Once I taught second grade. One day, a child brought a gift for the class, a butterfly garden. Over the next few weeks, we watched, amazed, as life unfolded in the butterfly box. First, the tiny white eggs attached to the milkweed leaves of the plant inside our “garden” hatched into baby caterpillars. For two weeks, they munched through the leaves, growing bigger and fatter. When they had exhausted the food supply, they stopped. They seemed ready to explode from their eating orgy! Attaching themselves to the stripped twigs, they spun hard, outer shells around their swollen bodies. Within these gray capsules, they lay hidden for ten more days. Through the semi-translucent walls of the cocoons, we could see that something was happening. But it was hard to imagine that anything beautiful – or alive – could emerge from the long, dreary waiting. Yet one day, the caterpillars stirred again. Chewing through the skin of the chrysalis that imprisoned them, they struggled out. They perched unsteadily on twigs and spread their still-damp wings to dry, flexing and moving their muscles to strengthen them for flight. How beautiful they were! Their black and orange wings, speckled with white dots, glistened in the spring sunshine. We couldn’t wait to release them! Sadly, some never woke from sleep. A few couldn’t chew their way out. A little girl wept. Before I could stop her, she tried to help a struggling butterfly by tearing his chrysalis open to set him free. Lacking the readiness and strength to free himself, he died from the shock of a freedom he wasn’t ready to embrace. We laid him tenderly to rest along with the others who would never know a butterfly’s joy in flight. The survivors, we set free. We held our breath as we watched the newborn butterflies fly away. Women aren’t butterflies. But there are parallels. Nobody can help a butterfly to be born. You can be present in love and support. But a butterfly must birth itself – bringing all its courage, will and desire to the painful process. Only then will it be strong enough to take flight and enter into butterfly heaven. If you are a butterfly, or have witnessed the birth of one, stand in awe and wonder. Rejoice! Nothing less is due the woman who undertakes the butterfly journey of growth and transformation. |