The Butterfly and the Moth

 Did you know that butterfly and the moth are from the same Lepidoptera family? Yet many adore the butterfly and dislike the moth.

I am in the "dislike the moths camp." I find them creepy to look at, especially the larger ones. Their dull, almost alien appearance represents the insect world's less attractive side. In contrast, the butterflies are colorful and represent nature's beauty.

Besides the moths and butterflies' appearances, another significant difference is that 

while most moths lurk in the dark, butterflies flutter elegantly in the light of day. 

I remember summer nights on our patio when Derick and I'd turn the light on over the door. Moths would come in droves and bounce off the light fixture. And even after we'd turned the light off, the notorious night-flying creatures continued to fly aimlessly in the dark.

Those moths remind me of the tale of the lost sheep trying to find their way back to their flock, with the light acting as the Good Shepherd calling them home.

As Christians, we are like that outdoor light, powered by the Holy Spirit, illuminating the light of Christ through us. And although our human beacon may flicker at times, the welcoming light of Christ is always present within us, guiding and teaching us to embrace others without exclusion.

After all, we are all part of the same human family created by God; therefore, we should equally celebrate and respect each other's diverse lifestyles and cultural backgrounds. But unfortunately, ingroup bias is prominent in our society, and it's discouraging to see some groups favored while others are ignored. 

When you observe a homeless person, the LGBTQ+, or other marginalized groups, what do you see? A butterfly or a moth?

While I strive to see a butterfly in everyone, I've been guilty of shooing people away with my words and actions. I've looked at a person and seen them as a butterfly, only to see that person as a moth once I knew more about them. Still, there were other times when I'd witnessed what I thought was a moth that turned out to be a beautiful butterfly.

Thankfully, when I become judgemental (as we all do), the light of Christ is always on over my door, guiding me back home, wiser and more compassionate to be acceptant of my broader human family.

How about when you look in the mirror? What do you see? A butterfly or a moth?

For me, it all depends on the day. The reflections of my youth and older self portray a lifetime of growth and change.

I thought I was unworthy of love and belonging in my younger years. Like a moth, I felt like a nuisance and a pest, always hiding in the shadows. Then as I grew older, I realized I was scared to leave the comfy zone I'd created, not unlike a butterfly that remains camouflaged on a branch, afraid to spread its colorful wings.

But I've learned to silence my doubts and fears and no longer live in a cocoon. Instead, I embrace both the moth and the butterfly aspects of myself today.

Why?

Because my experiences—whether hidden in the dark like a moth or on full display like a butterfly—significantly impact who I've become. 

Furthermore, Christ teaches us to acknowledge all aspects of ourselves, including the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's how we transform into creatures of the light and see the world through His eyes.

So the next time you see moths flying around your light at night, envision them as the marginalized attracted to your light, and each time you hold out your hand to welcome them instead of "figuratively" swatting them away, God smiles and says, "Well done good and faithful servant."

Bottom line: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and God sees beauty in us all, so we should too. 

The Shadowy Slope of Life

Behind every shadow cast, there must be light since, without light, the shadow would disappear.

On the other hand, something must partially block the light for the shadow to appear in the first place. 

I grew up in an era without cell phones or video games. Our black-and-white TV only had two channels. It was like watching shadowy pictures through a constant snowfall of static. 

Yet my siblings and I were rarely bored; we entertained ourselves in other ways, as simple as chasing our shadows. We'd mimic and frolic after them and even got frustrated when we couldn't outrun them. 

Unresolved grief, the effects of trauma, hiding one's sexual orientation, or other present and past issues, are internal shadows with the same control in that we can never outrun them. 

However, unlike our external shadows, light isn't needed to produce the shadows we carry within. On the contrary, light is needed to expose the shadows lurking inside the mind.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that often forces us into the shadow realm of "faking it until we make it." In the process, we deny or suppress or hide parts of ourselves to fit in, and years later, we are still held hostage, detached from our true selves, unable to sever the shadows that bind us.

 

Carl Jung, one of the greatest psychologists of the 20th century, quoted:" In every adult, there lurks a child…that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole."

In retrospect, Jung's words are so true to my life. Left uncared for and traumatized, my inner child lurked so far inside the shadows of my mind that even as her cries manifested into feelings of being isolated, unworthy, anxious, and often on edge, her voice could not breach the echo chamber of deception. We were both stuck on the shadowy slope of life, unable to merge and move forward, until she finally caught my attention in my mid-forties.

Everything changed after I sought counseling and began confronting and bringing my youth's shadows into the light. It was the beginning of healing for both the adult version of myself and the little girl I'd left behind. And even though some of my past shadows are like boomerangs, my inner child and I now face them together, forever learning, evolving, and working toward the light.

And in one form or another, I often write about the shadowy parts of my past, not because I am an expert by any means, but because I know from experience how vital inner child work is for our overall well-being and how, when left at the helm, our shadows not only affect us; they affect the people around us as well. 

Furthermore, without exposure to the light, our shadows will hold out on becoming our greatest teachers. Why? Because they hold the key that locks us from becoming our true selves, they conceal the secrets that squash our happiness and deny us the freedom to reach our full potential. 

I know all too well that it isn't easy to believe in the light behind the shadow during life's struggles. As a result, our spirit may wander toward our darker shadow self since—at that moment—we cannot see a lit path forward. 

Most of you know my story and the shadow I hid behind after my daughter came out gay. However, the light of love overcame the shadow of estrangement and lit the path toward an amazing relationship with my daughter, her wife, and three grandsons.

Falling behind the shadow of domestic abuse at nineteen also left me feeling helpless and unworthy of love. Yet, once again, the light shone beyond the shadow and lit the path that led me to my wonderful, caring husband of forty-one years.   

Perhaps being trapped in the maze of the mind for so many years is why I'm always fascinated by the symbolism the cycle of life portrays in nature, especially during springtime, as spring reminds me of new birth, where the shadow of the dead-looking trees will soon bud into blooming flowers again. 

And it's so fitting that Easter, the ultimate celebration of life, also occurs during this season of renewal. A time when Christ endured much suffering, yet, in the end, He conquered the shadow of death through His resurrection.

While our journey on this earth will always cast new shadows upon us, Easter gives us hope that life will re-bloom—despite dark and dreary days—because Christ is always there, shadow-hunting on our behalf, patiently waiting to breathe new life into us again.    

                                                     Happy Easter!

                                                  

                                                                     

Clay in the Potter’s Hands

When I think of our spiritual lives, I liken it to how we are but clay in the Potter's hands, designed to go through the "messiness" of the pottery process. 

Many of us have been crushed and broken by life's circumstances, often hardening our hearts and causing us to resist the molding process.

"The world breaks everyone, then some become strong at the broken places." Ernest Hemingway. 

Hemingway's quote reminds me of times when I felt broken and how I found the strength to persevere in those broken places. 

Looking back now (although I resisted the Potter), I believe He was still sprinkling "love water" on my dirt, softening it and preparing me for the healing power of His wheel.

Then in 2004, I took a leap of faith and dared to become wet clay again. I dared to embrace vulnerability and be molded anew. It's been challenging for me to give up control, to trust the process and timing of the Potter. I am, after all, a stubborn creature by nature and sometimes venture off His wheel—only to find myself "splat" back on again so that His loving hands can resume their work.

When we place our lives in the Potter's hands, it's just the beginning of our pottery transformation. Like clay has to undergo several processes before it transcends into a beautiful piece of art, the Potter has unique methods of working in and through us to soften our hearts and smooth out all the rough edges. It can be a messy and fragile undertaking because, in reality, our hearts don't become hardened overnight; therefore, healing isn't an immediate fix. 

The thing is, this life will always leave us marred and broken in some way. So we will constantly evolve as our lives are molded and reworked here on Earth. Our part in that process is to remain open, humble, and pliable, which isn't always easy.

Why? 

Because even when we are back on the Potter's wheel feeling good about our progress, a life twist can occur at any given moment, repeatedly testing our faith and making us less flexible in His hands. 

One such test came when my daughter openly admitted she was gay. The shockwave initiated by her coming out rattled my core beliefs and caused me to become wobbly and off-centered on the Potter's wheel. Hearing the harshness toward homosexuality (especially at church) suddenly became like daggers to my heart as I cringed in the pew, not knowing when the preacher would indirectly speak those painful words toward my daughter again.

So for my spiritual and mental well-being, I took a two-year hiatus away from church but remained pliable in the Potter's hands, and even though I mumbled and grumbled and flopped around, I became centered again. During that time, my understanding and love for the Potter grew, and I finally realized that He loved my daughter as much as I did. 

A short time later, the Potter opened the doors of Burns Mosa to our family. Their Christ-like love, kindness, and acceptance gave us a new church family, and Burns became a part of our pottery process, for which we will be forever grateful. 

What the world may discard as a lifeless piece of clay, the Potter envisions something extraordinary. 

I don't know what struggles you are facing. But please know this: You are not alone. You are not a failure. You aren't worthless. You are loved and redeemable. You are the clay in the Potter's hands, a beautiful piece of art, despite your scars. And He desires to mold you into the extraordinary vessel you were meant to become.

                                     

Does Everything Happen for a Reason?

You are in tears, sharing a painful experience with a friend; she consoles you and utters the words, "everything happens for a reason."

Admittedly, you know your friend is being genuine. You know she has your best interest at heart. But you don't feel it at that moment — instead, you feel a little annoyed and dumbfounded. You think, "What possible reason would justify this shroud of darkness?" 

Everything happens for a reason is a common cliché used among Christians and non-Christians. It can be an inspiring catchphrase if the timing and context are right. But in my experience, more often than not, it's used out of context.  

So why is this cliché (and so many others) thrown around so loosely, especially in the face of grief and human suffering? 

To be fair: People mean well. I don't think anyone's motive is to add confusion to one's suffering. Many are ill-prepared to deal with grief and loss — to deal with the discomfort of others' pain, of the awkward silence grief can present. So they fumble on what to say. But more importantly, what not to say. And end up saying clichés such as everything happens for a reason.

 I am in no way letting myself off the hook here. I, too, have been guilty of uttering everything happens for a reason without considering how my words might have affected the person on the receiving end. But since working through personal grief and doing extensive research on grief and loss, my views have evolved. 

Through healing, with time and distance, I've (slowly) ripped the band-aids off my emotional wounds and taken a deeper look at my scars, bringing a new perspective and awareness to them. 

So have I found reasons to use the traumatic events in my life for the greater good? Yes. I've discovered purpose in my pain if you will. 

Do I believe my pain happened to produce that purpose? Absolutely not. 

On my life's journey, I am reminded that even when I enjoy life to the fullest, others are deep in grief and pain. And so, for me, to insinuate everything happens for a reason is to send out the message that God orchestrates and causes "all" bad things to happen. That it's His will to inflict pain and suffering on His children, that evil doesn't exist, and that He has a divine purpose for every ordeal we face.  

Think about it. 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for provoking so much injustice and abuse in the world? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for inciting someone to open fire on innocent people? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for someone being sexually abused? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for causing someone to get cancer?

Unfortunately, we live in a fallen world where terrible events continue to inflict pain. And whether we believe everything happens for a reason or not, we must handle it with care. The most crucial consideration should be how the person on the receiving end will interpret the words we say, bearing in mind that sometimes there is no justification or logical explanation for why certain things happen. 

But as believers, we can take comfort that our pain isn't meaningless because of the Cross. We can rest assured that God does see the bigger picture, that He's there in our grief and suffering, healing those broken places in our hearts so that we can (in time) rise above and become pillars of light and support for others. Nothing is wasted if we place it in God's hands. 

The Meandering Road of Life

Do you feel like you're meandering through life without meaning or purpose? Do you question the path that you're on? Do you feel like something is missing in your life, but you can't quite put your finger on it?

Most of us like to keep existence simple. We want the road that we're on to be straightforward. But then life happens. And we find ourselves meandering through unknown territory. While some turns are wondrous and beautiful, others are dark and traumatic, sending us into a wobble — to the point where there appears to be no path forward anymore.

Looking back now, it's clear that I felt out of place in this world, like a misfit, meandering aimlessly. Thereby, much of my energy was spent trying to figure out where I belonged, so much so that my external world became so loud it'd drowned out the calm, whispering voice of my soul. 

I read once that you can only give so much of yourself away before you have nothing left to give. And it's so true; we can become inwardly depleted and unrecognizable to ourselves. 

We are all wandering creatures by nature, each on a mission to find our place in this world. And even though some find it, others of us are like nomads, meandering and searching until suddenly we are nudged, prompted by the universe to make the journey back home for the well-being of our emotional, mental, and spiritual state.

In 2004, I hit a crossroads. Nothing made sense. There was no purpose or meaning in my life. Yet (the confusing part was) I'd a beautiful life.

So what was wrong? What had left me discontented and ungrateful for the life that I had? 

In truth: I'd lost touch with God and my innermost self. In other words: I'd lost my way home.

I'd masked my past traumas and meandered into the future with a clouded perception of what was essential in life. As a result, I experienced a tug-of-war between the external world and my spirit, making me feel like a part of me was broken — needed fixing, when, in reality, all I had to do was "let go of the rope" and trust God to show me the way home.

Actually, hitting that crossroads in 2004 was a beckoning to begin my search for "home," the beginning of what's been a long meandering trek of introspection and self-awareness. A purifying training ground, if you will, that brought me back to God, that guided me into a better understanding of myself, and that helped me find meaning in the events that'd happened to me. 

Of course, the road has become more manageable with God at the helm. It's not that the road is necessarily straighter by any means. It's just that I am not alone. I now have a traveling companion, a supreme navigator, to help me get back on track. 

If we are honest, there's a place within all of us that's unsatisfied and longs for something more. I don't mean more money or an accumulation of more stuff but rather a "spiritual hunger" that only God can fill. As Saint Augustine quoted: "Our hearts are restless until it rests in thee." 

This simple yet so profound quote by Augustine has significant meaning if you think about it. Because — as we meander along life's road — it's a given that our hearts will wander and become restless. We're human, after all. But how wonderful is it that we can always regain spiritual perspective by resting in thee?

PS: I'm still a misfit in many ways. But understanding that we are all uniquely created, I am okay with being different, with going off-the-beaten-path, if it doesn't negatively impact my spiritual health, that is.

Through Elderly Eyes

While the young will go down in history known as the "COVID-19 generation," the elderly will go down as the most vulnerable affected by the pandemic. Why? Because it's been, by far, the toughest, deadliest on them.

How would you see the world around you if you were to look through the eyes of an elderly person? 

Behind the face of an elderly is a life well-lived, a life that has contributed much to society, a life that deserves love and affection and respect, a life that has — in many cases — survived the devastation of war as well as the Great Depression, and, unfortunately for some, a life that's known the heartache of having to outlive their child/children. 

Ingrained in parts of society, whether intentionally or unintentionally, is the notion that elderly people are "has-beens." And because of "old age," this shadow of disdain sends out the message that they aren't valued like they should be. Sadly, the situation has gotten much worse throughout COVID. 

"It's an old person's disease." 

"That person was old; they were going to die soon anyway." 

I've heard/read statements like these many times since the onset of the pandemic.  

None of us know what the future holds. To be elderly isn't a death sentence. Meaningful relationships don't diminish with age. On the contrary, in my twenty-five-year career working with the elderly (as they shared stories of days gone by), I'd often seen a sparkle in their eye that implied a past life of freedom and agility.

 

This time of year draws me back to the Sears Christmas Annual Seniors Event, which I was blessed to participate in for many years. It was a heart-warming experience that brought many family and friends together before the holiday rush, an entertaining night out in the lives of the elderly, who might have otherwise felt forgotten if it wasn't made possible by the many dedicated volunteers. 

As busloads were brought in from nursing homes in the surrounding areas, the event would kick off with a bit of shopping for loved ones, stopping along the way to enjoy some yummy holiday treats and a chit-chat, followed by the enjoyment of a local band's rendition of some well-known Christmas carols. 

I'll never forget the magic at the singalongs: From the clapping of hands to the stomping of feet to the footloose and fancy-free dancing, I watched in awe as the elderly stole the show. Perhaps, for some, it was a flashback to their youth, and for others, perhaps it was a time away from their loneliness. Whatever the case might have been, they were living in the moment. Right there in the Sears department store! And it was breathtaking to watch. 

I can't help but wonder now, with Christmas fast approaching and the new Omicron variant on the rise, if the elderly are grappling with how the holidays will look for them, leaving them even more susceptible to the "holiday blues?" 

Thankfully, the benefits of technology such as Facetime and Skype give some ( like my in-laws) a sense of connection with loved ones. 

But the significant impact on their overall mental health caused by the pandemic can't be replaced with Facetime and Skype. Likewise, the day-to-day recreational activities enjoyed with friends can't be replaced with Facetime and Skype. Nor can the face-to-face interactions with friends dropping by to reassure them that they aren't alone in these trying times. No. Instead, the lack of touch and interaction with family and friends (especially family) has left them feeling disengaged and cut off from the world they'd once known. 

 I know we are living in challenging times, but if possible, let's find ways to enrich an elderly person's life by giving them the gift of time amid all the hustle and bustle this year. It costs nothing. It asks for nothing in return. Only that we show up and be present with our presence — in whatever medium available. 

                                             Merry Christmas. Stay Safe.

The Panoramic View of the Human Forest

I've been guilty (and still am at times) of getting caught up in capturing a quick photographic moment rather than looking at the bigger picture in the album of life. Quieting my mind and contemplating the more panoramic view isn't always easy, and I know I'm not alone here. 

 

It's been our second fall season living on the East Coast. Nothing has been more breathtaking or awakened my soul like the scenic view of leaves changing colors. There were many days when nature beckoned me to come outside, to capture the beauty of God's creation — something I'd taken for granted for much of my adult life. 

Fall has become bittersweet for me in the last few years, though. As the transformation of colors gives way to, what can be, the dreariness of winter, the withered leaves falling to the ground bring with it an emptiness that triggers my seasonal depression. While life may appear perfect on the outside, there are days when the internal battle paints a much different picture. 

 I know my situation is far from rare. And I know every situation is unique. But since moving to NB, being out in nature has been one of the best coping mechanisms. Not only that. Being out in nature has helped dampen the pandemic's effects on my overall well-being. It's why I wholeheartedly believe that discovering coping mechanisms is crucial in helping us span the gap to a brighter, more panoramic picture moving forward. 

 A few weeks ago, on a rainy, windy, dreary Sunday afternoon, I was lounging in my living room sipping coffee, transfixed on the densely wooded area in our backyard, amazed at how the natural world interacts. 

Observing the insistent blustery winds sway the different types of trees back and forth, I pulled my warm, cozy blanket up to my chin, closed my eyes, and listened to the hypnotic sound of the rain and wind as my mind drifted back to what our lives were like pre-pandemic. 

The trees are hugging one another tightly out there, without the barrier of social distancing, I thought. Before we were forced into lockdowns, before we were forced to social distance, we were part of the human forest. We were but another tree blowing in the wind, unmasked and unafraid to interact, for the most part, anyway. 

I don't know about you, but I long to be a part of the human forest again. Even though I'm an introvert by nature, I miss the freedom of human connections. 

Unfortunately, the pandemic has proven to span a few too many seasons for most of us, taking its toll on our positivity and patience. Truth be known. We all want our social lives back. Because to be together is inherently human, and besides, feeling less alone is always good for the soul.

I mean, even the biblical writer John preferred to meet face-to-face, without barriers or social distancing. "I have much to write to you, but I do not want to use paper and ink. Instead, I hope to visit you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete." ( 2 John 1:12). 

I can imagine the face-to-face interactions John spoke of lifted the spirits of all who gathered.

And we, too, as believers, can take solace. Because whether we are shedding leaves of human struggles or embracing life's beauty, Christ, The Tree of Life, observes the more panoramic view. He observes our every tear and joyous moment; he molds us through all life seasons and assures us that the leaves of joy will return. 

My prayer is that the pandemic will soon become a distant picture in the album of life, replaced by lessons learned, creating a more panoramic view of the human forest, where we are unmasked and unafraid to interact — with both stranger and friend alike — lifting one another as God intended, so that our joy may be complete in Him.