John 8:36
I Peter 2: 9b-10; TLB

The yard is one of my "therapy clinics." (What do you think about when you’re digging holes for the jasmine shoots or pulling up weeds?) I always wind up with dirt caked on my hands and knees, and with a respectable amount on my face and in my hair. The dirtier I get, the more fun it is! (Small wonder the boys loved to play in the dirt, and still are drawn to the messy stuff!)

I was undergoing my "yard therapy" one day, but it was being interrupted. Someone somewhere was unhappy and was being very verbal about it. Whoever it was, his grumpy whining was ruining my hour of much-needed solitude.

Investigation and confrontation were in order, so I followed the disagreeable sounds until I spotted the culprit. It was a butterfly—talking to himself! I stood there listening to him rant and rave. He was lamenting his woeful, miserable condition.

Oh, how I hate crawling along this limb, eating this horrible elm leaf. Worm food! How I would love to soar with the wind, but here I am, stuck in a tree. Look at those beautiful flowers. If only I could taste the nectar. The life of a worm is not a happy one . . . depressing and confining. But then, God made some vessels for common use, and I guess that’s me—common.

I walked over, stood very close to that disillusioned little butterfly, and said to him, "You silly thing, acting for all the world like you’re a worm—eating worm food and wishing you could take the wind to any flower your heart desired. And you believe that this is your God-given fate! Have you never realized you have wings? That all you have to do is spread them? Don’t you know who you are? You are a butterfly!"

Like the butterfly
I find
I can no longer stay behind
the self-made walls
of my own apprehensive fears,
behind the crust of my old cocoon.
Because of Him I am free
to break through the walls that once were me
and to soar into
God’s dimension
Oh, by the way, from one butterfly to another: Would you like to go
flying with me this afternoon?