— a Glimpse of Wonder entry™ —

It sounds like something out of a desert horror movie: a cactus that leaps out to attack unsuspecting hikers. But despite its infamous nickname, the jumping cholla doesn’t actually jump. It just lets go—and lets gravity (and your clothing) do the rest.

The cholla’s spiny segments are lightly attached to the plant’s main body. All it takes is the brush of a pant leg, a curious dog, or an unfortunate ankle—and snap!—a segment detaches and sticks like Velcro reinforced with fishhooks. The barbed spines embed themselves deeply and stubbornly, making removal a painful process.

But as vicious as it seems, there’s no malice in its method. This clever defense doubles as a strategy for reproduction. Each segment that breaks off has the potential to root itself and become a new cactus. What we experience as a prickly ambush is, to the cholla, just propagation.

So next time you wander through cactus country, tread lightly. The cholla’s method may be sharp, but its purpose is soft—survival, multiplication, and quiet persistence in a sun-scorched world.

And isn’t that just like Jehovah? What feels inconvenient or painful in our lives may serve a much bigger purpose than we see at the moment. As Ecclesiastes 3:11 reminds us: “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” Even a cactus with a temper.