By Psykhe Azarraga
I was in bed, trying to sleep. The mindscape was all ready to be calm.
The air conditioner was humming its usual background soundtrack—the modern equivalent of ocean waves for people who cannot afford beachfront property.
Everything was quiet.
Then I heard it.
Ssst. Ssst. Ssst. Ssst.
Pause.
Ssst. Ssst. Ssst.
Pause.
Ssst. Ssst.
Pause.
Then another pattern.
Then another.
At first, I thought it might be a bird.
A night bird perhaps. One with excellent rhythm and too much free time.
But the sound was strange. It wasn’t musical. It wasn’t melodic. It wasn’t even particularly pleasant.
Just a tiny repetitive sound poking holes in the silence, and kind of drillingly dull to the ears.
Most people would have ignored it.
But there I was…
Instead of sleeping like a sensible adult, I began counting.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Then groups of three.
Then five.
Then more threes.
At some point, I found myself conducting a full-scale wildlife investigation from under a blanket.
Not a bird?
So, a cricket, maybe?
But I know the sound of crickets.
Maybe then, some distant cousin of the cricket?
Anyway ….
Junjun was asleep.
Our dogs were asleep.
The entire neighborhood was probably asleep.
Meanwhile, I was mentally interviewing an invisible insect.
“Excuse me, sir. Was that four taps followed by three? Kindly repeat for documentation purposes.”
The insect declined to comment.
What fascinated me was that the sound seemed organized.
Not beautiful.
Organized.
There’s a difference.
A sunset is beautiful.
A symphony is beautiful.
An unseen insect making repetitive noises outside your window sounds more like a tiny construction worker doing overtime.
Yet the longer I listened, the more deliberate it seemed.
The sound itself wasn’t what held my attention.
The pattern did.
And perhaps that is why it stayed with me.
We often imagine that appreciation for creation comes from grand things.
Towering mountains.
Powerful waterfalls.
Star-filled skies.
The kind of things that look impressive on calendars.
But Romans 1:20 says that God’s qualities are clearly seen in the things He made.
It does not specify a minimum size requirement.
It seems an annoying insect qualifies.
Because creation is not only found in things that impress us.
Sometimes it is found in things that simply work.
Things that reveal design.
Things that quietly do what they were made to do.
Even when nobody is watching.
Or applauding.
Or posting them on social media.
Somewhere in the darkness, a tiny creature was carrying out a behavior it had been equipped to perform.
Not to entertain me.
Not to inspire me.
Not to help me write a newspaper column.
Yet there I was, lying awake, marveling at it.
The funny thing is that the insect eventually stopped.
No grand finale.
No curtain call.
No encore.
Just silence.
The performance was over.
But the lesson remained.
The world is filled with familiar miracles.
So familiar, in fact, that we often stop seeing them.
Or hearing them.
Sometimes all it takes is a repetitive little ssst in the darkness to remind us that creation is not only spectacular.
It is intricate.
And occasionally, a little annoying.
Which somehow makes it even more wonderful.
