Yellow Butterflies

Yellow Butterflies

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

It’s that season again. The little yellow butterflies are fluttering up and down the gravel road on which I travel. There’s no other way to get home. I have to take the gravel road. Coming up and over the first hill is where they gather. The delicate creatures are fluttering here and there…normally ending up smack dab in the middle of my bumper.

I have a love/hate relationship with them. I hate when they do that…and I have no choice but to run right into the little beauties. Worse yet, they are not merely taken out one by one, but several at a time go missing.

I’ve tried slowing down some and by doing so, every so oft one manages to catch the wind…escaping just in the nick of time. Yet others continue making their move in the direction my vehicle is traveling. Gone! In the blink of an eye…they are gone!

Frustrated I get, and when I am frustrated, I want to lay blame. Why is it they find the very center of the gravel road in which to gravitate? 

My parents used to tell us to go play on the center line from time to time and now…I guess I know what would have happened had I taken them up on the challenge. Even though it was their way of teasing…this is exactly what would have happened and the gist of the joke did not escape me. The little yellow butterflies have become the center line as they dance their way into oblivion. As they are often in pairs, once in a while one of the two will make it out alive. That’s when I wonder if they know their little buddy is gone.

My husband would say that I am putting human emotion onto an insect…or an animal which is most often the case. He would be correct. I suppose it is only natural to extend that which we feel onto other living things. I would wager a bet that they do have a bond with their own kind. At least that’s how I’m going to go with this thought process.

Yup, tis the season of little yellow butterflies and the only thing worse is having it coincide with the season of Monarch butterflies. So it goes. The first thing I do when hitting one of those is to check and see if my speedometer says I'm over the speed limit. If I am, then I take full responsibility and confess it on the spot. If I’m not, I figure it’s a random act of nature. After all, I’m following the speed limit and if I’m doing my part…then it will be what it will be. I feel less guilt over it.

The season of little yellow butterflies is a prelude to the Monarchs which unfurl their beauty soon after. After the Monarchs come the Black-eyed Susans in the ditches and soon after that, the leaves begin to fall. The falling leaves are a prelude to football, volleyball and the likes thereof. And soon after the brisk fall weather begets the frosty weather of winter...and so it goes.

None of this is new under the sun, but we feel the pulse of life unearthing itself in all forms to the rhythm of what is and what is to come.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 lays the groundwork. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven:  A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silent and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

And the best part of these cycles in life is that there is a purpose.  He says so.  Amen.