Marcia Moston
A quick, simple stop at the nursery for a couple of knock
out rose bushes turned into a month’s worth of worry and wonder.
I was all ready to check out when the attendant, Maxine, held
up a pot with a solitary plant. “In two weeks this will be a monarch butterfly.”
I stared at the acorn-shaped chrysalis suspended by a tiny strand from the
underside of a leaf.
Like any other school child, at some point in my elementary
education, I had learned about the four stages of a butterfly, but although I
had dutifully memorized diagrams in my textbook, I had never witnessed this
transformation. Maxine examined another plant, found a tiny larva on the
underside of a leaf, held it up for me to see and smiled.
There’s a time for learning facts, and there’s a time for experiencing
wonder. I was ready for wonder.
I placed the caterpillar-bearing blood flower in the back
seat of my car and drove as cautiously as a new mother with a Baby On Board! bumper
sticker.
As it turned out, there were three, not one, larva, two of
them about a week behind the first in development. The first chomped its way up
one leaf and down another. Then one day, just when it was so fat, it was
beginning to cross the line from fascinating to creepy, it climbed out of the
pot, down the table, across the room and up the end stand. Every time I caught
it and put it back, it escaped again.
This restlessness. I recognize it. This unsettled urging
that precedes life change and drives mothers-to-be to make nests.
That night the caterpillar found its spot, anchored itself
into a little silk wad and waited. A week later, the other two did the same.
Day after day, I sit at my desk and watch them there on the
windowsill. They hang silent, these pale green capsules crowned with rims of
gold. Their seeming stillness belies the activity surging through the cells
within these monarchs-in-the-making.
One at a different stage than the other. But each in its own perfect time.
I’m reminded of another time a few thousand years ago when
another body lay still as though dead. And yet the power of transformation that
must have surged through his mortal frame and raised it as glory!
It’s a good lesson for those times in my own life when it
seems nothing is happening, that I’ve stalled, suspended—at times upside down
even.
And then two weeks later, as timely as the ebb and flow of
tides, as sure as the circle of the earth around the sun, right on time as
perfectly planned, the chrysalis darkens as the black and orange of wings
appear.
And then, it emerges, head first, wings unfolding, the
chrysalis splits and marvel of marvels!
How perfect are God’s ways! How perfect is his time. How
wondrous is this marvel of transformation and all things made new!
O me of little faith. May I remember I too, am royalty in
the making!
I've been gone awhile, but it's good to be back and to see you here,
Blessings abundant,
Marcia
What an incredible story, Marcia. Did you really have a butterfly in your house? What an amazing experience. I love how you've likened its development and transformation from a caterpillar to a butterfly to our growth as Christians. Especially the part of how when it appears nothing is happening, there is great change occurring underneath. So encouraging.
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