The Butterfly
Aside from the abundance of ways God speaks to us through Scripture, I believe he also speaks through life circumstances, events both big and small. Moments where insight and truth can be illuminated in new ways. One look at the Bible suggests God can use anything to get his message across- donkeys, dry bones, and burning bushes- just to name a few. Jesus frequently employed analogies containing agriculture, food, light, birth, marriage, or business.
Often God speaks to me through nature, precisely timed occurrences that seem like a message just for me, reminders of his gentle presence. It could look like a coincidence if one wanted to say so, but the exact timing of many over the years compels me to believe otherwise.
This summer God has been using bugs. Yes, bugs. A fascination with them has grown as I’ve traversed our backyard with my son in search of critters to put in our bug box- lifting up fallen logs, combing our sand box, crawling through the grass. We’ve borrowed library books and watched Youtube videos marveling at their intricate natures. A few weeks ago, I was overjoyed by a butterfly given like an unexpected present from a dear friend who knows you inside and out.
In October, we’d had two weeks of battling RSV and the stomach bug in our house right before our beach trip to Edisto. It was deja vu of the previous year’s October sickness when we had to cancel our Florida trip to attend my Nana’s burial due to flu in our home. (Note to self: do not plan any more trips in October). I got the bug the day before we left for the beach. One can only clean up so much bodily fluids before they succumb and join the party. It was fairly mild, but came and went for a few days. We still managed to a great time, but I was tired and a little discouraged.
Visiting the beach in the off season meant that some of the things we hoped to do had modified hours which we were not fully prepared for. In general, my husband is only amenable to beach trips in the off seasons- less crowds, less heat, less sand stuck in places that-shall-not-be-named. More relaxing, more adventuring, more quiet. That is generally fine with me too, but we were slightly dismayed to find a few things unexpectedly closed this particular weekend.
The first day, we were disappointed to discovered The Edisto Island Serpentarium closed for a staff field trip that day- the only Saturday of the entire season it was closed. We had hyped the kids up for a chance to see snakes, alligators, lizards, and especially their twice a day live feedings and they were pretty bummed. Instead, we pivoted and enjoyed hiking through the marsh and twisty live oaks at Edisto State Park. The second day, I didn’t feel well enough to go out in the morning so the older two kids and Aaron ventured out. By afternoon, I recovered enough to hit up some stores and the beach. The third and last day, I woke up with a bad headache, but was determined to go with the family to Botany Bay.
Online descriptions of Botany Bay’s sun-bleached driftwood, dazzling seashells, enormous live oaks dripping with spanish moss, and large swaths of snails had hooked me. On the drive there my heart dropped- Google maps said “closed.” It was Monday and everything I had read said they were closed Tuesdays for hunts. We drove out in hopes Google was wrong, but were confronted with big closed gates and “Deer Hunt in Progress” signs taped haphazardly to it. Alas, it was also closed this particular Monday. I wanted to cry, but didn’t even have the energy for that. I wanted to plug our home address into Google maps and be done with it all. But the kids didn’t really know or care too much, so we turned around, faked cheery smiles, and headed back to the state park beach.
Aaron took all the kids to the water to give me a little space. As I meandered down the beach in a haze, I noticed that the low tide had left large pockets of seashells on the beach. I sat down and began letting the shells cascade through my fingers keeping the prettier ones in a pile. Slowly, a calm began to return to me. The beach can do that to a soul.
As I was sitting there, I kept seeing these beautiful orange and lemon yellow butterflies dancing along the dunes. Each time we’d come to the beach, I’d noticed them and thought how lovely it would be to take pictures of one. So I would watch and watch, but never saw one land in the sand. They always dipped out of sight over the dunes.
I kept on sifting through the shells. Eventually, I had too many to hold so I went to retrieve our pink sand bucket. When I got back to our pile of belongings, there was a delicate orange butterfly perched on my daughter’s sandals. I inhaled sharply, eyes wide with hope and stealthily snuck out my camera. It flitted away and landed on the sand. I couldn’t believe it. I bent down, quickly adjusted my settings, and started clicking. It moved a few feet and then landed, repeating that move a few times as I chased it. I wanted to get closer, closer, closer.
Finally, it didn’t move for a whole minute and then as if to show off all it’s beauty, the cherry on top, it raised it’s wings and let me glimpse it’s stunning underwings long enough for some beautiful photos. And then, within seconds, it lifted off and away. Tears ran from my eyes. I was overwhelmed with the sheer presence of God- a wondrous Friend who knew exactly what would bring peace to my anxious mind, who knew the precise moment when I would need a whisper of reassurance.
After Aaron found me and I relayed through tears and laughter the joy of the butterfly,
I zipped my camera back into its bag, a calmed heart now back in my chest. I remembered that I was held in my Father’s arms- loved, known, seen. He is faithful. He is near. He is good. He is with us in the dance of butterflies, the crashing of the waves, and the changing of plans.
