A few days later the monarchs hit. I saw one, and then another, and then others all day long, before I consciously understood that I was witnessing a migration, and it wasn't until another two weeks had passed that I realized the enormity of what I had seen.
Dillard is right. None of us really understand it when we see something amazing, whether it's a herd of monarch butterflies or a 104-year-old woman square dancing. Human beings have such limited visions. We get up, go to work or school or Walmart, earn or spend some money, come home and eat, watch some TV or read a book, and, eventually, go to bed. Our day-to-days are pretty day-to-day. If a miracle happens, it's almost like fitting a square peg in a round hole. Like Dillard says, it takes two weeks to recognize the enormity of it.
Tonight, I went to a football game to hear my daughter play in the pep band. In the bleachers, I was surrounded by a frothing crowd of football moms who kept screaming things like "Let's go, DEFENSE!!!" and "Way to go NATE!!!" It was loud and distracting. At times, I was compelled by the group mentality to jump to my feet and clap, even though I had no idea what I was jumping and clapping for.
I only stayed for the first two quarters. At halftime, the band played a few more selections, and then I got a text from my daughter: "Come get me." So I picked up my book (yes, I brought a book to read) and Diet Mountain Dew, and I went in search of my car in the crowded parking lot. Thank God for cars that beep when you push a button.
There was a moment, though, where I saw something a little miraculous tonight. It was near the end of the second quarter. The sun had been blazing all evening long, and then, in one moment, it was gone, as if God had reached up and flipped a switch. The temperature dropped, and we were sitting in darkness. It was kind of astounding.
So, at the beginning of the Labor Day weekend, in the bleachers at a football game, surrounded by a pack of rabid football fans, Saint Marty was handed another Alleluia moment.