| Miracle Of The Monarch Butterfly |
MIRACLE OF THE MONARCH BUTTERFLY
by LC
Let me tell you a story that I now understand has been used to help personally push
me forward in my pursuit of truth. As I think back, I must have been about six
years old one warm summer day out in the country. Underneath the tall elm trees,
a boy could find lots of new things to explore at my childhood home. I still
remember goldfinches and a blackbird or two, noisily gathering in the branches high
above me, while I ate my orange Popsicle. Surrounded by lilac bushes, pines and
rock gardens, my eyes longed to take in more of nature's beauty, while I enjoyed
my cool treat. I loved nature and the outdoors.
Having finished eating, I just happened to look upward to see a beautiful Monarch
butterfly floating slightly above me. Now, I had seen butterflies before, but
something was strangely different with this one. Dancing on air, as if on a string,
this graceful insect happily toyed with me. As I waved my Popsicle stick in the air
like a swordsman, the butterfly swooped back and forth at me, enjoying every
"swoosh" of our little game! As this went on for awhile, I could hardly believe how
much fun it was to have this butterfly play with me and to see him dodge every
swing of the stick.
Just then, in the middle of our fun, the wooden stick ripped through the butterfly's
fragile wing. To my horror, he plummeted to the ground, being reduced to lying
helpless at my feet. I easily could see one of his wings had been torn in two and I
knew the days of flight were over. As tears flowed in my moment of heartbreak
and desperation, I scooped up the little insect and gently placed him in my red,
plastic fireman's helmet, from our garage. With tear-streamed cheeks I showed my
mom the helmet and its contents. "What can I do?," I sobbed. "Take the butterfly
into our garden and ask God for His help," she replied. My family hardly ever went
to church, but my parents still believed in God.
Our garden was a good walk behind our house and all sorts of weeds had taken
over this season. While I struggled to push my way into the garden through the tall
weeds, I decided not to go in very deep. In a strange way, the weeds surrounded
me and the butterfly, like walls of a sanctuary. Kneeling down with the injured
creature still in the fireman's helmet in front of me, I cried out to God. To this day, I
don't recall what I said; maybe, it wasn't even what I said. I just remember the
child-like faith of a little boy who believed with his whole heart and could not doubt
what his mother had told him. My swollen, soaked eyes slowly gazed upward to
see it happen. That Monarch butterfly slowly and deliberately walked up onto the
brim of the helmet, stretched forth his perfect wings and looked at me for maybe
thirty seconds. Then, in a moment of triumph, he took flight, never to be seen by
me, again.
Perhaps the release I felt inside of having not destroyed the beautiful butterfly meant
the most to me that day. But now, while my thoughts retrace the events of
thirty-some years past, I wonder where that little boy went - a child who did not
doubt, but knew God and His ability to make a fallen thing right. Like the butterfly,
that little boy disappeared. Maybe I can still find him, once again.
by LC
Let me tell you a story that I now understand has been used to help personally push
me forward in my pursuit of truth. As I think back, I must have been about six
years old one warm summer day out in the country. Underneath the tall elm trees,
a boy could find lots of new things to explore at my childhood home. I still
remember goldfinches and a blackbird or two, noisily gathering in the branches high
above me, while I ate my orange Popsicle. Surrounded by lilac bushes, pines and
rock gardens, my eyes longed to take in more of nature's beauty, while I enjoyed
my cool treat. I loved nature and the outdoors.
Having finished eating, I just happened to look upward to see a beautiful Monarch
butterfly floating slightly above me. Now, I had seen butterflies before, but
something was strangely different with this one. Dancing on air, as if on a string,
this graceful insect happily toyed with me. As I waved my Popsicle stick in the air
like a swordsman, the butterfly swooped back and forth at me, enjoying every
"swoosh" of our little game! As this went on for awhile, I could hardly believe how
much fun it was to have this butterfly play with me and to see him dodge every
swing of the stick.
Just then, in the middle of our fun, the wooden stick ripped through the butterfly's
fragile wing. To my horror, he plummeted to the ground, being reduced to lying
helpless at my feet. I easily could see one of his wings had been torn in two and I
knew the days of flight were over. As tears flowed in my moment of heartbreak
and desperation, I scooped up the little insect and gently placed him in my red,
plastic fireman's helmet, from our garage. With tear-streamed cheeks I showed my
mom the helmet and its contents. "What can I do?," I sobbed. "Take the butterfly
into our garden and ask God for His help," she replied. My family hardly ever went
to church, but my parents still believed in God.
Our garden was a good walk behind our house and all sorts of weeds had taken
over this season. While I struggled to push my way into the garden through the tall
weeds, I decided not to go in very deep. In a strange way, the weeds surrounded
me and the butterfly, like walls of a sanctuary. Kneeling down with the injured
creature still in the fireman's helmet in front of me, I cried out to God. To this day, I
don't recall what I said; maybe, it wasn't even what I said. I just remember the
child-like faith of a little boy who believed with his whole heart and could not doubt
what his mother had told him. My swollen, soaked eyes slowly gazed upward to
see it happen. That Monarch butterfly slowly and deliberately walked up onto the
brim of the helmet, stretched forth his perfect wings and looked at me for maybe
thirty seconds. Then, in a moment of triumph, he took flight, never to be seen by
me, again.
Perhaps the release I felt inside of having not destroyed the beautiful butterfly meant
the most to me that day. But now, while my thoughts retrace the events of
thirty-some years past, I wonder where that little boy went - a child who did not
doubt, but knew God and His ability to make a fallen thing right. Like the butterfly,
that little boy disappeared. Maybe I can still find him, once again.
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"When we look at
life through a child's
eyes, my how our
view on life is so
different. Children
do not share with
adults preconceived
notions about what
is true. They just
believe. As we grow
older and become
conditioned, the
things we learn
dictate how we
currently see the
world around us."
-LC
life through a child's
eyes, my how our
view on life is so
different. Children
do not share with
adults preconceived
notions about what
is true. They just
believe. As we grow
older and become
conditioned, the
things we learn
dictate how we
currently see the
world around us."
-LC