The last day of an incredibly hot August and it’s still blazing hot out, but I thought if I could take it easy and not stay out in the heat too long at a time, I might be able to make some headway on a raised strawberry bed I’ve been working on. In order to get started I needed to mulch up some old rotting hay and compost, and I thought my old chipper might just do the trick so I went out to the barn and swam through months of cobwebs and finally got the thing out. It was, as expected, in fairly decrepit condition as it had sat in that dark corner through seasons of horse dust, bugs, and other barn accoutrements and of course it would not start. As I struggled with all my 73-year-old might to pull crank the old contraption and get the heavy flywheel to turn, I noticed something (besides my progressing weakness) – there was gasoline dripping from the little carburetor. This usually means that during storage the needle in the tiny float valve figured out a way to get stuck open and continue to allow gas to run into the float bowl and overfill it – those little carbs are always trying with all their might to be the first thing to fail to operate when a machine is needed.
While I was dutifully disassembling the tiny troublemaker and struggling to keep up with microscopic components, the strangest thing happened to me. Now I’ll tell you up front that I hope you don’t think I’m a bit insane – no, I’d much rather you just go all the way and think I’m completely crazy – certifiable and ready for the institution, but this little butterfly came along and lit on my sweaty wrist and clung on as he (she?) very delicately probed around on my skin with his little probiscis; first here, then turn his tiny head and there, and I had to stop being frustrated with my clumsy hands trying to perform microsurgery and watch this little guy and as I did, my curiosity began to get the better of me, and then astonishingly, he spoke to me. He didn’t speak with words or any sound; he didn’t need to. I could hear him from inside. He began by asking me, “What are you doing out here working on this confounded thing?” I already understood where he was going with this, and I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t have a reasonable answer in the moment.
He continued, “You of all people realize how close this old world is to wrapping things up, and the time is short.” I dropped my head and listened intently now, the profundities of his thought were piercing my inner sanctum. “You do realize your precious strawberry bed can wait for a while so that you can do something much more important, and you also know what that is, so what are you doing?” he said as he gingerly stepped around on my arm so that his tiny little eyes were in direct line with my own. “There may be a prospective reader out there who needs just the post you write today to begin his/her move toward an important goal you might inspire for them. There may be a believer who is down and needs encouragement at this very moment. By fixing this dratted machine, you are only satisfying your need to accomplish something, but it is a menial and useless thing compared to what might transpire in the heart of someone who will read an essay today that God has given you the ability and desire to create.” This little guy was cutting my conscience like he knew exactly what he was doing.
The tiny butterfly left my arm and after a moment, I determined to continue with my project, assuming of course, that the experience with the miniature lepidopteran was a temporary departure from my normal insanity into something more profound – which would be an experience I’ve heard is not uncommon with old codgers – but as I reached for a tool, he came back and landed in the exact same spot and looked at me, “Don’t you know you’ve just been visited by something more profound than you can even imagine? What are you still doing here?” I was awestruck, to say the least! Flabbergasted might even be a better word!
I knew I needed to reassemble this “dratted machine” before I did anything more, else I’d never find the parts (the cats would see to that) nor, more importantly, remember how everything went back together, so he waited patiently right there on my wrist, never flinching or fluttering away until I got it all put in place and tightened, and when I turned the last screw, he left me – I guess to ponder what had just happened. I have to admit, I’ve never had my conscience accosted to such an extreme – by a next-to-nonentity at that.
How on earth did God know to make that little critter come speak to me at just this time? Now you might (and probably do) think it was just my own conscience hammering on me to leave something unimportant and go inside and get something done for God, and any other time, I’d probably agree with you, but what I wrote is what happened – you can believe it or not as you choose. A tiny little butterfly – one with a chunk of a wing missing (so I knew it was him when he came back that second time) – rode upon a summer morning’s breeze from who knows where in God’s celestial realm and lit on the greasy, sweaty arm of an old short-timer in this world and ever so gently got his attention and in God’s own gentle and loving way, urged him to break into what he was doing and get something important done for Him. And I never even tried to crank the thing – came straight here to my keypad to make sure you – the one reading this, know that Jesus Christ loves you with an intensity none of us can even begin to comprehend – and He wants to hear from you.
Now the little insect didn’t tell me this part, and maybe I don’t even have to tell the reader, but unless whatever you’re doing is in some way connected with God’s work, just stop whatever it is and check in with the Lord – He’d love to hear from you. That, after all, is what this whole story is about. If I can stop what I was doing up to my elbows in sweat and grease, to send you this post, then you can stop what you’ve got going and talk to God. I believe that was the intended result of His sending that beautiful little creature to get my attention. All just for you. There may not be enough time left in this old world for a crop of strawberries next year anyway.
May the blessings of the Almighty Father find and keep us.
MK