The Ladybug That Stayed: A Lesson in Stillness and Disruption

A few nights ago, I was sitting on my couch, minding my business, watching TV, when I heard a faint noise. My dog and I both looked around, searching for the source. Then I saw it—a lone ladybug perched on the light fixture.

Normally, my instinct would be to remove it—swat it away, pluck it off, get rid of it. But this time, something in my spirit said, leave it be. So, I did. The noise eventually stopped, and for two days, that ladybug settled onto my window blind. Not moving. Not making a sound. Just still—yet fully alive.

At first, I thought nothing of it. But then, I realized the ladybug had shown up in a season where my thoughts had been anything but still. Lately, my mind has felt like a flood—waves of emotions, ideas, and uncertainties crashing over each other, making it difficult to compartmentalize or even discern which thoughts were truly mine.

As someone who experiences seasonal depression, winter can be tough. I have my coping mechanisms, but this January and early February have felt different. Maybe it’s because I’m months away from turning 40. Maybe it’s because I’m approaching the 20-year mark of surviving a near-death drowning incident in college—a moment where I saw the white light and heard God say, “You are giving up too easily. I am not done with you yet.” Those words have been a cornerstone of how I live my life, pushing me to persist, to disrupt, to lead boldly.

And now, as I enter 2025 with the theme Permission Granted, I feel a shift happening. Great things are unfolding around me, for my good. But with that shift, I had a brief moment of feeling… unworthy.

Then, I thought about the ladybug.

A symbol of good fortune, love, happiness. A creature designed to control pests—to rid an environment of what doesn’t belong. And I had to ask myself:

What are the pests in my life right now?

What thoughts, habits, or distractions need bold disruption to make space for something greater?

The ladybug didn’t fight to be seen. It didn’t force its presence. It simply was. A silent, powerful reminder that I am in a good season. That I don’t have to control everything. That clarity and purpose will reveal themselves in stillness.

So, as I move forward, I’m embracing the lesson of the ladybug:

Be still when needed. Disrupt when necessary. And trust that you are exactly where you need to be.