John Boy.