Butterfly Showers

This blog is a tribute to my dear friend, Sandy, who died of a massive heart attack Friday evening. All of us who are left here, mourn her passing, but I can imagine her big smile lighting up whatever corner of heaven she finds herself—and enjoying butterflies.

Sandy shared this story with our Sunday School class several years ago. It’s about God’s miracle of butterflies in her life. She gave me permission to revise it slightly and submit it to Guideposts. They didn’t buy it, so now I am free to share Sandy’s story of  “Butterfly Showers.”

It is a 300+ mile trip from Reno to Elko, Nevada and I was driving it alone.  I had been told that morning an angiogram revealed an aneurysm and I needed open-heart surgery.  The fear and uncertainty of that diagnosis finally got the best of me when I reached Emigrant Pass (still an hour from home) and I began literally crying out to God.

I began hearing bug-splats against the windshield and through my tears, I saw that they were butterflies.  (I love butterflies.  They are uniquely beautiful and they furnish such a graphic picture of transformation as the worm becomes butterfly—just as a sinner can become a child of God). 

There were hundreds and then thousands of butterflies – A BUTTEFLY SHOWER!  God showed me His presence on that mountain pass.  My tears were replaced with His peace and His presence was manifested through those butterflies.  His grace, peace, and healing remained with me from then on, and I came through the surgery, recovering in record time.

However, that is not the end of the story.  Within a year’s time, my husband, Jim, had become seriously ill and was in intensive care with septic shock.  The doctors were having great difficulty coming up with a definitive diagnosis and they couldn’t determine or agree conclusively about what was causing him to be so ill.

On the second day of his hospital stay, I had gone home briefly and was on my way back, over the Lamoille Summit, when again, I cried out to God, telling Him that I was scared and didn’t have any peace.

I said, “Lord, a butterfly shower sure would be nice…”  After I said it, I thought, “That was dumb!  How arrogant of me to ask for that special blessing again!”  When I got back to Jim’s room, I began looking through all the  books and cards his visitors had left.  I was overwhelmed as I realized that most of the Get Well cards had butterflies on them.  Truly, A BUTTERFLY SHOWER!

Isn’t God good!

Compared to those of us left behind, Sandy now totally understands all that metamorphosis means-- what a butterfly is compared to the caterpillar it once was. I miss you, my friend, but oh, what a glorious “butterfly” you have become!

It’s All About Me--Not

When Galileo began studying planet Earth in the 1600s, the understanding of most learned men was that the earth was the center of the universe. After all, Aristotle had declared this to be so back in 4 BC and Ptolemy, the Greek astronomer,  confirmed the idea 600 years later.

I am reading Galileo’s Daughter which is actually a biography of her father. His older daughter, Virginia, was a nun in an abbey near Florence and father and daughter carried on a voluminous correspondence during his lifetime. Unfortunately, all his letters to Virginia were apparently destroyed upon her death as Galileo was in deep do-do with the Inquisition fellows because of his scientific ideas, specifically that the earth moved around the sun. Hence, the title Galileo’s Daughter because much of what the biographer was able to deduce about Galileo came from the comments in his letters to which she answered.

All the above is chasing a rabbit trail but functions as an introduction of how I want to explore this earth-centered, me-centered idea that permeates our culture. Much better writers than I have written books and articles on the idea of “it’s all about me.”. But it all boils down to one word: Selfish.

At an earlier date I wrote about selfishness, but I ask you, tongue in cheek, could not this very ugly trait be blamed on that learned philosopher, Aristotle and his idea that the earth was the center of the universe? If this statement became ingrained in human intellectual DNA, would it not then be plausible that I am the center of my personal universe? (This is another disgusting characteristic of our culture: the Blame Game, but I’m not going there today.)

I think self-ish-ness could almost be classified as instinctive behavior per this example from my two-year-old son. He came home from the church nursery one Sunday morning proudly announcing, “Me seffish!” Apparently, he declined to share some toys and was reprimanded by the nursery worker. 

Unfortunately, self-ish-ness doesn't disappear along with  childhood and it goes beyond sharing our “toys”. I can remember my mother telling me I was selfish (this comment emerged during those dreadful teenage years) and I remember mentally shrugging off her words thinking “I don’t remember not sharing anything.” Obviously, I hadn’t matured enough to realize that self-ish-ness really means to be self-centered, not considering others. In other words,it’s all about me.

Jesus Christ, our Creator, our Savior and the One who loves us unconditionally, wants us to realize that our first priority is to worship Him. He tells us plainly in His Word, more than once, that He wants us to love Him with ALL of our heart, soul, mind and strength. That would mean total surrender and obedience, totally focusing on Him, leaving no room for self-ish-ness. 

So, swimming up the stream against a strong current of modern culture added to my personal self-ish-ness, I tell myself, once again, “It’s not about me. It’s all about Him.

Surrender

"OK, I give up!" 

"Hand over your weapons." 

Yield (road construction).

These commands all evoke scenes from a TV western, cop show or a vacation trip. It appears that agreeing to obey these phrases mean that the battle has been lost or someone's rights have been taken away.

We in America learn very early that we should be independent. Isn’t the truism “God helps those who help themselves” in the Bible?.(Nope, I think that saying came from Ben Franklin.) Consequently, “surrender” almost seems to be un-American.

One day this week, songs from the previous Sunday’s worship service kept cycling through my mind—particularly the ones about surrender. So, I decided the word would make an interesting topic to explore.

With respect to surrendering to God, the ultimate reality means to hand over the “reins” of your life to Christ, saying, “I trust You to guide me in the best direction, to make the best decisions, and to form or nurture the right relationships."

However, our Lord is also the ultimate Gentleman. He always gives us a choice, so we are free to take back the “reins” of our life if that is what we want—or not even hand them over in the first place. Then the not-so-smart decisions are made and as a result, we can either fall into the “Slough of Despond” or learn a life-lesson from our disastrous take-charge attitude, once again surrendering the reins of our life to the One Who knows best—and will never steer us wrong.

Surrender definitely has a component of vulnerability. That lends a negative aspect to it when it comes to us on a plain other that our relationship with Christ.  Actually though, I think He wants us to be vulnerable with Him, or perhaps transparent is a better word. 

At any rate, in spite of the negative connotation to the word, surrender, I have discovered that surrendering to my Creator is the very opposite of losing the battle. This type of surrender actually grants freedom—freedom from worry and stress, freedom from yielding (surrendering) to sin, itself. Paul says this so well in Romans 8:2, “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ has made me free from the law of sin and death.”

This blog post seems unfinished but it may be because surrender in the spiritual life seems never to be a “done deal.” As someone wrote regarding believers being living sacrifices to God, “the sacrifice keeps crawling off the altar.” In that respect, surrender must be a continuing attitude/mind-set until we get it perfect. By that time, we will be in Heaven:).

As usual, I would welcome any comments pro or con from readers--so thanks for reading to the end

Time Travel

I’m guessing there’s a certain strange tweak in the psyche of those of us fascinated by the idea of time travel. For some, it may be the idea of possibly going back and changing history (which could be sort of an oxymoron) or some other esoteric reason.

My imagination is fueled by the idea of such travel, whether it be forward—which probably fits into the science fiction realm—or backward, which my interest leans toward. I wonder: what exactly did they (the people) wear? What did they eat and how did they cook it? What sort of emotions did they have and how did they express them? What was their health like and how did they treat sickness, broken bones, burns, etc.? What did their homes look like and how were they furnished?

We know some of the answers to these questions, depending on how far back we research and depending on written records of varying sorts. But without imagination the people of those times—whatever historical era we’re interested in—cannot come alive to us.

Recently, I have enjoyed reading Randy Ingermanson’s first book in his trilogy “City of God”. With his background as a physicist,  his main characters travel back in time through a “wormhole” with ample scientific jargon to impress this reader who is totally lacking in any physics background.  Interestingly enough, Ingermanson's time travelers are aimed specifically for the first century AD. (You'll have to read the book to find out why.)

Diane Gabaldon, on the other hand, sends her time travelers through certain large rocks, I’ll call them “standing stones” for lack of a better term—like on a smaller order of Stonehenge. They also have to travel at specific times of the year. Her Outlander books are totally captivating and the time transport quite believable—if you have an active imagination.  However, her characters can never be sure what historical era they may end up in.

The Outlander (her first book in the series) has now been made into a TV show broadcast on Starz  and the first installment was available to watch on FaceBook, which I did. I thought it stayed true to the book and because of the history of Culloden and beyond (the 1700s) which is where Gabaldon sent her heroine, the series could continue on for several seasons if the show makes adequate money for the producers.

If any of you readers have favorite time travel authors/books/movies, please share with us. I have seen some time travel movies on the Hallmark channel and remember at least one story back when I was reading Readers Digest Condensed Book. But I don’t know of any authors of that ilk that have made names for themselves in the genre of time travel (other than the ones mentioned above) so I look forward to hearing from you.

The Last Time

“The last time I saw Paris her heart was young and gay. I heard the laughter of her heart…”

I’ve never been to Paris, France so the city itself means no more than an item of geography to me. However, I’ writing this post as a memoriam to my husband and when the idea first came to me, these lyrics were the next thing to enter my brain.

Dean went to sleep in his recliner in Elko, NV and woke up in Heaven. What a trip! As beautifully as the songwriter pictures Paris, the Bible’s picture of Heaven is much more glorious.

As the days have progressed since Dean left this planet, there have been many memories of “the last time” we did this or travelled there, etc. Even the trip to Salt Lake City and points east to Wyoming where we buried Dean’s ashes beside his folks was a reminder of “the last time” because we were together the last time I was on that portion of I-80.  In fact, for a while, anywhere I travel from Elko will be a reminder of  "the last time”.

It’s a no-brainer that birthdays, holidays and anniversaries of varying sorts will also dredge up memories of “the last time.” Those memories may bring nostalgic tears but that’s OK because they were celebrations of  joyous times, a time marker experienced together.

As I have thought about the various “last times” with Dean, the only regret I have in some cases is the fact that I didn’t know it was the last time. Life is that way and I don’t doubt that it’s a good thing when we have no inkling a shared experience is the “last time.”

Therefore, I would advise my friends and family members, as well as myself: Totally enjoy each of those together times and never take them for granted. Quoting a portion of Sarah Young’s devotional for August 13 in Jesus Calling, she urges her readers to “walk through [your] day with child-like delight, savoring every blessing.”

“The last time I saw Paris her heart was young and gay. No matter how they change her I’ll remember her that way.”

So my Sweet Babboo, whenever I experience something that makes me think of “the last time”, I’ll remember you the way you were then—and know I was blessed.

The Perfect Plan

In my family, one person’s plan was another person’s chance to tweak that plan. Almost inevitably during a family get-together, one family member would propose an outing or activity and as soon as it emerged from her/her mouth, someone else would immediately think of a different way to do that or an easier way to travel to the destination, etc. (Since I was the “in-law” I just sat back and grinned to myself.)

Actually, I like to make plans, mapping out a course, in order to feel like I am somewhat in control of my day or a situation or a project. I’ve read that if we fail to plan, we plan to fail. In some aspects this is true but when your life’s plan falls to pieces, what then?

In the Bible, Jeremiah, an OT prophet, tells his fellow Israelites what God has revealed to him. A lot of it is pretty unpleasant because Israel, on the whole, had been disobedient to God, worshiping idols, etc. But in chapter 29, Jeremiah shares a huge hope that God showed him (and it’s a promise that will continue for mankind as long as we inhabit Planet Earth).

Jeremiah 29:11 reads, “I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

What an amazing promise—and it’s true for everyone who loves God. My fascination with this promise is the way God’s plan for family members/close friends /acquaintances, etc. must needs intersect. I’m thinking specifically of the particular piece of life’s journey my husband and I are living through right now as we deal with his cancer.

Somehow, God, in His all-knowing wisdom, is able to work out this perfect plan for each of His children without making a mistake anywhere along the way. I remember reading somewhere about how all of our lives are woven together in such a way that we, in our finite minds can only see the knots and wrong turns and re-tracings. Yet at life’s end, the “right side” of our lives reveal a beautiful mosaic—a work of art only God could have handcrafted.

So, when my plans go awry, I need to remember that God, my Strength and my Redeemer, knows what is just right for me. All I need to do is trust Him and walk with Him in the moments of life, not worrying about the hours and the days. After all, there's no point in trying to out-plan the Perfect Planner.

Mystery Soap

“Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub.” For some reason that piece of a nursery rhyme seemed to fit nicely to the rhythmic motions of drying the shampooed heads of my little boys after bath time. And strangely enough, that ties in with another enigmatic fragment of a story from our local newspaper dated May 14, 1914.

According to this particular  article, a Judge Castle received a letter from a soap company in Marseilles, France requesting a sample of the natural soap found south of town. The article doesn’t state this, but one would suppose the Judge was the one who supposedly sent this firm a sample of this substance which they had not yet received, but were eager to see.

Judging by the newspaper article, this “natural soap” was just “found.” The phrasing leads the reader to wonder if it was found lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up or had some enterprising housewife or camp cook concocted a recipe?

When I researched soap making a bit, lye was mentioned as well as various oils. Our barren landscape has plenty of outcroppings of alkali and sagebrush is certainly plentiful in these parts so both of these items could furnish possible ingredients for soap.But how this “natural soap” came to be created is a fascinating mystery.

Whether anything ever came of a possible business transaction between Judge Castle with his “natural soap” and the French soap company is unknown, but I’m guessing no business deal was contracted (particularly if the mail service didn’t improve). As I write that, I realize that Europe was heating up for World War I although I doubt that conflagration would interrupt intercontinental mail as early as May 1914.

If any local Elkoans know anything about this interesting little tidbit, please post a comment on FB. I would love to know more about this story.

After doing the small amount of research related to this topic, it makes me think I either need to purchase natural soaps (some of which are available locally) or I need to learn how to make my own as there are “recipes”  to be found free of charge on the Net. Why? Because the additives in commercial soaps are downright scary.

Until next week, think about what kind of cleansing substance you’re using on your skin. Happy scrubbingJ