My diamond and sapphire butterfly ring was one of my prized possessions. Walking in on the cat burglar who stole it along with several other pieces of my fine jewelry rattled me, yes, but it was kind of fun to see the looks on the investigators’ faces when they responded to my 911 call, truth be told. They weren’t expecting a slip of a thing with some chutzpah to answer the door when they arrived. I got chided for not leaving my apartment instead of chasing the guy out the balcony, but when the adrenalin hit I never considered any other option. That guy invaded my place, had my stuff. The recurring thought was, “Just not my butterfly, no not the butterfly.” None of the other pieces really mattered in comparison to that one.
I have loved butterflies since I was little. I know – many girls do. Who wouldn’t though? They’re beautiful, colourful, graceful and completely mesmerizing. Their movements are symbolic of freedom as they flit through gardens and greenery, nary a care it would seem.
It’s a wonder to consider that these stunning insects begin as pudgy, glorified worms with voracious appetites. I mean, when you see the likes of those smooth, crunchy looking caterpillars or the fuzzy black & yellow ones, you would never think they could turn into the captivating beauties they transform into. Once they’ve shed several skins, they have one last go ’round to wind themselves into their chrysalis. They know they must endure the process, go through each stage of progression and accept that in order to become the butterfly they were designed to be, there aren’t any buttons to press or escape mechanisms in place to skip any of the steps along the way.
An extraordinary thing happens inside that chrysalis. First, the caterpillar almost decomposes into something resembling bug soup. Under the protection of the cocoon, a transformation unfolds. There are no adequate words to describe the magic that happens. From bug soup, the wee little caterpillar slowly grows into a new life form, one that seems to be against all odds, impossible.
When it pokes through that chrysalis, the caterpillar-turned-butterfly has a whole new outlook on life. It sees things from a different perspective, has the ability to travel much further and it certainly exudes a beauty it didn’t have before that miraculous transformation.
You know where I’m headed with this, right? Consider the process that takes place in order for the butterfly to exist. If we apply those same principles to our own lives, we realize that to get where we want to go, we need to be willing and prepared to go through the process.
Preparation for ‘hibernation’. Wrapping itself in a protective cocoon. Isolation. Pain. Identity crisis. So many lessons can be extracted from the butterfly. So many miracles can be identified.
The question to ask ourselves is, are we willing to go through that process, not skipping any steps to get to our miraculous transformation? It’s a pretty darn good question.
Oh…and the transformation that took place for the burglar? He got new orange clothes. He’d been pilfering in Ottawa for 14 months before moving to Edmonton to do the same. When he hit my place, he did something he’d never done before and pawned the jewelry in his real name. My butterfly ring was far too identifiable to be forgotten by the pawn shop. Butterflies rule.