Continued from Part 2:  Butterflies…

We gathered the kids under a shelter and they sat around the edges on the benches.  I grabbed two chairs – one for me and one for Jesus and set them in the middle of the shelter.  I sat down in my chair, closed my eyes, and started to “pray.” 

Just show them how to talk to Jesus, I thought. 

Then, talk to me, He said. 

Not so much in those words, mind you, but before I knew it tears were streaming down my face and I was pouring my heart out to Him right there in front of 40-50 middle school children, chaperones and other adults.  The Holy Spirit had taken over, filled me up where I was empty, and where I said I would (*gasp*) pretend to pray, the Holy Spirit said, No, we’ll SHOW them how to REALLY pray. 

Me and the chair.  I heard sniffles.  I heard silence.  I pray the Lord heard prayers that day from those sweet children.  I know that moment had an impact on me that I will never forget.

A day or two later, the children and some adults gathered under some shade trees for storytelling time one afternoon.  I had to literally d…r…a…g myself over there.  Oh, the heat.  Did I mention it was hot?  I just wanted to take my sorry self back to the hotel and its blessed air conditioning and almost-acceptable swimming pool.  I wanted to curl up in bed and sleep in cool bliss.  Instead, I was standing in the oppressive heat, sweating like a pig, kicking up dust everywhere I walked and trying to stay in the shade with what trees were around.  No clouds, no rain.  No signs of life.  Anywhere.  Bugs?  Nope.  Birds?  Nada.  Just heat.

So back to that afternoon-ish (do not forget that schedules are irrelevant-ish here)…I mustered up my energy and poured what I had left into telling the story of a caterpillar who finds Jesus and turns into a beautiful butterfly.   Just as I got to the point in the story where the caterpillar turns into the butterfly (I literally spoke the word “butterfly”), one of the small children, says, “Miss Tara!  Miss Tara!”

“Yes?”

“Look!”

I looked down at my feet.  And there, on that dry, dusty ground where we had seen no signs of life at all, there suddenly sat the most beautiful little butterfly. 

My mind did not process at first.  I heard the children in awe.  I looked and stammered, “Wow, you’re right!  Look at that!” 

And I wasn’t sure what to say so I continued the story.  It was not until later that the importance of the timing of the appearance of the butterfly hit me.   One of the Native American Christian adult chaperones was speaking to my parents or my pastor and sharing how he almost left the camp that morning, but felt that the Lord wanted him to stay to see something special.  He obeyed and hung around.  He pulled up a chair for storytelling, and he told me that when he saw that butterfly appear, he knew.  That’s what he was supposed to see, what the Lord wanted him to see.  He even equated that moment to a miracle he had seen one Easter Sunday – I do not recall the story but I remember being rather stunned that he thought the little butterfly was on such a level as that. 

I know that butterfly appearing wasn’t about me.  To the children and adults present, it was an amazing testimony to the power of God and His Hand in nature and the work He was doing in that camp.  Perhaps those children have a fond memory of seeing that butterfly appear in the middle of that story; I hope and pray it was a miracle moment for them. 

The miracle moment for me was that God still worked in spite of myself.  Sweet humility.  He’s good like that, huh?

To this day, nearly ten years later, butterflies are special reminders to me of His Hand in my life.  A love letter of sorts.  I may be out with the kids and see one flutter-by, and it makes me smile and brings joy to my heart.  Yup, He’s still there.  The day may be tough and one will float across my path.  Thank you, Lord, for reminding me you’re right beside me.  I see one soar from the ground to above the trees in a graceful swoops.  Yes, Lord, I can overcome the mountain in front of me with You and You alone.