I sat outside near dusk on my mother’s old green glider praying and
pondering. A vexing problem had left me bewildered. You know the kind―it dogs
your heels and though you pray for a solution, there doesn’t seem
to be one. You don't know what to do next and if we're not watchful, the enemy can bring on crushing discouragement.
A fluttering over at a butterfly bush distracted
me. I got up to investigate and was amazed to find an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail
with shredded wings and part of one tail almost entirely gone. He was still
flying.
The butterfly mirrored the tattered and torn way I felt in the present
circumstance.
The insect had almost fallen victim to some predator, but somehow
escaped―its
scars a tribute to its fierce fight for life. The damage was mostly to the
anterior wings, which aren’t as necessary as the forewings, but still it was
significant. I snapped a few blurry pictures and had to wonder if perhaps God wanted
to say something to me through the butterfly’s appearance at that particular
moment.
Most of us know butterflies are pollinators carrying pollen from plant
to plant to help them produce seeds. This is important work because if plants
don’t produce seeds, we’re in big trouble. A butterfly just goes about his business, broken wings or no broken wings. Despite our sense of
being fractured, God has a purpose for us. It could be bigger than anything we
might imagine. One type of butterfly is even considered a keystone species,
which means the loss of it will cause an entire ecosystem to disappear. We
cannot forget each of our lives bears inestimable value.
A butterfly’s life span is only two to four weeks, so one only has a
few weeks to deal with compromised wings. I can’t help but think of the Apostle
Paul’s words, “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an
eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (I Corinthians 4:17). We need to
view whatever troubles we’re dealing with here through an eternal lens. These
troubles are temporary and something great is in store for us.
I stood for a while studying the
butterfly and then it flapped its wings, took to the sky, and soared out of
sight.
Maybe, just maybe, the insect’s encouraging appearance in my garden was not only for me, but so I could
also write about it here and say to someone who feels their wings torn, “Hey, keep
flying, friend, despite your brokenness. God has a special purpose for you. And
it won’t be long before we see His face.”
I’m praying the visitor to my back yard leaves you with the same thing
it gave me―hope.
