Diary of an Ex-caterpillar

Day One

This is my chrysalis. My place for twenty-one days of unraveling, coming apart, becoming liquid.

My place for radical trust; like a caterpillar who doesn’t even get to retain her brain I cannot direct this process. I am letting go, not just what is in my hands, but even things I cannot grasp.

It is my own set-apart place but it is not so solitary as to leave me exposed. This place was set apart for me, not by me—prepared. Protected, as I will be in this season.

I listen for the healing: flowing water, quiet birds, even the steady ebb and flow of the rumble of the road. It reminds me of the first place prepared for me. Carried across that threshold I became new—or began to.

These portals prepare me in ways I cannot prepare myself, try as I might. That’s where some of the fear leaks in: each past transformation has deposited me in the most unexpected territories; it makes me worry—no, wonder where the next one will be.

The world is tilting underneath me, too slowly to make me lose my footing so long as I keep my sea legs; too slowly for anyone looking on from shore to understand when I do stumble. Their ground is so stable, but to walk upon the wind requires uncertain steps.

To fly is not the dream I chase. My longing is not defying gravity. But if I spread wide in surrender the fiery updraft will take me up.

So first I fold, surrendering to being remade.

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Day Twenty

I was just getting comfortable.

Being undone, broken apart, put to sleep, and remade was rough.

But then the peace settled in.

Like a swaddled baby rocking in the tree top, I stopped fighting and let myself relax.

It didn’t last. It couldn’t. When I think about it, I wouldn’t want it to. Babies must grow up and butterflies must emerge.

Unlike the swaddled baby though it’s my job to get myself out of here.

I have asked God why he wouldn’t help me. I have screamed it, and he has shown me his answer so gently: Just like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, direct help from a higher power would not actually be beneficial, and could even be detrimental. So I have learned.

So also I have learned that he was not not helping me.

A man wishing to help a butterfly in the midst of emerging may shield it from the wind, hide it from predators, and ensure its wings are exposed to ample sunlight as they dry.

So too has my God done for me.

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Day Twenty-One

The river is such a picture of abundance. Buckets of water constantly flowing past, disappearing into the distance, and yet fresh water is ever present here and now.

There is so much more beyond what I can see here sitting on the banks, drying my wings. Life below the surface right in front of me. A whole city of people downstream. And the source somewhere beyond those distant hills.

Here it is peaceful.

The river is all mine, filling me with life without me draining anything from its abundance. Its simple existence draws a whole ecosystem to itself, producing life and magnifying the beauty of everything that comes near. Even the whole expansive sky is doubled by the surface of the water.

Whatever it touches grows, from slippery algae to the tallest tree, and everyone who enters becomes clean.

Its influence is vast, reaching far beyond this present moment. Gentle, letting a hand pass right through it, yet powerful enough to pass through stone. Healing to a bruised reed, yet relentless in its destruction of fake barriers.

Many look at the river as a dividing line, but is it really? For it draws creatures of every kind and bridge-builders find their home on its banks.

It is a road, a path inviting me to choose to use its push to propel me away or bring me to my next destination.

Perhaps in finding flow I will even discover my destiny.