She's A Butterfly

In May of 1984, a close friend of our family was very sick. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was just days from the end of her life.
Sandie was a classy lady. She had style in the way she dressed, the way she lived, and the way she presented herself. She was also a perfectionist. She was an artist, and could make beautiful things. She was known to make gifts for people, that were always more special, therefore, than anything she could have bought. That last week that we stayed with her and her family, I noticed that she didn’t have the energy to get herself ready the way she used to. She wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants that week, didn’t dry her hair, and wore no make-up. She usually wore a lot of silver jewelry, but she didn’t even do that. With her outfit of sweats and slippers, she wore only one piece of jewelry-- a silver butterfly ring. At the time, I was too young and oblivious to think much about the significance of that one piece of jewelry. I was too focused on her illness, and the fear of losing her. But in the years since, I’ve thought about it a lot. Now I realize she knew she was dying of melanoma, leaving her husband and two small children behind, through no choice of her own. But she wore that butterfly ring in those last days, every day. I think it was a reminder to her of HOPE. She loved beautiful things. She loved to create, and work with colors. She loved living near the Hudson River of New York, and worked as a freelance artist/decorater in historic buildings that were being restored in the area. She loved LIFE.
I was a pretty intense, serious teenager and young adult. Sandie always tried to push me off center, to take myself less seriously. Once she grabbed me off the couch, dragged me down the hallway, got a couple of my Dad’s many hats off the closet shelf, plopped them on our heads, and led me in a kind of Rockette-type dance through the living room. We ended up falling onto the couch laughing till we cried. When I was too shy to play my guitar for anyone else, she made me play for her, and then for the rest of the family. That’s how I started singing. We’d stay up late at night, her working on her craft projects, and me playing the guitar and singing her requests. When I got all worked up about something in school or something, she’d often laugh at me and tell me to “lighten up.” She’d also get me talk to late into the night over a cup of tea (decaf), after everyone else had gone to bed. She had a way of making you feel beautiful.
2007 was a hard year. I, for one, am ready to start a new one. I know that doesn’t guarantee that the new year will be easier than 2007, but it’s one way of starting over, of HOPING. Here in Nebraska, we started off 2007 with an ice storm and a few funerals. We ended the year with more loss and grief—so far, no ice. Several months ago, I found a silver butterfly ring in the store, and had to buy it. I rarely take it off. It not only reminds me of Sandie and her great passion for life, but of the hope and the colors and the love and beauty that she offered with her short life. Which is what I hope to offer with mine. It reminds me of RESURRECTION and new beginnings and love that heals all wounds. It reminds me of new possibilities, and how much greater is God’s imagination than ours, thank God. I find myself stroking my ring a lot, or just looking at it, as I say goodbye to 2007-- somewhat gratefully—and hope in a new year, a new day, and renewed faith-- faith in God’s future, God’s possibilities, and God’s dreams. One day at a time, as the song says. And today I believe in LIFE, love and the power of God; all of which lasts forever.