While this past week was a little jagged, it really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for a guy like me. Each week brings its own challenges. Each is filled with opportunities for people to take hold of something and run it into the weeds. That said, I still feel more like talking about something harmless.

And I know just what to share. I was telling Jennifer the story yesterday while we were out and around town together.

Just the day before, while walking to the center of the chancel to begin Matins with our day-school children, I noticed a ladybug on the floor. It stood out. It was a small red dot in a sea of taupe tile heading away from me when I approached. At first, I paid it no mind, except to avoid stepping on it. There were plenty of other things happening in the space before the service began. Pages turning and pews creaking. Not to mention it was Grandparents Day for our school, so the noise was a little more than usual. A ladybug hardly registered.

We began the Office of Matins. The people sang. The liturgy rose and fell in its usual way. A few minutes in, when it came time to sit for the Hymn of the Day, I looked down again. There it was, only now it had traveled nearly twenty feet, journeying straight toward where I was sitting behind the pulpit.

Throughout the hymn, I watched it advance across the tile—slowly, down and then up again through grout lines, seemingly unbothered. Almost determined. Eventually, it reached my shoe. I tried to keep singing. But at the same time, I watched this little thing pause, as if considering its options. And then, suddenly, it climbed aboard. It climbed up onto my shoe and kept heading north. I reached down to tuck my pant leg against my leg so it wouldn’t end up crawling somewhere it shouldn’t. I even shook the pant leg a little to get it to drop back to the floor. But apparently, its presence wasn’t up for negotiation. And so, up the outside of my pant leg it went.

A little more than halfway up my shin, it did something unexpected. It turned in a tiny circle, as though settling itself, and then stopped. That was it. No more wandering. No more exploring. It just stopped. Seemingly content, it stayed put throughout the rest of Matins. In fact, it stayed with me back to my office. It stayed for over an hour as I answered a few emails, made a few phone calls, and then headed out for the rest of the day’s business. Eventually, before leaving the building, I nudged it gently onto the fake palm tree in the corner of my office, figuring its tenacity should be rewarded. Indeed, it had earned a safe place to relax nearby.

That was the end of our little fellowship. I checked the palm tree this morning, but couldn’t find the little guy. Nevertheless, the brief interaction’s memory remains.

I suppose what really stayed with me was its simple insistence on getting to me. As I said, it was headed away from me at first. But then it’s as if it turned to follow. No hesitation. No sign of fear. No instinct to keep at a safe distance. It just crawled across the nave floor until it reached me. And there it stayed.

You know me. You know I’m already looking at this insignificant moment through the lens of the Gospel. Peering through the promises of God, that tiny act of creaturely persistence starts to take on a clearer shape. It’s not that the ladybug somehow found me interesting. It was that, in a space full of motion and sound, it kept a straight course. It didn’t dart sideways. It didn’t steer away when shoes scuffed past it. It simply took aim at one fixed point and then stayed the course.

That steadiness is what matters to me right now, especially in light of the conversations I’ve had this past week about so many different things, some of which led to some unfortunate hand-wringing. It was all very loud sometimes. But that’s more likely to happen in a world where folks react to the noise first and then reconsider the substance later. And then along the way, others get swept into the churn, too. People interpret “likes” as devoted association to one side or the other, rather than the actual content of the messages shared. Social media is toxic in that sense.

But beneath all the commentary, the same question keeps surfacing—at least for the Christians. It’s simply this: Where do Christians anchor themselves when the world becomes chaotic and full of crosscurrents?

That’s where the ladybug wanders back into view. It’s not a theological illustration. Again, through the Gospel’s lens, it’s seen as more of an unexpected reminder of something simple.

The road is uneven before us. We are surrounded by noise, too. Arguments. Opinions. Warnings. Accusations. Some of it is legitimate. Some of it is dreadfully misguided. All of it can be harmful, that is, if it’s allowed to distract.

And heaven knows that none among us are immune to drifting into darker places insulated by sin’s shady perspectives—opinions we think are godly but really aren’t. We end up there because it’s so easy to get pulled sideways by personalities, controversies, or as I said before, the pressure to simply react—to justify one’s position and oneself for the sake of saving face or protecting our own, not necessarily to learn, or to shore up one’s rightness or turn away from error.

In other words, we can get caught up in these things, all the while drifting from Christ and, maybe, never even noticing we’ve drifted until we’ve hit the self-destruct button on a friendship.

But the place we’re meant to be all along—close to Jesus—is not unclear. He has already planted Himself within reach. His Word, His sacramental gifts, His promises, His crucified and risen presence for sinners. Ultimately, the task is not to maneuver around every controversy perfectly, or even successfully. The task is to stay oriented toward Him. To know, even as He’s already with us in the truest sense, still, there is that Christian desire to move closer to Him in the noise, to cling to Him in the confusion. And when we have Him, just stay. Don’t let go. Hold onto Him and go with him where He goes. Eventually, He’s going to nudge you into a place of eternal rest from the busyness. But until then, stay put and hold on.

I suppose that’s the point I eventually came back to, and it’s one far more fitting for us, God’s people, than for the tiny creature that accidentally taught it.

Stay near Jesus. Keep toward Him, even when the world is noisy and uncertain, whether the ground is level or suddenly pitching low and then high—those moments of distraction that seem to come out of nowhere during life’s regular moments. Draw close to the One who has already drawn close to you. Don’t wander. Don’t negotiate terms. Don’t look for somewhere “better.” Hold onto Him. And then, just stay. Nestle in and stay. Because the safest place for any creature in God’s world is with Jesus.

A ladybug on a tile floor reminded me of that. And maybe, no matter what your week was like, it can be a reminder for you, too.