Proof The Bible Is True

”How long is six weeks?” eight-year-old Henry asked as I unpacked the praying mantis pod I’d ordered for our science lesson. According to the instructions, that’s how long it would take the eggs inside it to hatch.

 

“It’s a month from now, plus two weeks,” I said. I unwrapped the jar that would hold the pod, and handed Henry and his five-year-old brother, George, the bubble wrap to pop.

 

I felt a pang of guilt. I’d started working as a nanny for Henry and George after my youngest child graduated from high school. We’d been together for three years. When Covid hit I became their homeschool teacher as well. The mantises were part of our science unit on life cycles. We’d studied butterflies, planted beans in the living room, built a garden box outside the window. But this project would be our last.

 

God had been nudging me to leave my nannying job to focus on my own pursuits—photography and writing—full-time. I’d given their mother my notice, but I didn’t want to tell the boys yet. I didn’t want our last weeks together to be overshadowed by my impending departure.

 

I told myself I was making things easier for the boys this way, but maybe I was the one who couldn’t face a goodbye. Maybe I was afraid to embark on a new phase of life.

 

George stuck his nose into the jar, staring at the pod he’d carefully dropped inside.

 

“How many mantises will there be?” asked Henry.

 

Read More: These Praying Mantises Taught Her to Trust in God | Guideposts