I Believe in Chasing Dragonflies and Learning to Be Still 

Cheryl Hinton Hooks

  

“It’s just another day in paradise  As you stumble to your bed  You’d give anything to silence  Those voices ringing in your head  You thought you could find happiness  Just over that green hill  You thought you would be satisfied,  But you never will -  Learn to be still.”   

“You think you will be satisfied,

But you never will – Learn to be still.” 

The Eagles

 

* * * * * * * 

Words to this song have become important to me because I need to be reminded on a regular basis to be still!  I discovered “being still” by chasing dragonflies.

* * * * * * * 

My story began at the University of Mount Olive graduation ceremony May 2003. After the ceremony, I was greeted by my husband Gene with a hug and words of congratulations for having been awarded the Thomas R. Morris Award for Excellence in Teaching. Other members of my family, minus two of my three daughters, had been here to greet me earlier. My husband quickly pulled me aside and told me the reason why they were no longer here.  

My daughter Megan had a car accident on the way to the university that day. Seemingly, she was fine, but my oldest daughter Jennifer had left the ceremony to go and take care of her, while my parents and my youngest daughter Amy had gone home to be there when they arrived.  

My daughter Megan drove a convertible. All I could think about that afternoon was rushing home so I could see her to really be sure she was not hurt. 

 “Learn to be still.”  

Megan had been driving with the top down on her car and lost control as she exited off Highway 40 on her way to Mount Olive. Her car began to spin as she unintentionally, as the highway patrolman put it, rearranged the landscape on the exit ramp. As she approached the first tree, she put her head down (and had earlier made sure she had on her seat belt), instantly remembering the recent death of Jason, a high school friend, in such an accident. As her car came to a stop, she was covered with mud and glass.

 

Almost immediately a mother and her two daughters were at Megan’s side and although the two daughters were crying, the mother began to gently clean Megan’s face and prayed with her and told her that help was on the way. The daughters gave Megan a gift of a cross they had hanging from the rear view mirror of their car. The mother assured her that God was there with her. All Megan could do was sit still and allow these strangers to help her.  

Megan came home that afternoon miraculously without a scratch on her but significantly moved by the experience. What affected her most was the presence of the mother and her two daughters.  This, second oldest of my three daughter, my independent, confident daughter, who had been questioning the presence of God and of organized religion, felt God’s presence that afternoon. In the stillness of being helplessly trapped in her car, she felt God’s presence. 

 “Learn to be still.”  

One week later our family was at the Raleigh-Durham Airport to say good-bye to Megan.  She and her closest friend Kelly were leaving for Rome to spend a few days before traveling on the Florence to begin a month long study abroad program. My daughter and her friend Kelly had just completed their sophomore year as architecture majors and were going to Italy to study the culture, the architecture and photography. It was a dream come true. This was a Sunday.  

On Monday night, Megan called me from Rome to assure me they had arrived safe and sound but to tell me that she thought she had a fever. Our youngest daughter Amy had been sick during the day so I assured her that she must have the same virus as her sister. I felt comfortable in this. That is, until the phone rang at 2:00 the next morning, and I was greeted by Megan’s anxious friend. Megan had a high fever and had a terrible pain in her abdomen. A doctor was on the way to the hotel. Each phone call brought a little more information as the hours slowly passed. The doctor said it was her appendix; gave her an antibiotic and a bill for services; she did not get better.  

At this point every member of my family was in some way involved in helping Megan. My sister and her husband have a friend who was a priest with the Vatican in Rome; they called him; he was on his way to help.  

Another call: Megan was worse and Father Iouri Koslovckii, the priest from the Vatican, was taking her to a hospital, the local free hospital, for private hospitals are almost impossible to be admitted to. Finally, the phone call that did anything but help me to be still: a call from Megan on Father Iouri’s cell-phone; she was in such pain, still with a fever, had spent the night in the hall at the hospital for there were no rooms available, she could not understand a word spoken to her but had been taken away for several tests. Megan began to cry.  

When I hung up the phone I sat in a chair in the silence of my kitchen and I began to cry.  

 “Learn to be still. Listen to the silence.”  

I knew I needed to get to Megan but I did not have an up-to-date passport. Within the next three hours everything would change. I called my parents for advice; they called my brother and sister.  My brother Curt called me in his characteristic calm tone, “So, you’re going to Italy. Are you driving to Washington, DC to get an emergency passport? Would you like for me to go with you to get your passport and then on to Italy?”  

I wanted to scream, “Yes, please!!!” My heart certainly was not experiencing a “still” moment. My brother called me back within the hour with the “plan.” He would pick me up at 4:00 the next morning, we would be in Washington DC to get my passport when they opened at 8:30 and then we would fly to Rome from Washington, DC at 5:00 that afternoon. Hotel arrangements were being made by his secretary, with the help of my sister and brother-in-law (Megan’s friend Kelly ended up staying in the same hotel in Rome the night we were flying as did Keanna Reeves, who was in Rome for the opening of the “Matrix”; the only room for the night my brother-in-law could find for Kelly; she was not disappointed.)  

All was being taken care of. My parents provided all I needed. I just had to get ready and settle the matters at home.  All was being provided.  

 “Learn to be still. Listen to the silence.”  

I was as anxious as I could remember being in years. The next call came that Megan was taken into surgery.  By the time she awoke we would be on the road to Washington. Through family phone relaying of information, we were told that Megan’s surgery was a success and that indeed it was her appendix. Father Iouri sent word that the first thing Megan said to him was, “I want to talk to my mother.” By the countless support of my family, especially my brother and my parents, I was by her side the next day. My brother and I spent the next three days taking care of Megan, showing Megan and Kelly parts of Rome, meeting Father Iouri, and finally taking Megan and Kelly to Florence to be with the rest of their class. It was quite an adventure!  

Nevertheless, I prayed and questioned God. “God what am I to learn from this? What was that all about?” Part of my answer came when my daughter emailed me from Florence a few days after my return that she was overwhelmed with how she felt God’s presence watching over her and to see how her family rushed to her side, either in presence or by helping make it all work. The experience was a life changing one for Megan.  

And me?  My answer from God continued to be, “Learn to be still.  Listen to the silence.”  

“Be still and know. Listen to the silence.”

“Megan In Italy” from Meditations – Our Defining Symbols by Cheryl H. Hooks

Oil on watercolor paper 

After my return and once things returned to “normal”, I thought of Megan a few years younger, as I began to help my youngest daughter Amy, then 17 years old, catch bugs for her science project that fall. Amy is the fourth daughter to have to collect bugs. We are experienced bug collectors. One rule is to collect early and to collect as many of the same kind of bug as you can (you always end up breaking off a leg or something).  

When I helped Megan with her bug project, my son Kyle was but a year old. I often took him for stroller rides and worked on photographs to support a series of paintings entitled “Recovery”. One morning I was in my garden and preparing to take Kyle for a walk. I began to collect bugs.  One of the allusive bugs for her collection was a dragonfly. I knew that I had seen dragonflies around the small lily pond at a home a few blocks away. With determination, I pushed Kyle in the stroller to the dragonfly haven. Sure enough, a beautiful dragonfly flew over to the sidewalk. I pulled out the butterfly net, now dragon fly net, and began to chase it down the sidewalk. It did occur to me that several of the residence in my small town must have looked out their windows calling everyone else in their home to join them and asked, “What is she doing?”    

“Fish Pond, Marm Family Home” from Meditations, Our Defining Symbols by Cheryl H. Hooks

Acrylic and oil on hardboard  

Yet, I was determined! I chased that dragonfly for several blocks. Every time it would land on a bush and I would approach, thinking this is the time I would succeed, the dragonfly would escape as if flying right through the net. Across the street, to the Baptist church, then to the parking lot, and finally to the back woods behind the parking lot. . . . I could do it! Pushing the stroller, net in hand, I followed.

  

 

“Dragonfly II” from Meditations, Our Defining Symbols by Cheryl H. Hooks

Acrylic and oil on hardboard

The dragonfly landed on a pile of logs, seemingly left over from a storm, pushed to the back of the church lot. I slowly approached. With one swift swoop I lost the dragonfly again. This time it flew into the woods where I could not follow with the stroller.  Defeat!  

I looked back down at the logs. I stood still in my frustration. “How am I to catch a dragonfly?” I questioned.  I stood still in the silence. Then I realized that the logs on which the dragonfly had just landed, had marks through them, so I kicked a log with my shoe.  

Termites?  Termites! We finally had termites. I was so excited. I’d found termites. I know I must be the only woman in Fremont who has ever been excited to find termites. I “bagged” a few termites (remembering the more than one rule) and returned home with a sense of triumph. Just wait until Megan comes home from school today I thought. Termites!  

  

”Learn to be still. Listen to the silence.”

 

The silence, in the stillness, I am learning that life does not always bring me beautiful dragonflies that I don’t always get what I seek or what I want. Most often, I am given other gifts or life changing, life enriching experiences. For me, the meaning of these gifts and experiences can be heard and understood in the silence, in the stillness.  

“Be still and know that I am God.”  “Be still and know.”  

 

This lesson is an on-going one for me. It began a decade ago. I suspect it will be a life-long lesson.  In conclusion, I want to tell you where my journey into the silence began.  

While I was in graduate school, I struggled initially with the content of my paintings and drawings. I wanted to use imagery relative to my life as a woman. It seemed more acceptable to draw and paint hammers and saws in a Jim Dine fashion, but certainly not tea sets. Nevertheless, I began to create images using a tea set given to me by my mother. This tea set became symbolic to me of my life as a woman and the connection I had with my mother. I approached the subject in a formalistic manner.  

One quiet Saturday afternoon in my studio, as I painted a still life of a piece of the tea set on a shelf with a spot light on it, a heart-breaking event happened. Without warning, the shelf fell off the wall and the pieces fell to the counter below. Broken. Fragmented. Shards of what was dear to me.  For one brief moment I wanted to cry out in sorrow . . . but only for one moment . . . for I had been in the silence for hours and now in the silence I heard God speak to me.  

“Out of the broken, fragmented, shards of your life, I will make something beautiful. Paint!  Paint these shards and know. Know that I am God.”  

My heart began to beat rapidly for I was given a clear direction. In the silence, in the stillness, I understood the meaning of the shards of my life.     

“Broken Pot” by Cheryl H. Hooks

Oil on canvas

To this day, this is what I need to hear on a daily basis. Life will not promise that my family will be safe, that my dreams will come true, or that I will catch the dragonflies I chase daily.  

 “There are so many contradictions 

In all these messages we send 

(We keep asking) 

How do I get out of here? 

Where do I fit in? 

Though the world is torn and shaken

 Even if your heart is breakin’

 It’s waiting for you to awaken 

And someday you will – 

Learn to be still 

Learn to be still” 

In the stillness, in the silence, I hear the source of the questions for my life and better understand the contradictions; the first will be last, give in order to receive, in weaknesses we are made strong, in dying we are born to eternal life, out of the brokenness we experience healing, while chasing dragonflies we are given eyes to see the beauty of it all. 

Out of the silence, out the stillness, I hear these questions:  

“What is the silence, what are the sorrows of the world, what is the Creator asking of me?”  

Listen to the silence. Learn to be still.