Welcome to That Ladybug Life

On new beginnings.

I could go on and on about the ladybug thing.

I used to think “that ladybug life” meant just that — a near-constant presence of ladybugs chasing after me, reminding me that the Lord was looking out for me. In some respects, this is true. I think back to the ladybugs crawling on the walls of the Basilica, at the doorway to retreat centers, flitting around inside the piano. I think of the ladybugs landing on my fingers and appearing on windowsills when I needed them most. And yes — a ladybug means the Lord and Our Lady love me more than life itself.

Then I think about how I haven’t seen a ladybug since October. And the absence of these little red love letters lined up quite nicely with the period of desolation and depression I went through. It took me a while to draw a clear line between the words “ladybug” and “life.” Just because I was not seeing the ladybugs did not mean that Our Lady was not wrapping her mantle around me.

From rock bottom the only way out is up. God never left me during that time, even when it felt like He did. The last lines of Psalm 27 read: I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

I waited, and I sought Him out. I prayed fervently and felt His love in other ways. He found me in Scripture and in song, in the love of my friends, in warm sunshine and the promise of new life at Easter. In the sacrament of reconciliation and the bread broken on the altar. He Resurrected a lot for me: vocation, fulfillment, friendship. Even love. Even a summer that I thought couldn’t be beat.

Yet as I felt my lungs start to fill again and my heart start to beat again and noticed the growth in myself, the joy I was feeling, the loves I was loving, I still couldn’t shake the feeling:

I still had not seen a ladybug in months.

Was I doing something wrong? Was I just not in the right place at the right time? My friends were seeing ladybugs, and sending me sweet text messages and photos whenever they did. “Saw a ladybug and thought of you!” “Ladybug in the Basilica!” “A ladybug flew on me at my engagement party!”

I am a ladybug to others! I rejoiced in the fact. I learned to look for makeshift ladybugs, moments and people that gave me the same rush of joy and belovedness, and I didn’t feel so alone. I didn’t need the ladybugs. At the same time, I felt cheated of the ladybug life, and paranoid that the fullness I was feeling wasn’t really full. It seemed I had subconsciously promised to myself that as long as I hadn’t seen a ladybug, there was still healing to be done. There was still progress to be made. I was still not as whole as I could be.

(This is probably not true or theologically sound, but I am also just a girl.)

Yet I have the text receipts:

“The day I see a ladybug is the day it all gets better.” Dated sometime in April.

Now, I am brought to tears at the notion that I had really thought that was the case. To see a ladybug was all that I wanted. It seemed to me the crowning achievement of my healing journey, the cherry-on-top of consolation. I know this is not true. But still — “Can we think of a theological reason as to why I haven’t seen a ladybug yet?” I joked.

I have just had the most fulfilling summer of my life. Discernment has never been so fruitful; the Lord has made Himself so known to me. I am loved, and worthy, and called, and at peace. And yet — it was most certainly not the happiest I have ever been. Work was considerably difficult; emotions, more so. I found myself feeling incredibly alone, I said a hard goodbye, and ebony and ivory glistened with my tears.

But what a summer it has been, and what a story the Lord writes for me. What dreams He has dreamed for my own hands and heart.

And on the drive to the airport, my best friend gasped and pointed to the dashboard: “Sofia, that’s a ladybug right there.”

“No way,” I said immediately. “Where?”

And with a gasp and tears that sprung to my eyes and a racing heart I came to see — that there indeed was a ladybug crawling across the glass, nonchalantly scurrying amid the streaks of sunlight. You couldn’t see her spots at first glance; you had to really look for them. And there was a little stick bowed across her back. Sometimes she disappeared from the windshield for a while. But she never flew away. She remained roaming the glass, dancing in the sun, winking at me with a promise of a Love that never left.

Here you are, the ladybug and I said to each other.

Remember me?

I do.

Everything is not magically “all better” now that I’ve seen a ladybug again. And seeing one was not the catalyst for a spiritual 180. It was not a finally, not a sigh of relief, not a triumphant see, I told you I’m okay!

No, it was just my favorite lovebug crawling by. A warm hello. A sweet here you go. A soft, reassuring brush on my cheek from the hands that hold the heavens.

And that’s the ladybug life — trust. Light. The steadiness of a Savior. The simple, made divine.

This ladybug was consolation, miracle, reminder — but at the end of the day, just another blessing. Just another gift of grace that I fold like a love letter and slip into my pocket for safekeeping. This is the ladybug life: encapsulated in a Cross-bearing ladybug out of nowhere on the way back home. A ladybug that keeps showing up. A ladybug that patiently explores. A ladybug that isn’t lucky, but more simply, just loved.

“See!” my friend said. “Mary was just waiting for the right time.”

---

If you would like to receive posts directly to your inbox:

Follow the ladybugs wherever they go!