I haven’t seen a praying mantis since I was very young, and even then, I think it was in an aquarium in biology class. I knew precisely three facts about the mantis: a) it can change color like a chameleon, b) the female will bite the head off the male after mating, and c) a gigantic one ate an entire Eskimo village in a movie once, and could totally kick the collective asses of all those ants in Them!

In later life, I’d also heard that a mantis is a symbol of something or other (good luck, probably), but by that point it had been a long time since biology class and I sort of forgot they existed.

Until recently.

At the barn last weekend, I arrived to discover a praying mantis sitting quietly on my white saddle pad, as if it had been there since the beginning of time. I won’t lie: I jumped gracelessly backward about four feet when I saw it, since it resembled a tiny alien that I could only imagine wanted to crawl inside my ear and eat my brain. A couple of deep breaths reminded me that mantises exist, and (unless you’re Mr. Mantis) they’re not particularly aggressive. Since my saddle pad was a rather integral part of that day’s plans, I gently scooted the grey bug onto a nearby bush and watched in fascination as it turned a perfect shade of green. Immediately, I fought back the impulse to go grab a plaid saddle pad and determine the true potential of the bug’s color-changing abilities.

It was fascinating to be reminded of such a unique species that I hadn’t seen in fifteen years, but by the time I finished my ride, the experience was long forgotten.

This evening, I left my yoga class and approached my car in the dark, rainy parking lot. I had just shuffled my keys out of my purse and opened the driver’s side door when I realized that I was directly eye-level with another praying mantis. No, holy jumping Jesus, there were TWO of them! And they were large, easily twice the size of last week’s visitor. They sat—still as ever—on the roof of my car amidst the beads of rain, approximately eight inches from my face. Looking at me.

I froze and looked back at them, wondering if they were calculating the best moment to fly directly at my eyeballs. Where did they come from? The dance studio where I take my yoga class is in the middle of a busy intersection, nowhere near an abundance of trees or even a grassy median. My car was in the middle of a whole row of other cars, and I could not see, to the best of my ability, any other vehicles covered in gigantic insects. The two mantises did not appear to be interacting with one another at all, so that somewhat allayed my fears that there was about to be a passionate beheading on the roof of my Camry. They simply sat. And watched.

There were still a couple of other girls waiting nearby under the dance studio’s overhang, and I thought it might look strange if I just stood there, staring at the roof of my car for very much longer. I didn’t really know what to do about the bugs, so I opted to do nothing. I lowered myself quickly into the driver’s seat and shut the door, desperately hoping one of my new friends hadn’t stepped off the edge of the roof and into my hair on my way in. I guessed I would just start to drive, and see if the mantises stayed with me or not.

During the drive home, I pondered the significance of the creatures. I knew a visit from a praying mantis was supposed to mean something, symbolically, but I had no idea what. After fifteen years of nothing at all, what had I done to deserve three visits all of a sudden? It’s a strange, unsteady time in my life right now (I’ve been laid off from my job, am trying to figure out where to live, and am preparing funeral travel for the sudden death of my uncle this week), but does that mean I have had spiritual insects dispatched to deliver me some sort of message? Because, with all apologies to the dispatcher, I have no earthly idea what that message is. I am not fluent in bug. I never even made it past Spanish 2. And really, the dispatcher should probably know that I am a little bit insect-phobic and have seen far too many horror movies to be all that receptive to a creature that looks like this:


There is, of course, the possibility that mantises are simply infesting the greater Omaha area like a plague of locusts, but I prefer to not to pursue that train of thought.

At any rate, by the time I got home this evening, one mantis remained on the rainy roof of my car while the other one presumably experienced the biggest and scariest water slide ever. The remaining mantis is currently enjoying a very dry evening in my garage. I didn’t stop to think about how it would get out of my garage, but I will be interested to see where it is (or isn’t) tomorrow morning.

When I got home, I googled the symbolism of the mantis, and came up with this:

The praying mantis is the oldest symbol of God: the African Bushman’s manifestation of God come to Earth, “the voice of the infinite in the small,” a divine messenger. When one is seen, diviners try to determine the current message. In this culture they are also associated with restoring life into the dead. “Mantis” is the Greek word for “prophet” or “seer,” a being with spiritual or mystical powers.

The praying mantis shows the way. In the Arabic and Turkish cultures a mantis points pilgrims to Mecca, the holiest site in the Islamic world. In Africa it helps find lost sheep and goats. In France, it's believed that if you are lost the mantis points the way home.

"Follow Mantis" means putting that core aspect of yourself, your foundation of Spirit, at the helm and let it direct your intellect and ultimately your life.

The mantis comes to us when we need peace, quiet and calm in our lives. Usually the mantis makes an appearance when we've flooded our lives with so much business, activity, or chaos that we can no longer hear the still small voice within us because of the external din we've created.

After observing this creature for any length of time you can see why the symbolism of the praying mantis deals with stillness and patience. The mantis takes her time, and lives her life at her own silent pace.

These traits have lead the mantis to be a symbol of meditation and contemplation. In fact, in China, the mantis has long been honored for her mindful movements.

The mantis never makes a move unless she is 100% positive it is the right thing for her to do. This is a message to us to contemplate and be sure our minds and souls all agree together about the choices we are making in our lives.

Overwhelmingly in most cultures the mantis is a symbol of stillness. As such, she is an ambassador from the animal kingdom giving testimony to the benefits of meditation, and calming our minds.

An appearance from the mantis is a message to be still, go within, meditate, get quite and reach a place of calm. It may also a sign for you to be more mindful of the choices you are making and confirm that these choices are congruent.