They arrived unexpectedly. Droves of iridescent winged, whirring devourers descending from the heavens in a terrifying cloud of wrangling destruction. Some thought it looked like a cloud of snow, but that would be unusual since it was July in Kansas. Over some regions, the sun was blocked out for hours, reappearing only to illuminate horrific carnage in the land below. Crops were ravaged, cupboards ransacked, curtains and clothing ruined.
Nothing was safe. The animals were harassed. Sheep’s wool eaten from their backs. Horses’ harnesses devoured from their heads. General havoc reigned as the locusts–those little, insignificant hoppers–had their say.
And have their say they did. They stayed for days, single-mindedly wreaking havoc and terror. Farmers tried everything to destroy the locusts. At least everything available in 1874. Fires, exploding gunpowder, shotgun blasts and beating at them with boards or farm tools all failed to dispel the pests. Some ingenious folks created a device to harvest the locusts. It failed. Another mastermind invented a suction machine to vacuum them up into a bag, but it worked only marginally. All avenues of defense were useless. The locusts were eating their year.
Eventually the nasty pests moved on, but the damage left in their wake was devastating. Families didn’t have food to see them through the winter. Many were forced to return to the East, their dreams of a new life in the West dying as the locusts moved to the next stop. Others were held in place by debts. Some couldn’t bear to leave the loved ones they’d buried on the frontier behind. Still others simply refused to give up, called in resources from the federal and territorial governments, family and friends, even mortgaged their properties.
The devastation was far-reaching. Not everyone survived. Neighbors tried to help neighbors. Some tried to provide food by hunting and trapping. Others gathered old buffalo bones and horns from the prairie to sell at railroad hubs. Yet entire families died for want of food. Things were desperate.
Finally, good news came. Aid came from the East. Seeds, money, and supplies arrived. The federal government made exceptions to the residency requirements so landowners could leave to work and better their situation without worry that their land would be lost to another. Soldiers distributed coats, boots, shoes, blankets, food and other items to families across four states and two territories. And when the spring of 1875 came and the multitudes of eggs laid by locusts the previous year started to hatch, God sent a snowstorm and hard frost that killed most of them and allowed farmers time to replant their crops. (1) Because when it is all said and done, His promise forever stands, “…I will restore the years the locust has eaten…” (Joel 2:25)
I’ve never seen locusts come in droves, destroying everything in their wake. You likely haven’t either. We are, however, living through a pandemic that is wreaking similar havoc on our lives. Like the settlers of 1874-75, people are losing their livelihoods, savings, stability, even their sanity. Some have lost their lives. It has been devastating. For businesses, families, educational institutions, the year seems ruined. Although we are starting to poke our heads out of the proverbial turtle shell to which we ran, recovery seems a distant dream. If the memes on social media are to be believed, the virus has eaten our year.
Admittedly, it feels that way. We are nearly halfway through 2020. The year feels a bit of a waste. It makes me wonder if we’ve spent our quarantine in proper pursuits. Bogged down in the worry, anxiety and fear the whole mess has brought, have we vowed to believe that God is still Sovereign? Have we sought Him more? Have we intentionally cast our cares on Him? Do we trust Him? Is our hope for the future in God’s power or human machinations?
I’m sitting here on my back porch with my Bible, coffee, and computer. The sky is cloudy, somewhat stormy. The wind is blowing. My mind and fingers are typing. A storm is raging in my heart. Two years ago God made me a promise. He didn’t give me a time frame. He simply promised. In December, we got a phone call that seemed like He had finally fulfilled His promise. (Not a moment too soon, in my opinion.) Then, last night, we received an e-mail explaining that because of some effects of the virus, our answer had been waylaid. It might be another year or more in the making. The virus ate my answer. I’d be lying if I said my faith isn’t a little shaky right now.
Somewhere, on another porch or maybe at a kitchen table, someone else is bent over a smaller than usual bank statement trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage, the electric, the water, and still feed the kids. The effects of the virus strike again. Behind a dimly lit desk, at the back of a storefront darkened by stay-at-home orders, someone is desperately juggling numbers, hoping against hope they can ride out the closure and keep their business afloat. The virus takes another bite. All around us we see and feel its devastation. Children are hungry because the meals they normally get at school are no longer available. They are enduring abuse that could be caught if teachers, some of the main reporters to abuse agencies, were still seeing them in classrooms every day. Where things have been tight and frustrating before, the virus has made them untenable. It feels like the virus is eating our year.
In sympathy, empathy, and camaraderie, my heart wrestles with these issues in our lives. My eyes overflow. I find myself raising my tear dampened face to the sky and crying, “God, aren’t You still sovereign?” The answer is immediate, echoing back words from Exodus 3:14, “I am.” And I know it is true. I also know Malachi 3:6 is true. God does not change. Ever. So as I read how God rescued His people from horrendous circumstances through a series of wildly unheard of events–bloody water, hordes of frogs, gnats, flies, dying animals, seeping boils, hail, locusts, darkness, and death–I also remind myself that God does not change. (Exodus 1-14) He is planning a rescue, a respite, a restoration. Just like He did for the Israelites. Just like He did for the settlers in 1875. God is still at work and we can trust Him.
We can trust that our concerns matter to God. Our children matter. Our circumstances matter. (Matthew 6:25-33) He wants us to bring these concerns to Him. (I Peter 5:7) He wants us to trust Him to hold us up and bring us through. (Psalm 55:22) He wants us to put all our eggs in His basket. Our burgeoning hope, our shaky faith, our wavering confidence must be in Christ alone. (Psalm 20:7, I Chronicles 5:20) Because God is still Sovereign, He never changes, and His promises to His people forever stand. (I Chronicles 29:11-12, Hebrews 13:8, Numbers 23:19)
So a virus tried to eat our year. Are we going to let it? Or are we going to look back at all the tough times God has brought us through, gather the last vestiges of our faith, and step trustingly into a future secured by our Sovereign, trustworthy, unchanging God?
(1) Lyons, Chuck (6 May 20). 1874: The Year of the Locust. Retrieved from https://www.historynet.com/1874-the-year-of-the-locust.htm