After the gentle time with Mary, I wondered what was in store for us today. Only one way to learn, step out to find out.

When we stepped on the path I turned around, curious again about how this place was kept separate from the world outside. I let Penny run, confident in her safety, and moved to the edge of the opening. I was half in and half out and put my hand on the edge of the opening. I could see that it was not wood, I expected dense trees, but like everything else here I could feel life. 

I jumped back with a gasp as my eyes were opened and I realized it was the side of a very tall angel. It was facing out, and as I pushed my way along in the underbrush, I realized that next to that angel was another one facing in. I stepped outside and moved along the perimeter where now I could clearly see angels alternating facing in and out all along the border. It was the same on the other side. Guardian angels. 

I quickly moved back inside, knowing that I had been granted a gift of sight. A privilege to see them, a gift granted. I moved down the path and looked back out the opening. My other world was distant, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. It shrank and moved far away. I could not hear anything from there; all the usual noise was gone. Funny how I get used to the car noises, the street sounds, people talking, dogs barking, airplanes, trucks unloading, all the sound debris of life in the “burbs.”

I heard Penny bark, turned toward the sound, and encountered a wall of fluttering color. Butterflies, hundreds upon hundreds of them. I put my hand over my nose so I would not breath any of them in and walked down the path. They all turned and flowed on to the Meadow, so I followed. 

When I arrived, I could see Jesus standing in the middle of the pasture with his arms outstretched. He was covered with moving insects. They landed and then left, coming, and going. I could barely make out his figure for the movement. From his arms hung clusters of them like the Monarchs that migrate to Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz. Hanging globs of living beings, fluttering, and clinging for warmth and safety. Now they were using his arms. 

I looked for Penny and she was surrounded also, but was a happy, jumping moving target. I saw the Troupe at rest by the rocks, mounded over with color. I wondered how Kermit was doing. Now it was my turn. I stepped onto the grass and was surrounded. Slowly I walked toward the sitting place, Jesus turned to do the same. He disappeared for a moment in swirling color. I slowly got to the rocks and sat down to observe.

During the Viet Nam War, we were stationed at Sandia Base in Albuquerque New Mexico. We lived on base, in moderate sized homes. Most of the families had children around the ages of my two toddlers, so there was plenty of company. The wives lived waiting and worrying about their Air Force husbands who were in Nam. Mine worked at the base hospital patching up the wounded that was flown in. 

Late most every afternoon, before dinner preparations, the women and children would gather outside for cocktails and conversation. One time we were sitting in a group with the kids running around us, when a butterfly flew our way. Without a conscious thought, I put out my right hand, finger pointing, and it landed on my finger. It was a medium sized butterfly, with double wings of yellow, orange, and black. It’s body was black as were its feet and feelers. It kept its wings gently moving but seem to settle down unperturbed by the ensuing excitement. The mothers called the children to come look, with their eyes not their fingers. They surrounded me, with my youngest at my knee looking starry eyed at this beautiful creature. I concentrated on keeping my hand still and enjoying the wonder of the moment. It gently moved its wings back and forth, like it was breathing to the rhythm. Never had I heard of such an encounter. Then it lifted off and was gone. Wondrous.

This was wondrous also, in some ways many times over, but that beauty in the midst of the war’s destruction was poignant. Not forgotten. As I sat watching now, remembering the women’s daily struggles, I felt sad. I wondered what had happened to them all. It was a hard time.

Now though, it was a happy time. The beauty that surrounded us was overwhelming. Small, medium, large, colors in combinations that caught my eye. They landed all over me. A tiny one on my eye lashes until I blinked. Nose, ears, head, all over. They tickled. I could smell a faint earthy smell. It was hard to keep track of all that was happening. I could hear Penny woof through her nose to clear out the tickle. 

But as I watched, I began to discern an order to all the movement. There was a rhythm to the fluttering. I closed my eyes to listen for the music and sure enough it was there. It reminded me of a wooden xylophone played with soft felt tipped mallets. Not struck but rolled very softly up and then down the scales. Slowly but with a steady rhythm. It moved up and down in me and changed the rhythm of my breathing. Slowly in and out, familiar. I opened my eyes and could see the flow of color swirl around the Meadow. I could see and hear at the same time. I was delighted. It was a dance of color for their Creator.

“You have learned quickly to hear the Song,” he thought into my head. 

“It is here, in this Place.”

“It is everywhere but has all but been covered up out there.”

I nodded.

“The Song of Creation has a rhythm that all of my creatures can know. You can learn of it in the seasons, the day to night, the moon waxing and waning, the rhythm of your heart and breath. You are learning the Song here, listen for it out there.”

Just then a butterfly the size of a bat flew in and landed on Aslan’s head. He did not move a muscle. It was very big. Kind of dull in color, but it’s body shimmered. 

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “That one is big.” 

A tiny all white one fluttered past and landed on the tip of Aslan’s ear. The contrast was delightful. I smiled, and he said, “the biggest and the littlest of them all.”

“Lord, I remember a TV show that I saw years ago that taught me more about you. It was about butterflies, that there are 20,000 different kinds. It told of an island somewhere that had 3 different kinds and they never mingled because of the 2 mountain ranges that divided the island into 3 parts. The butterflies could not get across the mountains, so they stayed distinctive. I remember being impressed by your love of diversity. I think about that when I look at people. We all have the same parts, but our faces are different. We can recognize each other. Thank you for that.”

He nodded.

“Butterflies and dinosaurs. Contrast.” 

He smiled as I continued to muse.

“Fragile and almost indestructible yet loved and enjoyed. Hum,”

The Meadow began to calm as the butterflies moved on, went up in the trees or settled on the grass or us.  It was easier to enjoy them, see the differences when they were still.

“They are so fragile, Lord, and they don’t live long. Yet you wanted them.” I turned to him looking for an answer.

“I wanted my children to learn to look for beauty. To keep the wonder of discovery all their lives. To find delight in the midst of life’s messes. You did that day long ago when    you gave a butterfly a perch to rest upon. And you remember. Beauty is to be remembered, cherished, and sought after. That is why you want to paint again and you will in time.”

“Like the yellow flowers growing up from the sidewalk crack. And the pure white dove on the bright green grass.”

“Yes.”

“I am thinking that I have missed way more than I remember. It reminds me of Corrie and her gratitude for the fleas.”

“Choices. It is all in how you determine what to attend to. To choose to see, to hear, to smell, and to feel the touches of life. Most go numb, oblivious to what could be possible for them.”

We were quiet for some time as I watched and listened and felt the Meadow and all of us there. I was getting better as I could smell Bear and Aslan at the same time and know the differences. I could hear the forest sounds of birds, bees, and bugs and tell the difference. My little bit of awaking reminded me of Penny’s nose. What must it be like for her! So many smells and yet she seems to know differences and new ones. And she can hear way more than I can too. Even her taste is discriminating. Strawberries are not favorites, but apples are. I grinned at the thought. I looked over at Jesus, who was watching me.

“You made dogs that way,” I said. “And how they love. Thank you for. Penny. I did not know how much I needed her.”

He grinned and made a sound that I only barely heard. Penny however was up and in his lap in a flash. They loved on each other, so delighted. And I as I watched. 

Aslan stood and stretched with a deep happy rumble, came over, laid back down plopping his massive head in my lap! I rubbed, scratched, picked out some leaves from his mane while he rumbled, content. So was I. The King of the Jungle with his head in my lap wanting attention just as Penny had. What a treat this day has been.

The remaining butterflies rose at some signal, circled the Meadow once and were gone. I watched them leave with a new respect and thanksgiving. Time for us to leave also. We all got to out feet and headed out to the exit. When I turned to say goodbye, Jesus gave me a hug with one remaining butterfly nestled in his hair. 

Smiling inside and out, we went on home.