This is the actual picture I took of the injured butterfly.
By Amy Sondova I was walking my dogs outside, fairly annoyed because Maddy, my shih-tzu wasn’t listening. She was playfully ttacking my other dog (the nine year-old peekapoo), running amuck, and she wouldn’t do her doggie business. Then she saw something lying on the ground and went to attack it. Thinking it was garbage carelessly thrown on the grass by one of the neighbors, I pulled her away from the object. That’s when I noticed it wasn’t a piece of trash, but a butterfly.
As I took a closer look at the butterfly, I could see that it was injured–its right wing was torn asunder. I wasn’t even sure if the creature was alive. Then it moved suddenly, flapping its wings. I attempted to pick up the delicate creature to move it to a more suitable location. However, it tried to flee from my hand.
Finally, it gave up and perched on my finger. I carefully moved the butterfly to a flowering plant, a place of rest. I considered taking the butterfly inside, making it a home in a shoebox, and feedng it sugar water, but decided against it. The butterfly should remain in its habitat, and nature should take its course.
I went inside and grabbed my camera. I had been trying to get a nice butterfly picture all summer, but this butterfly was damaged. Not only that. The sky was dark and gray, and the moist heat had disappeared so it had become rather cool. I felt a twinge of guilt as I snapped this butterfly’s picture. I would have preferred an intact insect, one that would allow me to take a perfect picture. It was then that my heart became flooded with emotion. It was as if God was saying, “Is not a battered butterfly still beautiful? Is it not still beautiful because I created it?” Plus, having been battered by life myself, I could definitely relate to this poor creature.
Perhaps the lovely uniqueness of the butterfly was that it was battered. Maybe I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take its picture if it floated merrily on by. Or maybe I just needed to learn a lesson about being battered–even God’s battered creations are still beautiful.
Sometimes I feel completely deflated by life, and at these times I feel especially unlovely and unbeautiful. I just lie on the grass like that poor butterfly waiting for someone to come along and step on me, to end my misery. Yet God offers a hand of mercy, and sometimes I back away in fear. If I let Him, He will move me to a place of safety, where I can find nourishment and comfort.