If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea. You are there. Psalm 130:9
I read about a little boy’s school project getting broken, and his tears over the caterpillars that were gone. His tears turned to joy when the teacher combined them all, and later the class released in the spring a bevy of beautiful butterflies. I also read a Robert Frost poem, where a fleeting romance is compared to butterflies, the short life of the fluttery insect, is worth it, to the poet for a passionate love. I love the idea of love and I love poems. And I do love butterflies, but living a mere three days, I don’t think so? And yet the one who loves us most spent three days and nights in a tomb, and hell.
Such soft and delicate creatures, perhaps you’ve read of my butterfly experiences, if not, I’ll tell you. I have had them to follow me playfully day after day to the mailbox. But the most profound time they entered my life was when I was crying about a problem, sitting on the porch, praying. I was broken hearted, although I didn’t know what all was going on, working for me or against me. It’s bringing me to tears right now. Thankfully, He is close to the broken hearted.
White or yellow, or multi colored, I love them all. 2 Corinthians 5:17, says we are new creatures in Christ. That’s how the sluggish little caterpillar must feel, plodding along, eating and then wrapping up in a cocoon, waiting for the day to come when out pops the most beautiful of insects, the papillion, the mariposa, the vlinder, a fantasy of color and flight, a new creature in Christ. A dazzling beauty that may not live long for its species, but it gives beauty and pleasure all the while. It causes smiles and laughter, it brightens anyone’s day who sees it. It gives joy. And simply flies away. I hate to see people pin them down.
Indeed, I hate being pinned down, sometimes people make it hard to be a butterfly, though we as people live longer and hope to simply fly away. We are often pinned by the snares of enemies. Do you ever feel as if you’ve been chloroformed and stuck to a board, and put on display? The devil is all about humiliation. Christ is our completion. We are new creatures in Christ and He comes to scoop up a delicate butterfly wing under that of a mighty eagle.
I’ve tried to be the eagle. I have had moments that I seemed to soar. Other times, it’s like sailing on a torn wing or being caught in a storm, rather than wafting on the breeze. I’m too delicate, Lord. I am weak, you must be my strength, my wings are sheltered in your arms and safe. You protect me, and fly for me. You are my hiding place, like the dove, another soft creature, in the cleft of the rock, you protect me always.
I am in your hand. I am in your heart. I am beloved. You care for me. You gave your life mine, just so I could be with you forever. You put a song in my heart and lifted my head, if my voice quivers, you calm it. If my heart is broken, it is not with your love upon it. If I take wing in the morning, your voice is there. Whether I fly near or far to uttermost parts of the sea, you are with me. I am safe underyour mighty wing.
Even so delicate and dainty creature as I, as fragile as I am. I am not broken in your embrace, I am safe in your arms forever. And it only because of your love and grace that there any beauty in me or that I am at all graceful. Rebecca Jones