Before leaving school for the day, I was mindful of our caterpillar. I desperately wanted this one to live. I envisioned his whole life cycle unfolding before our eyes. Perhaps Monday morning we would arrive to find a cocoon, and by the end of school we would witness the metamorphosis from that little green worm into a breathtaking monarch. A miracle.
I decided he had a better shot at life if I moved him from the plastic container (borrowed from our play-kitchen) into something a little more sustainable. I gingerly transferred him into a giant mesh butterfly house. I pictured our little transformed caterpillar, soon-to-be monarch flitting around in there before we released him outside to pollinate our garden.
I had heard from a reliable sixth grader that caterpillars drink from a cotton ball soaked with water. (???) I was attempting to do so, when...where was he? He was hard to find in all that foliage, camouflaged for survival. I looked all around that butterfly habitat but couldn’t find him anywhere. I was puzzled. He couldn’t have gone far in such a short time. He must be hiding out inside, I thought as I went to zip the top closed.
And then suddenly, I made a terrible mistake. I zipped a fateful ziiiiiiiiip. There he was, on the top edge of the butterfly home. On the zipper. Rather, in the zipper. I was horrified. I had zipped him and killed him in an instant. There was no saving him.
In my very effort to keep him alive (at least until Monday!), I had killed our caterpillar. The irony was too much.
What would I tell the kids when they asked where he’d gone? I imagined the conversation we would have, explaining matter-of-factly, "I was moving him into a bigger home, and I didn’t know where he was, and I accidently zipped him in the zipper.” Perhaps this would lead to a greater conversation. Life is fragile.
I’m making light of all this now, but in that moment, I was crest-fallen. I couldn't believe what I had done. Moments later my teaching partner Emily came in. I told her what happened and how it was all my fault. She hugged me and spoke words of comfort, like any loving parent or teacher would comfort a child. Then she said, “Let’s go find one outside! They’re all over!”
Please take a moment to imagine the sight-- the two of us digging in the dirt around the playground, peeking through the leaves at the edge of the woods. I didn’t even know where or how to look for a caterpillar. Somehow caterpillars seemed to leap into our students’ hands. Kids have a special radar for small treasures.
Emily was convinced we would find one, as the caterpillars were “everywhere.” We eventually gave in, hopeful the kids would find another one tomorrow.
The story is a simple one, right? It seems everyone has a tragic butterfly story. Just ask my mom about the butterfly release she once had with a group of Kindergarteners. (Unreal.) Or, one of my professors in college shared a story from her days teaching elementary children, when they released the class butterflies only to watch birds gobble them up a moment later. Horrific, but also hilarious. (In retrospect.) If not butterflies, its some other vulnerable and treasured creature. Moms, dads, aunts and uncles, babysitters, anyone who spends time with children, you know what I’m talking about. Whether a hamster or baby chick, we’ve all known one beloved pet whose tragic end has devastated a small child, or ourselves.
I don’t really have a point. I don’t even have a lesson or a spiritual application or at the very least a verse to counter life’s disappointment. I know I should have one. The point is that in an instant, I came to the shocking realization of one of life’s truths: sometimes caterpillars die of unnatural causes before they’ve had a chance to turn into a butterfly. I’ll let you turn that into your own metaphor.
This is not really about a caterpillar at all. I simply must accept that life can be hard and know that God is bigger than our disappointments (no matter how big or small) and that moreover, He UNDERSTANDS. He knows when my heart is sad. And thankfully, he sends dear friends who come running alongside to enter into the sad things. Friends who say, “I’m so sorry you just killed your class caterpillar. Let’s go find another one!” Seriously, who does that?
One of the things I know God is teaching me these days is summed up in the title of a beautiful children’s book I highly recommend. Coincidentally, it’s about butterflies. And it is called, A Butterfly is Patient. I want to be like a butterfly. One who weathers disappointment, who waits through long weeks in a dark cocoon until eventually, in time, a miracle happens. A butterfly is patient.
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