On Christmas morning, we stood outside in tee shirts and bare feet, marveling at the unseasonably warm weather. Sun shone abundantly, and a vivid blue and black butterfly landed on the northeast corner of our house, warming itself on the brick.
We had just enjoyed a sweet and festive overnight celebration with Jess and Alex, truly a glittery and affectionate family Christmas. This had followed a long and scary week with my Mom in the hospital, then a few days of intense last minute prep for the holiday. I was feeling both deeply satisfied and profoundly tired. Handsome was starting his week long vacation, and we were excited to collapse a little bit into some uneventful days, just resting and cocooning together.
The next day when our world threatened to fall apart, I thought of that butterfly. It had appeared almost exactly twenty four hours earlier, but it felt like a month ago. The butterfly appeared then in that reality, but that world no longer felt like ours.
The thing is, I am a sucker for a metaphor. My mind searches constantly for parallels and omens, messages and patterns in daily life. Hidden meanings. Usually this serves me pretty well, but for the past eight days or so, my thoughts have been so turbulent and my heart so hurt, I can’t quite get a clear picture.
This week I have typed out and deleted dozens of pages trying to explain what happened, how it affects us and why this feels like history repeating itself in new brutal ways, what sense I have managed to make of it all, and more. But none of it feels worth sharing. I just want to anchor my thoughts to the deep knowlede that God is in control. Remember that our peace is linked directly to how deeply and consistently we stay aligned with Him.
I try to remember the butterfly appearing out of context. Beauty where it doesn’t belong, you know?
I try to remember that Love does win, and this includes the private spaces of my own heart. I cannot afford to hate people, not even temporarily to soothe myself, ha. (Why does hate feel just a little bit good, for just a minute?)
I try to remember that truth has a way of coming to light. Sunshine sanitizes. And often the truth comes out with no help from us.
I try to remember the personal immense value of doing regular, daily work. Simple stuff. Meaningful, steady, physical work. As unto God, not for anyone’s approval.
I try to remember the importance of harnessing my imagination, which is really tough when your body is filled alternately with either rage, fear, or grief. But it does matter. Imagination is powerful.
I try to remember that miracles are happening all around us. And stepping out of our own storm to be aware of other people’s realities can be really helpful. My grandmother was so good at this.
I try to see the hidden answers, the gifts secreted to us in the midst of what we could curse as only a bad thing in life. We have endured far worse than this in our marriage, and we will endure this.
Thanks for listening, friends. Thanks for overlooking my lack of clarity and my failure to arrive at a great metaphor. Maybe the butterfly on Christmas Day was an omen of good and beautiful things out of the bue, maybe not. But it will probably live in my memory as an attachment to this bizarre chapter.
Order, Disorder, Reorder
~Dr. Richard Rohr
xoxo