I was wading through the rainwater collected on the side of the house when I noticed an earthworm wiggling away under the water. It was headed away from the soil at a very decent clip.

I placed my foot in its way, hoping to convince it to turn around, but it just kept burrowing under my foot, which tickled. So I reached down to pick it up and throw it back onto the soil, but it recoiled from my fingers and started away from them. I pinched its tail, and it began moving away toward the soil quickly. Whenever it slowed down, I pinched again, and it would dart away. I was impressed by how quickly its undulations propelled it through the water.

When it hit the soil it began moving at a more purposeful pace, clearly grateful to have reached someplace it recognized again. It was soon burrowing under a weed.

I feel like that earthworm, sometimes.

I work hard, shoving myself along on some path I believe is right, when suddenly I hit something hot and ungiving. I can’t go forward, so I try to go around. But it keeps blocking me, prodding and pushing until I have no choice but to go in another direction entirely. I move slowly and unwillingly, only propelled by the occasional pinch. It is only when I reach the soil that I realize how badly I was aiming before, and how fortunate I am that the pinches directed me in a better direction.

I have one advantage over the worm. The worm doesn’t know who pushed it back toward the land, but I know who directs me. And I’ve begun to recognize the pinches, and look up and say, “OK, I’ve been heading wrong, which way do you want to me go?” It’s more painless this way. And I’ve never been disappointed. The Great Pincher up in the sky has never pinched me wrong. I’m very grateful. Thank you, Hashem, for looking after me so carefully.