flies are stupid

Zip. Bang. Zip. Bang.

The bulbous black body of a fly slaps haphazardly against the wide light-washed wall of my study. It has been at it for a half an hour and isn't showing signs of stopping. Nothing changes. Flies are stupid.

* * * * *

I've been working. Tirelessly one might say, except that I'm tired. I am trying to make progress without a clear aim or goal. I am pushing through an invisible wall toward that vague and elusive sense of "accomplishment." And so I throw myself into what I'm doing full force.

Why isn't anyone helping me? Why isn't God helping me? He could get me through this, couldn't he?

* * * * *

Tired of watching the fly's painful ordeal I grab a piece of paper and herd him carefully away from the wall. I slowly move him - dumbly smacking against every broad surface along the way - out the front door. And suddenly, in all the brilliance of simply being where he was meant to be all along, the fly confidently zips away. Stupid fly. It knows nothing of doors or directions. It knows nothing; except for that blessed sense of where it is and isn't supposed to be.