Sorry I’ve been away for so long…I’ve been a little too wrapped up in my own suffering to reach out. Indeed, reaching up has been difficult, too. My prayers of late are nothing more than “inexpressible groanings.” Quite frankly, they feel so much more like complaints…I thank you all, so very much, for the letters of encouragement and prayers offered…they have sustained me.
These early post-surgical days are not pretty. I’m lacking elegance and eloquence in word and movement. I thought, perhaps, I shouldn’t bother expressing these things…that maybe, given time, my words would reflect a gentler disposition and greater acceptance of these temporary limitations. But I think that I, not you, dear friends…need to read them. I need this “literary snapshot” of my weakness. I’m always trying to manage it all alone…it’s nearly impossible for me to ask for assistance from anyone. Seeing my family shouldering the burdens that had been mine is difficult in the extreme. This is truly a temporary situation…yet I suffer as though it were for all time, hence forth and evermore.
A few days prior to my surgery, the children brought in a very small Monarch caterpillar. They placed her in a jar, where I could watch her. Fed a daily diet of milkweed, she grew and grew. This morning, suspended from a silken thread, she hangs, enclosed in a glistening chrysalis…underneath those wrappings, hidden from sight a metamorphosis is taking place…a transformation that will change her from the ordinary to the extraordinary.
I am that caterpillar…my wrappings are not so very lovely…but:
I’m praying for the same transformation. That I can shed these trappings of ordinariness to expose the extraordinariness of grace…the grace God pours upon the soul in waiting…and waiting is all I can do at the moment. Waiting and praying that I make good use of this time of suffering. It is so small, and on the other side of it: the possibility of healing and improved mobility. And yet, while I await bone, sinew and tissue to heal, our Lord is working something greater, I’m sure.
Praying that this caterpillar will soon emerge a butterfly…
Do ye not comprehend that we are worms,
Born to bring forth the angelic butterfly
That flieth unto judgment without screen?