I’ve said before that I believe wholeheartedly that God packaged each of His creations with lessons and messages and instructions. The story of the ladybug tree is a true story. It took place in our little backyard over the span of four springs. I don’t want to spoil the story, so I’ll just say that this spring, the fourth spring, was when the lesson hit home for me. Now, as it is with almost everything I’ve written, this is a rough draft. It needs polishing, and it needs some illustrations a la Jim Lamarche, but hopefully the point of it comes across. The pictures are from our backyard, from our Ladybug Tree. We saw it all, and I for one will never forget it.
The Ladybug Tree
A sweet little plum tree awoke one spring to find her branches covered in aphids. She spent all winter saving up her energy for the beautiful new leaves that would decorate every one of her limbs, and before they could even begin to unfurl, they were deformed and devoured. The blossoms she tried to sprout were withered and wasted. She wept for the loss of her beauty and bounty.
One day, a passing ladybug alighted on her lowest branch, where the aphids were thickest. The plum tree sighed. What could one little ladybug do? The tiny, plump insect feasted on aphids for days, but didn’t make a difference. The plum tree expected her to leave once she had her fill, but instead, the ladybug stayed. As the plum tree watched, the polka dotted insect laid a clutch of tiny, orange eggs. Still, thought the tree, what could ten little ladybugs do?
Soon, the eggs hatched and a dozen itty-bitty black and orange larvae scuttled over her branches. She couldn’t help but smile despite her despair; the larvae looked like wee little alligators and they tickled as they scurried this way and that, filling their bellies with the aphids. Even though they ate and ate and ate, it indeed did not seem to make a difference. As the days passed, more ladybugs noticed the aphid-infested plum tree and thought what a nice place it might be to lay their eggs. Before long, the tree had hundreds of larvae chomping and munching and growing all over her.
She watched as each one of them found just the right spot on her bark to hold on tight and, in just a few moments’ time, change from the tiny black and orange alligator to a tiny sunset orange armadillo, wrapped up tight and hardened on the outside.
She cradled the eggs, she delighted in the larvae, and she waited and waited for the pupae to hatch. One morning, as the sun climbed over the mountain to reach down and give her a good morning kiss on her topmost branches, the shell of one of the pupae began to twitch and wiggle. By the time the sun reached her lowest branches, the new ladybug, as yellow and bright as the sun greeting it, sat atop the now-empty pupa shell and waited for its spots. While it waited, it snacked on passing aphids. By the time the sun reached its peak, the new ladybug had blushed red and donned several perfect black spots.
By the evening, it was joined by several of its siblings and cousins. The plum tree kept watch over them until they were strong enough to fly away. She waited for every egg to hatch, for every larvae to pupate, for every new ladybug to emerge and find the strength and lift off. By the time summer arrived, all she was left with was empty eggs, empty shells, and empty branches. She had forgotten her sorrows for a brief moment while she watched the little army work on her behalf, while she enjoyed their company and partook in the tiny miracles that each stage brought. Her leaves didn’t turn to gold in the fall like they used to; they faded to a crispy brown and crumbled off her branches as the canyon winds grew sharper and colder. As she slept through the winter, she dreamed of waking to dazzling green leaves and sweet, plump plums. As her snowy winter blanket melted away and the daffodils and hyacinths poked their heads up, she held her breath. The apple tree across the yard burst into pink and white blossoms and sagey new leaves. The aspen at the other end of the yard sprouted its catkins–caterpillar-like flower spikes that preceded the heart-shaped leaves. The lilac bush sprouted the tiny buds that would grow to become its glorious blooms. And the plum tree dared hope. But as the sun warmed, the aphids appeared. Just as many as last year. Maybe more. Just as ravenous, just as destructive, and her heart was just as broken.
When the first ladybug laid the first clutch of eggs, it still did not raise her spirits. The first tickles of the larvae legs along her branches only earned a forlorn sigh. How could this happen to her again? Would she ever be beautiful again? Would she ever be happy again? Would she ever be herself again? Was this forever? When the first pupa hatched, she couldn’t help but let the smallest smile escape, and more sighs, but these ones a bit less mournful and a bit more resigned. If she had to be infested with aphids, at least there were the ladybugs to keep her company.
She sent each new aphid-devouring warrior off with a kiss, and as summer approached and their numbers dwindled, she wondered if she might see them again in the spring. Brown leaves again adorned her limbs, and then the snow tucked her in for another winter. As she sensed the coming spring, she wondered how many ladybugs would be there to greet her. Spring came, and she tried to ignore the pit in her heart over the once-again mangled leaves and destroyed blossoms, and instead did her best to greet her friends with a smile.
She sheltered the eggs, she laughed at the larvae, she patiently waited for the pupae to hatch, and she joyously watched the yellow newborns flush red and earn their spots. And then she kissed each one goodbye.
Brown leaves, snowy blanket, whispers of spring, anticipation of the tiny miracles to come. Eggs, larvae, pupae, golden babies, rosy beetles. Wrinkled and tattered leaves, withered and chewed blossoms…well, she was used to that now. She felt the sun warming her up, thawing her from the outside in. She stretched her branches, waking up slowly, ready for what would come. She stretched and stretched and…her leaves unfurled, untouched and gloriously green and beautiful.
Her blossoms burst open, perfect and radiant. She could hardly believe it! She looked under this branch and that, searching for the ladybugs so she could tell them the news, so she could celebrate with them. All she found were the remnants of last year’s eggs and pupae shells.
Not an orange egg in sight. No itty-bitty alligators. She was alone. She wept and wept, hardly believing that she was truly healed, that the ladybugs had done it! Spring after spring they worked and worked, ate and ate, and every summer she knew it wasn’t over, she knew the aphids would be back. But this time, it was different. This time, she was beautiful again. She rejoiced in the plums that grew. She delighted in the golden fall that came next. And when she went to bed under the snow, she knew there might be more aphids one day, but she wasn’t afraid. Right now, she was whole. Right now, she had reason to hope for another beautiful spring to come. How grateful she was to be healed! And oh…oh, how she missed the ladybugs.
This was such a lovely experience for my family. My children and I could often be found by the ladybug tree, watching for eggs and larvae and pupae. We watched ladybugs lay their eggs, we watched larvae turn into pupae, we watched them hatch into new ladybugs. These were miracles that only took place because the aphids were present. What trees in your life are infested with aphids? Perhaps it’s a struggling relationship, or mistake you made, or a troubling question. Maybe it’s a bad habit or a grievance you can’t seem to forgive. Whatever it is…watch for the ladybugs. They’ll come in many forms, and they might be hard to recognize, and perhaps they won’t seem like they’re doing much good. They will be consistent and persistent, and yet it might take time. Years. I’m grateful for loving heavenly parents and a gracious Savior who are consistent and persistent in their fight for our peace and happiness, and yet sometimes allow healing to be slow enough that we don’t miss the glorious miracles that can only come amidst trials. How grateful I am when my trees are healed. But oh, how I miss the ladybugs.
What a beautiful story. I can't put my finger on why exactly, but it reminds me The Giving Tree. Really powerful!