The boys and I ordered some caterpillars online over the summer. It was too hot for them to ship live creatures most of the summer but in mid August, our package arrived. We received four small caterpillars in a cup full of food. Just like in the book, the caterpillars filled their time with eating, and quickly grew fat and lethargic. Three of them formed a chrysalis and I think the fourth will get there soon. The chrysalises were formed on a thin piece of paper that I transferred into our butterfly "habitat" (a tall collapsible enclosure covered in netting). Before I could transfer the paper, one chrysalis fell and I was too afraid to try to reattach it with a pin, so I just transferred it to the floor of the new habitat. Saturday, the first of our caterpillars emerged as a Painted Lady butterfly.
I woke up and saw it already completely out of the chrysalis, wings full and flat, completely still as it clung to the papery remains of it's last home. After an hour or so, it slowly started to open and close it's wings. Isaac watched with curiosity. "Why isn't it flying, Mom? Make it fly!"
I responded with the realization that this insect was discovering his wings for the first time. "It's never used wings before, Isaac! Give it time!" I was completely amazed and in wonder at this being whose last movement had been inching a long, plump body up to the top of a small cup and now was discovering what wings could do.
I don't imagine that butterflies have intricate thoughts, but Oh, how I wondered what it must be like to stretch a new part of your anatomy that you've never used before. Does it know instinctively that wings are used to fly? Does it know that flying is what it is supposed to do now? Or does it fall for the first time and clumsily flap its wings, "Whoa, Whooah!" and eventually, after hours of practice, figure out how to fly? I watched as it's proboscis (tongue) curled in and out and realized everything has changed for this little guy. He has to relearn how to eat and find a taste for nectar. Every millimeter of his tiny body is new and different.
I let all of these thoughts and observations sit in my head for a few days. I thought surely, there must be a blog post in here somewhere. I could talk about metamorphosis and how completely a being changes. How after the change there is a slow relearning of everything. I could relate it to this new phase of my life. I could compare the butterfly and how it tested out it's new curly tongue, to my new daily routine, testing out my writing and learning how to function in a quiet house again. But none of that really seemed to be drawing my hands to the keyboard. I could talk about the time it takes to learn to fly, just like babies take a year or so to learn to walk. I could write about how eventually you have to let the things you love go.
On Sunday morning, a new butterfly had emerged. I found the chrysalis that had fallen to be empty on the habitat floor. The butterfly that emerged had crawled a few inches up the netting. His wings were crimped in odd places and I wondered if they'd straighten out as they dried. They didn't.
We haven't seen this new butterfly fly yet. He'll flap his wings and shake like he's trying to straighten out his wings. When I try to reach for him, to see if I can help he backs away and flutters off to another corner of the cage. I could write a blog about needing help. I could write about being imperfect, but how it makes you no less beautiful.
I just now watched the third butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. As I was opening the net to get my camera in there to take a video, the butterfly dropped from the chrysalis. Oops. I should write a post about leaving things alone, or about how technology ruins everything, or how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger (and if that's true or not)!
But after many attempts to write this blog, I'm mostly just in awe of God's creativity. I'm in absolute wonder of complete transformation and the newness that it brings. I am humbled by these insects beauty and fragility and ability to change.
God, thank you for the amazing gifts you've given us. I believe that you made tiny, delicate, beautiful butterflies for our enjoyment. I believe we can learn about you through your creation. I believe that you care about an intricate insect, and care about your children so much more. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for delighting in your creation. Thank you for delighting in me.
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