Lots of screws have been missing in my everyday life…
Several months ago my bed that I sleep on had to be moved into the middle of my floor due to some enormous remodling that had to be done in order to fix a leak underground. Once we moved my very old and fragile bed frame, I was scared to move it back, knowing that it might not survive the trip to it’s origanal home. So for about 6 months I have carefully gotten on and off of my bed that has resided as an island in my room. Needless to say, this was difficult to live with, and I was never sure if I would wake up dropped to the ground.
This last week I had to move my bed back to the wall…enough was enough! My brother helped me move it back and discovered that there were some loose and missing screws. He grabbed a screwdriver, tightened them, and my bed has sat straighter ever since. I was not aware that this little adjustment would make such an enormous difference, but it has.
I’m convinced that there is meaning in this experience, and I think I’ve figured out at least one of the ways it can apply. There are things in our lives that can be thought of as screws that hold everything in place. These things can be time with family or a friend, exercise, time spent toward an important dream or goal, prayer, just about anything that you consider an important part of your day or your week. If we forget, put off, or run out of time for these things, it’s like a missing screw in the bedframe of our existence. What screw can you tighten this week?

Last week, we ventured out to a fabulous local park. This park has so many amazing activities–swings, slides, an AstroTurf hill to climb & slide down, moving balance beams, a spider web, a water pump, and a butterfly garden.

 As we were leaving the park, though, our six-year-old discovered a butterfly on a plant. The butterfly’s wings were wet from the recent rains, and our son could hold it as it crawled and creeped from hand to arm to hand. He did not want to leave this beautiful creature that had trusted him enough to hold it.

We talked of what would happen if we took it home. Would it be safe in the car? Probably not. Do we have the right kinds of plants for it to drink? No. He continued to long for the connection he felt, yet he urged the butterfly from his grasp onto a bunch of fuchsia flowers. I felt relieved that he did what was best for the butterfly even though leaving it was difficult for him. I began to walk toward our car with a weight off my shoulders.

Then he called me back. Oh, no. Maybe he had reconsidered. I braced myself for a further plea to take it home, when, as I approached, he said delightfully, “Look, Mom, it’s drinking!” He was an enchanted witness to the beautiful butterfly sipping nectar from the soft deep cove within the flower. His letting go of the butterfly allowed the creature to live and be what it needed to be.

I am grateful for the wisdom of my six-year-old and for the lessons we have learned from a butterfly.