on the life cycle of butterflies.

Sometimes, I don’t feel like I have much to say. I know you’re laughing if you actually know me in real life, because… don’t I always have things to say? I sat here and stared at this blank Google Docs page for a good while and thought about life. January looked much different than last year. I was in Atlanta every week (no lie, every week), attended a live worship recording for Wilder, drove through the mountains, and met some people who are now some of my dearest friends in the world. This January was pretty quiet in comparison. I look back now and wonder where I had the energy to keep up with that schedule, and somewhere, a little voice reminds me that I really didn’t have the energy. I lived on a steady diet of caffeine and anxiety.

I remember telling my mom and my best friend just how tired I was, but never once considered slowing my schedule down. As January flew into February, I was still on the road. Still running flat out 24/7. I’m an extrovert, isn’t that what we are supposed to do? About mid-February, after a quick trip across state lines (you know, as one does) rumors of COVID started hitting my ears. Surely life won’t be that different, I thought. How bad could this really be?

Now I look back at that sweet little gal and just laugh. COVID has changed every landscape, it seems, including my social landscape. As a concert junkie, I miss the way live music makes me feel - how the bass moves through me, or how songs feel so much more potent when they are played on an acoustic guitar or a piano. I miss not wearing a mask in Target. I miss traveling just because.

The gift that I have not wanted to accept or acknowledge has been the insistent and continual slowing of my schedule to a crawl. The gift of being aware of how that makes me feel - sometimes confused, overwhelmed, anxious, and just downright sad, some days. The gift of not being able to ignore my body’s cues about how tired I am, and just grabbing another cup of coffee. I am not a naturally introspective person. I can externalize with the best of them. Let me just solve some problems. Specifically, YOUR problems. Not mine. Can I tell you that I have enjoyed this slow down, this full stop? No. Truthfully, no. There are good things that I have discovered, but the process has been painful and slow.

I’ve become obsessed with butterflies (thanks, Harry Styles). They are so beautiful to me, and always encourage me when I see them. I’m not much of a science gal, but the life cycle of a butterfly is really interesting. There are four stages: egg (larvae), caterpillar, pupa, and butterfly. The caterpillar stage is when the magic really starts. Everything that the caterpillar eats it stores as fuel for later stages of life. The only real job it has is to eat and store up energy. When it finally reaches its full growth, it moves to the pupa stage. This is what I really want to focus on: different types of butterflies remain in this stage for different lengths of time. Some just weeks, but it can be months or years. They are wrapped in a protective covering of silk and remain hidden until their change is complete. What emerges from the cocoon looks completely different from any of the previous forms the butterfly has previously occupied. It is now winged and covered in color. The thing is though… the final form of the caterpillar was always going to be a butterfly.

Maybe this doesn’t mean to you as much as it means to me. The idea that I will always be changing and developing, and one day, my final form will be resplendent in the colors of things that I’ve loved and lost and learned. She will look so different from the little egg that started, or the caterpillar who consumed and consumed and consumed. Even the hidden stages have purpose, for development and safety and processing. Every bit of it was me, and every bit had purpose. But that butterfly, that final form, that is who all the lessons build up to, really. To get there, though, you have to do a lot of waiting. Waiting is hard, and staying is hard, and being faithful when you’d rather be doing *anything else* is hard.

Can I just remind you that Jesus emulated this very life cycle for us? He was hidden away for many years, which we don’t know much about, before the emergence of His earthly ministry that led to the cross. I believe He was fully human and fully God, and He makes it clear that He struggled with the idea of the pain of the cross. When He prayed in the garden about the Lord removing the cup from Him, I don’t believe those words were flippant. He understood He was going to endure great pain and separation from His father. But He went. He moved. He transitioned, for you and me. His final earthly transformation is emulated in His resurrection, but my heart calls for an eternal King resplendent in colors and light and beauty. Creation is His masterpiece, but it is only ever a reflection of who He is in fullness. So rest in the idea today that you are on the path. Whatever season you are in, He is always shaping us to be more like Him.

I hope that you feel seen and known and loved today, as you are.