Butterfly Story

"I found a dead butterfly," my husband said sadly, holding its crumpled body gently in his hands; "I thought you might want to take some pictures of it."

And so, carefully, I took the poor butterfly from him, and lay it on a table on the porch. I got my camera out and snapped some photos.

As I gently adjusted its battered wings back into shape, it began to flutter!

I placed the wounded butterfly in the front flower beds on some columbine leaves (you've seen the flowers that go with these leaves: the pink ones that were first to bloom, as well as those white angels of my yard).

As I put up my camera and turned to leave, I saw the butterfly get down and slowly start to walk away.

Friends, I am a photographer, but alas I am not a butterfly doctor. So I cannot speak to the severity of its injuries nor provide any warranties or guarantees of its recovery. But when I went back to check, it was no longer there.

This is one of the great challenges and mysteries of life: to play a small role in stories whose ending we may never know.

(But never forget, dear ones, that we live in a world filled with beauty, magic, mystery . . . and grace.)

Since we do not know the end of this butterfly's story, might we give it a happy one? Maybe even a tiny miracle?

I say . . . Why not?