Four days post Christmas crazy and I dropped off Jayce and his friend Logan for the day to Brianhead ski resort. It's a short 30 minute drive so I headed home once they were settled so I could get things under control here. (See previous post christmas statement) It was about 2 hours after I was home that I got a call from Jayce. His bindings broke. He was upset. And would I please come up there and get them to come home? He couldn't hear me very well, so I texted. Dig deep buddy, you have a friend who can still enjoy the slopes. Take a minute to yourself to pull your emotions together and reassess the situation. Nothing. He didn't text back. An hour later, I texted again. Hows it going? Still sitting there, he said. I suggested a few trouble shooters, but got nothing in reply.
As I bumble around my house getting things checked off my list, I realize there is a lump in my chest. I check my phone every few minutes. My rescuing bells are going off like crazy. I should go up there early and sit with him. I should call and pay over the phone for someone to fix his board. I should rent a new board for him... I should... What I should do is sit here and let him figure it out. He's not in danger. He's not hurt. So here I sit. Getting my restless energy out in words. Hoping that the lesson presented to Jayce is taken and grown from, to be used as a positive reference in his future.
I am a rescuer by nature. As a mother this quality has its drawbacks. It's hard for me to allow my children to have natural consequences. I want to buffer, interfere, "show" them how things are done so they don't mess up. I remind myself often of the process a caterpillar must endure in its journey to become a butterfly.
Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.
Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.
The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought it new plants to eat.
One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis and become a butterfly.
The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.
At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! It looked like it was making no progress!
The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!
As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.
But neither happened!
The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.
It never was able to fly…
As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college. He learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle. In fact, the butterfly’s struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. Without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.
This may not be a life altering experience for Jayce. But I hope it will be one he uses to build on to become self reliant, a supportive friend, and someone who learns to deal with life's speed bumps with grace. So today I sit, watching the little butterfly struggle within the cocoon.
Thankfully, even if our 'cocoon' is snipped in our lives and we come out with a swollen body and shriveled wings, we have the opportunity to get back in that cocoon, and become through Christ, everything He wants us to be.
