A Butterfly Flapping

Author: Carolyn

  • The Son of Which Promise?

    Genesis 16:1-16, 21:14-21

    This is a difficult story to tell from any of the four points of view. Each of their butterflies recognizes the reasoning behind their person’s actions, but each of the people create pain for the others. Only Isaac and his butterfly, IcB, are bystanders.

    Let me introduce each of the other four.

    Abram speaks directly with God, not needing as much the connection with his AbB line of butterflies (not to be confused with Abel’s butterfly).

    Sarai, Abram’s wife, is often at odds with her SB line, but for valid reasons. She is “past the ways of women” and has not had a child.

    Hagar, Sarai’s slave, probably bought from Egypt and given the HB line, is often the victim of Sarah’s frustration.

    Ishmael with his IlB butterflies is or is not, depending on the translation of one word, the innocent victim, the son of Hagar by Abram.

    Isaac, the son finally born to Sarai/Sarah and Abram/Abraham, is accompanied by IsB.

    ***

    As long as Ishmael could remember, his two mothers fought over him. One was Hagar, his biological mother, and the other was Sarai, the one who claimed him. He heard the story many times in their arguments as he huddled in the corner with IlB trying to comfort him with the thought, “This is not your fault.”

    How could it not be? He was the child born to their argument.

    The other two butterflies, HB and SB—would gather in the same corner, apparently communicating with each other. IlB sent his encouraging thoughts to the boy from his shoulder, but the spoken words carried more force than his thoughts.

    Hagar would complain, “You gave me to that old man like a cow to a bull. And you kept the calf, my son, as soon as you determined to wean him.” Sometimes HB would support her, but other times, she was careful not to think anything.

    Sarai’s face would turn red. “ ‘That old man’ is your master. You will speak of him with respect!” SB understood Sarai’s viewpoint, but she wanted to tone down the argument.

    “There was no respect for me, even when I carried the child you now claim! I could nurse the son I birthed and cleaned, but you took him away from me. I knew that would happen.”

    # # #

    Sarai was too old to have a child, but God had promised her a son. When no birth occurred, Sarai sent Abram to Hagar. “The Lord has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her.”*

    SB shook her head, but held back her thoughts.

    After weeks of feuding between the two women, Sarai went to her husband.

    “You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my slave in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the Lord judge between you and me.”*

    Abram wanted nothing to do with the two women fighting. “Your slave is in your hands. Do with her whatever you think best.”* ‘AB and SB conferred with each other. This will not be good.

    What Sarai seemed to think best was to humiliate the young woman whose bearing the child she had demanded until Hagar ran away into the desert. HB led the runaway to a spring and waited on a blade of grass.

    There an angel of the Lord found them. “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?”*

    She knew where she was coming from, but not where she was going. With an angel of the Lord before her, she knew to tell the truth. “I’m running away from my mistress Sarai.”*

    Because he was an angel, he already knew that, but he only smiled. “Go back to your mistress and submit to her. I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.”*

    Hagar had heard about the promise of God to Abram and Sarai, about the descendants. This sounded the same.

    But the promise held more details. “You are now pregnant and you will give birth to a son. You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard of your misery. He will be a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone and everyone’s hand against him, and he will live in hostility toward all his brothers.”*

    Trembling with both fear and awe, when the angel left, she gave a name to God, “You are the God who sees me,”* recognizing “I have now seen the One who sees me.”*

    Hagar and HB returned to Abram’s camp, and Ishmael was born. As the years went by, HB frequently reminded Hagar that the angel had said to submit to Sarai. In public, the feud between the women went silent. Hagar loved the son Abram had forcefully given her, but she hated the woman who had treated her like a cow to be bred so her mistress could have the calf, her son.

    For thirteen years, everyone believed Ishmael was the son of God’s promise. He was the darling of the camp, the favored one. Hagar considered him to be the son of God’s promise to her; the others claimed him as the son of the promise to Abram. The boy continued to be confused, as Hagar seethed in the background, resenting the man who took her, resenting the woman who claimed him.

    Then two things turned his life upside down, one short-term, one long-term.

    The short-term resulted from the vision of Abram, renamed Abraham at the age of 99, in which God required that every male person in the camp, slave or free, be circumcised. Everyone included 13-year-old Ishmael, who endured the same painful experience as the rest of the men. IlB tried to make him laugh, sometimes more successfully than others.

    The other would destroy him. Sarai, now called Sarah, was with child! Now all the attention went to the about-to-be mother. When the second son was born, IlB worried what would happen to Ishmael. Would Sarah continue to love him or would she see him as simply the son of her slave?

    At first, Sarah did, of course, spend more time with the new born, but she still seemed to consider Ishmael a member of her family, not the son of Hagar. Only Hagar resented the celebrations of Isaac’s first crawling, first steps, first words. HB reminded her to not display her jealousy. Those stages of Ishmael’s life had been celebrated too. And Hagar was still nursing the second child.

    When Sarah mentioned the time was coming to wean her son, SB noticed a change. Weaning was a celebration that the child was old enough, healthy enough to probably survive on normal food. The older the child was at weaning, the better his chances of survival. Isaac was approaching that age.

    Ishmael had been Sarah’s security, her back up. If Isaac did not live to be weaned, she still had a son to inherit from Abraham. But what would happen to Isaac when their father died? Ishmael, the son of the slave, would be the older son, the one who would inherit the birthright, not her precious son, the one she had borne.

    SB did not share this information with HB, but she worried about it.

    HB did notice a subtle change in Sarah’s attitude toward Ishmael, but she considered it to be the joy of watching her own son grow.

    IlB was busy tending to the teen’s activities, warning him against doing anything foolish.

    At the child’s weaning party, Ishmael played1,2 with his half-brother. Sarah, who had claimed the older child as her own, who had rocked him to sleep, who had held him tight, went into a rage. “Get rid of that slave woman and her son, for that woman’s son will never share in the inheritance with my son Isaac.”*

    Ishmael was stunned. Now the hatred Sarah held for his mother included him. He had not cried during the circumcision, and he would not cry now, but the pain was much deeper, filling his whole body.

    Would Abraham defend him? Abraham, his father, had told him dozens of times how God promised him a son. Surely, he could count on his father.

    Ishmael did not know that, distressed, Abraham took the matter to the Lord. God encouraged him to do as his wife wished. “Do not be so distressed about the boy and your slave woman. Listen to whatever Sarah tells you, because it is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned. I will make the son of the slave into a nation also, because he is your offspring.”*

    All Ishmael knew was that, early the next morning, Abraham called Hagar and Ishmael to his tent. Giving them food and a skin of water, he sent them away. SB thought she had seen this coming. HB was surprised until she thought about it. IlB was stunned. How could this have happened without him expecting it?

    Because his mother hated Abraham as much as she hated Sarah, Ishmael dared not ask his mother why they had to leave. Why had his father turned him out with so little? What had he done wrong? How would they survive with so little water?

    As the slave woman and her son left, SB shared with the other two butterflies, “I’m sorry. I should have warned you both.”

    HB responded, “I should have seen it coming.”

    IlB shook his head, still not understanding.

    They wandered in the desert of Beersheba until the water gave out.

    Hagar put the boy3 under a bush, thinking, “I cannot watch the boy die.”*

    She sat down at a distance and wept.

    IlB folded his wings into the bush by Ishmael. Now he understood what Sarah had done and why. HB rested on Hagar’s shoulder, trying to encourage her. Help was coming.

    Hagar jumped as the angel returned. “What is the matter, Hagar? Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Lift the boy up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.”*

    She watched her butterfly flutter over to the cover of a well of water, half buried in sand. She cleared it, refilled the skin, and the two castaways drank.

    God continued to care for Ishmael and his mother. They lived in the desert, and he became an archer. While living in the Desert of Paran, Hagar went to Egypt and brought back a wife for him. Tradition says the Arabs are Ishmael’s descendants.4

    ###

    God changed the circumstances. Their life would be different, but they would have a life, a future, because they had a promise.

    ________

    1The New Revised Standard Version, the Contemporary English Version, and others translate the word in Genesis 21:9 as “play.” The NIV, the Darby Translation, and others use the word “mock.” The Amplified Bible adds “Isaac” as the object of “mock.” (https://www.biblegateway.com/verse/en/Genesis%2021:9, referenced 2/21/26)

    2 The Common English Bible and the English Standard Version say that Sarah saw Hagar’s son “laughing,” perhaps a reference to his name. (footnote d, Genesis 17:19, NIV, referenced 2/21/2026)

    3 At this point, Ishmael is at least thirteen (Genesis 17:35) plus the number of years Sarah would have nursed Isaac, in those days, probably three or four, but the scripture refers to the teenager as “the boy.”

    4 The Quran states that several prior writings constitute holy books given by God to the prophets and messengers amongst the Children of Israel, in the same way the Quran was revealed to Muhammad. These include the Tawrat [Torah], believed by Muslims to have been given by God to the prophets and messengers amongst the Children of Israel, the Zabur (used in reference to the Psalms) revealed to David (Dawud); and the Injil revealed to Jesus (Isa).

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Islamic_view_of_the_Bible, referenced 2/21/2026.

  • Forever Flowers

    Miss G sent me a valentine to share with our readers. Thank you again, my friend.

    Sometimes a butterfly appears disguised as yellow roses with pink edges.

    ***

    MY FOREVER FLOWERS

    rows of a variety of flowers in a store

    The first man to give me flowers was my late father. We had just moved from the projects to a small house on the Southside of Chicago.  The yard had a small garden, with two rose bushes planted in the middle. One was of a rich red color, while the other was yellow with pink-edged petals. Daddy assigned the care of the red ones to my older sister, Ruth.  And, I had been given the honor of being in charge of the yellow ones.  I was so happy.  It would be one of the most beautiful gifts my father would ever give me.

    FROM PRISON TO PARADISE

    For those of you who are not familiar with the word “projects”, they were concrete, cagelike housing complexes disguised as affordable apartments for the poor. It really was designed like a prison. So, when all that you had looked at for most of your childhood was concrete, the garden brought a place of beauty to us.  Even though our little grey house was, easily, the most rundown-looking place on the block, it was still nice to be able to enjoy green grass under our feet rather than stone-cold pavement. It was paradise to us. And the garden made it even better.

    For my sister and me, watering our roses was our favorite chore. But, oh, how sad it was when, after a hard rain, all we could see were clusters of petals on the ground.  The naked stems were a harsh lesson in just how much even the simple forces of nature can turn something beautiful into something plain. 

    But it is also nature that allowed the resilient buds to remain intact, so that when the Spring came, once again, our garden would have two healthy rose bushes filled with beautiful new blossoms. And, we would resume our favorite chore once again.

     But, unfortunately, family problems resulted in our only being able to enjoy the garden for two years.  And my siblings and I, and our parents, were forced to go our separate ways and live elsewhere.  But I always kept a photo of my roses in my heart as something beautiful and precious. I guess it’s true: a girl never forgets her first gift of flowers, especially if they were given to her by her father.  

    LOVES ME, LOVES ME NOT

    I would not think of the yellow roses of my childhood until I was in my late forties.  I was now a divorced, mature Christian woman, wondering if I would go into my senior years single. 

    In fact, I was in my late 40s when two older Christian men seemed to show more than a little interest.  But, unfortunately, both seemed to be enjoying all the extra attention they were getting because of the shortage of single, godly men. Between friends setting them up and younger women “batting eyes”, they were in no hurry to commit to just one lady. So, I was just another “option” on the menu. I traded the art of “flirting” for just being friendly decades earlier.

    And, truth be told, all of that courtship stuff can either be expensive or exhausting for someone my age. I would rather just have group get-togethers with those of my generation. No pressure and lots of laugh partners. Agreed? But loneliness and the societal pressures to “have someone” made me anxious about facing the future alone. Still, I was not in any hurry to jump back into what had, in the past, only resulted in a lot of tear-soaked tissues and an empty half-gallon tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

    LETTING THE LORD CHOOSE

    After much thought and prayer, I realized that the only way to ensure that I would not submit my heart to any more relationship-related disappointment and pain was to let the Lord decide for me.  So, I set a Gideon-like “fleece” for Him to let me know whom He, if anyone, had already chosen to be the one to have my heart. So, no matter who it was, I would honor him, no matter what the future held for us. When you trust the Lord completely, you will not be disappointed. GOD gets no glory in our disappointment. Agreed?

    While some may think that it was “putting GOD to the test”, let me encourage them to read Judges 6:36 -40.  The LORD had chosen Gideon to lead one of the biggest military campaigns against the oppressors of Israel.  The supernatural condition of the fleece was not Gideon challenging the LORD regarding His power. He just wanted confirmation so that he could move forward with confidence knowing that His LORD was with them.  Sometimes, that’s something we all need from time to time. Agreed?

    MY FLEECE

    Having to leave my yellow roses was one of those childhood heartaches that I never quite got over.  I guess when you are a little girl, and your daddy gives you something really beautiful, you never forget it.  So, that is what I asked the Lord for. My prayer request was that the one whom He had chosen to entrust my heart to “have and to hold” – that His choice would reveal himself to me by giving me a bouquet of yellow roses with pink-edged petals. That would be the sign that I would be looking for to know that GOD had, especially, chosen him for me. I waited and waited, but I trusted that the Lord would answer my petition in His own way-in His own time.

    APPROXIMATELY SEVEN YEARS LATER

    It would be three states and, approximately, seven years later before the Lord would honor my “fleece” prayer and I would have the relationship answer that my heart was longing to know.  But, it did not come the way that I had prayed nor how I had expected – but it DID come.

    One summer night, I craved something sweet and decided to use my last bit of change to go to the nearby dollar store and get a candy bar.  It was around 7 pm, but the store closed at 8.  Just as I got in the door, I saw a bouquet of artificial roses lying on the floor in front of the checkout aisle.  I don’t know about you, but I am one of those oddball customers who try to pick up fallen merchandise and restore it to its shelf.  I picked up the bouquet and took it to the display wall filled with a variety of fake beauties that looked real. I looked for the ones that matched the ones in my hand, but they were nowhere to be found. It was only after I had done a thorough search that I realized that the bouquet I was holding was yellow roses with pink-edged petals. My heart stopped for a second. But once I realized that they were meant for me, I went straight to the checkout counter and purchased my gift. Finally, my “fleece” had been answered!

    Some of you sceptics may say, “The Lord didn’t give you those roses. You bought them for yourself.”  I can see why you would think that.  But keep in mind that if I were planning to buy them for myself, then why did I go to the store to satisfy my sweet tooth?  And, why was the only bouquet of yellow roses with pink-edged petals lying on the floor in the checkout aisle near the front entrance?  And why did I only have enough money to buy one item instead of both? 

    So, you see – I didn’t answer my own “fleece”, approximately, 7years after I prayed.  The Lord is the One who directed my steps in such a way that I would know, with certainty, that everything had happened according to His plan and not my will. Agreed?

    After I purchased them, I went home and put the flowers in a glass vase, and wrote the date on its tag: 7-8-14.  I didn’t want to forget the night when King Jesus responded to my request by revealing to me, in a way that only He could, that He was His choice for me.  And, please believe me when I say: I am not at all disappointed.  I no longer have any anxious thoughts of being alone as I age because He has, in so many ways, let me know that He is near and thinking of me. I keep my “forever flowers” on the nightstand near my bed.  Every morning, now, when I wake up, and every evening before I go to bed, I can remember that the love the Lord has chosen to bless me with will always be “in bloom” and never fade.

    I AM MY BELOVED’S AND MY BELOVED IS MINE…FOREVER.

  • Be-Leaf and Be Led Blessings

    Thank you, Miss G, for granting me permission to post your testimony.

    ***

    yellow and born fall leaves

    Many years ago, the Lord gave me the honor of working for a well-known international evangelical organization. I had put in an application over a year before I was actually interviewed. The head of their human resources department said that management held a meeting to start hiring as many people as possible for a huge conference for evangelists. When she went to pull out a large file of past employment applications, mine fell on the floor. She felt that it was a “GOD thing,” so she managed to get in contact with me just when I needed a different job. I was in training to be a telemarketer, and within a few days, I knew that it was a bad career decision. That call came just in the nick of time!

    Soon after I was interviewed, I was hired to be part of the conference’s registration department. It was made up of about a team of 20 people. Our duties ranged from everything from data entry, filing, and mail distribution. On my first day, I was assigned to the duty of managing and delegating incoming correspondence from all over the world.

    My supervisor brought me two, maybe three, huge catalogues of samples of letters in different languages written by people from all over the globe. I was to, basically, familiarize myself with them, read the ones in English, and decide which department could best respond.

    But, if it were an application for the conference, I would note the language, attach it to a form from the translation department, and they would forward it to one of hundreds (?) of translators around the world. The weight of that responsibility led to “self-doubt” creeping in without my knowing it. A mistake, on my part, could possibly cost an applicant a chance to participate in an event that would only occur once in a lifetime. I needed some reassurance that I could, actually, do this job. And, within days, the Lord gave it to me in a way that only He could.

    HE KNEW MY FEAR AND RESPONDED


    The Saturday after my first week, I decided to take a walk outside. It was Autumn. This was my favorite season so I took my time looking at all the different shades of colors on as many trees as I could see. Maintenance had not raked up the leaves, yet, and they were everywhere. I went to a pile near me, and began to pick some up for a small collection to keep.


    To my surprise, one of the larger ones had cloaked a small letter that must’ve fallen when the postal person was putting mail in our boxes. So, I decided to just take it to the address on the envelope. When I knocked on my neighbor’s door, I explained to them that I had found a letter addressed to them in a pile of leaves.
    After reading the name, they informed me that the letter I found was not for them. My heart sank a little. But it seems that they had only recently moved there. And, the former occupants of their unit now lived in a townhouse directly across the street. After they pointed out which one, I immediately crossed the street to make a second attempt to deliver the found letter.
    As I was walking, I did notice that the small letter was sent from a reverend. A brief thought then occurred to me that, maybe, this small parcel had been prayed over. Who knows?

    A knock on a door, a glance at the name, and, finally, the lost letter had reached the right destination of the people it was meant for! At last!
    And, my neighbors marvelled at how I came to have found it, and how it came to be in their hands! Only GOD could’ve done it! Agreed?

    This was, indeed, the much-needed encouragement that kept me going whenever I doubted that I could do that work!

    If the Lord could use me to deliver a letter that was lost in a pile of leaves, then He would certainly help me to do the work that He had given me to do. I was now confident that, with GOD’s help, I could get the right correspondence to the right person as long as I made an extra effort to do it. That’s really all that He is requiring of any of us who are doing work that He has already ordained for us to do. Agreed?

    A BLUNDER THAT BECAME A TESTIMONY

    After I became acclimated in my job, it seemed like being able to recognize various forms of written foreign languages had become “second nature” to me. My mind was no longer challenged in distinguishing Urdu from Hindi. It might have been my overconfidence that made me make a mistake that I have never forgotten to this day. Amazing grace? Yes!

    After several months on the job, I found myself in a private meeting with my supervisor and the head of the translation department. Nervous? You bet!

    Supervisor: You sent an application that was written in Italian to our Portuguese translator.
    After seeing copies, I found myself stumbling for words of apology.
    Head of the Translation Department: But, here’s the best part: that particular Portuguese translator was raised by an Italian family. So, he just went ahead and translated it and sent it back. He included a note to let us know what happened.

    The three of us just marveled at how the Lord had brought about an unexpected testimony of His grace through a staff member’s error. What a great memory for all of us!

    WHY I SHARED THIS TESTIMONY
    There may be someone who has just read my testimony who needs to be reminded that whatever the Lord has given your hands to do, just do it as unto the Lord. He would not have given you that work if He knew that you could not do it. Where is glory for GOD in your failure?

    Ask Him for His help…daily. It will come to you. Take lots of notes and refer to them often. And, don’t be afraid to let others help you. When a whole team succeeds, it matters little which member gets the credit. Agreed?

    There is a saying that I have shared with many people over the years. It was spoken by an old preacher as part of his sermon.

    “If GOD has already proven to be faithful, and you know Him to be good, then worrying is foolish.”

    Be wise and stop worrying, Beloved One. He has you…..He has you…..All is well.

  • Mrs. Noah

    Genesis 7:1 to 9:8-17, 9:8-17

    The Bible doesn’t name Noah’s wife or the wives of the three sons. No-namers, non-entities, not important. They don’t have any authority, so they don’t need names. But at birth, God gave the women each a butterfly line as well the men.

    Noah comes into the house one day and says, “God’s going to flood the world. I’m supposed to build an ark, which we’re going to fill with animals, and we will survive the flood by living in the ark for maybe a year.”

    Mrs. Noah, the woman with no name, sighs and says to herself, “Excuse me? We just built this brand-new house, with all the latest appliances, with a built-in vacuum system, with a big screen TV, with the kitchen just the way you designed it …”

    (No, they did not have appliances in Noah’s time or vacuum systems or big screen TVs. My writer wrote this story to mix the distant past with the present to illustrate the enormity of what was happening.)

    “and now we’re going to live in a boat?! With animals?! I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

    But to Noah, she just says, “Yes, dear,” because that’s all she’s allowed to say. Her butterfly glares at Noah’s, who just shrugs his wings, as if “What can I do?”

    You know what it’s like to pack to move? That’s what Mrs. Noah and her daughters-in-law do. They can’t take everything, in fact, they can’t take very much at all because there are going to be too many animals. And, of course, the animals aren’t part of their decision, either.

    At least, they can decide what to leave behind. Their butterflies sit on their shoulders as the women go through the accumulation of their pasts. Sometimes the butterflies pass a thought to their person. Other times they just seem to sigh, like the women do.

    Aunt Elizabeth’s silver pitcher? Sigh.

    The art work the boys did back when they were in school? Sigh.

    The worn and frazzled blanket that was a wedding gift from favorite Uncle Zeek? But it covered each of the three women’s sons: first Shem, then Ham, and finally Japheth, who drug it around with him long after the others had.

    Each mother’s butterfly received the same thought: You have to take that. Mrs. Noah put it on the “to keep” pile.

    How do you live without all the things you’ve lovingly collected over the years? Sigh.

    And the tearful farewells.

    How do you explain to people that you’re going to go live in a houseboat with two1 or seven2 of every kind of known animal and bird? Sigh.

    How do you say goodbye to the neighbors who shared your children’s memories? Sigh.

    The women who canned vegetables with you? Sigh.

    Who shared cinnamon rolls with you? Sigh.

    The friends you cooked spaghetti with for school fund raisers? Sigh.

    And why should you, anyway, just because Noah decided he doesn’t like it here anymore! Actually, it wasn’t Noah’s decision.

    He was always complaining about the neighbors, how evil they were. They weren’t always good people.

    What reason does he have to do this to you? Again, it wasn’t Noah’s decision.

    Why can’t things be the way they were before? Because things didn’t always go well.

    Why does he have to be different? It’s his being different that gets you an ark to ride out the rain.

    The angry women ignore everything but the sighs. After all, what does a butterfly know?

    The night before they enter the ark, Mrs. Noah lies in bed thinking. Her butterfly rests on the nightstand. They look at each other.

    “It’s true,” she thinks to the winged creature, “those people have their faults.” She remembers times when even she walked away from her neighbors. The vase that disappeared from her living room. The children stomping through her vegetable garden. The fire in the tool shed. She shakes her head. “They’re the only neighbors we have … had.”

    Her butterfly moves closer. “Agreed,” she “hears” in her head. “They haven’t been kind to their butterflies, either. Maybe …” But that is all that comes through.

    In the morning, the butterflies flew out to where the animals were gathering.

    “Where’re the butterflies going?” Japheth asks.

    Mrs. Noah explained, “They’ve gone out to bring the animals in, explaining to them why they have come here.”

    Soon many animals appear, following the butterflies. Some march right up the gangplank, but others hesitate. Again the butterflies take charge, flying around the hesitators, encouraging them. By noon, all the animals are aboard, and eight tired flying insects perch on the roof of the ark.

    A few little raindrops fall. And then bigger ones. The butterflies drop into the ark as Noah pulls up the gangplank and closes the door. And then more drops, until finally it’s a downpour. The women have found places for whatever household goods they brought. Mrs. Noah counts their eight butterflies aboard: one each for Noah, his wife, their three sons, and their wives.

    As the days pass, Mrs. Noah fumes. Well, there are chores to do, but between chores, she fumes. She remembers the painting by Picasso that he decided not to bring. Irreplaceable! How could he do that?

    She thinks of her iris growing in such neat rows. Now the weeds will get them, and, if she ever gets back, it will take her a month of solid yard work to get them into shape. She thinks of her neighbor. They had such good times together. She sure wishes they could share a cup of coffee right now. The butterfly on her shoulder does not respond.

    Her butterfly sometimes huddles with Noah’s. She wonders if they are communicating their own frustration. They are as helpless as she is. Even Noah’s butterfly is despondent. Noah is determined and refuses to communicate with person or butterfly.

    It continues to rain. And it rains some more. It doesn’t quit raining. And she wonders if maybe Noah was right, that this flood is going to destroy everything in the world.

    When the ark rises with the water, she is glad to be inside. Some light comes in from above the walls, where there is a space below the roof. She hopes the poles holding up the roof are strong enough.

    The relationship between Noah and his butterfly improves. His butterfly works to cheer up the others.

    # # #

    After forty days and forty nights, it finally quits raining, Mrs. Noah looks out the window of the ark. There is absolutely nothing but water, as far as she can see. No TV antennas, no water towers, not even any mountains! Noah is right. God really has destroyed everything and everyone else. They are lucky to be alive. It really was God. Noah is a fine man. Sometimes he drives her crazy, but he is good and kind. What her husband said was what God did.

    “Don’t worry,” Noah tells her. “The boys and I will build you a new house. It won’t be as fancy as the one we left, but it will be better than living in the ark with all those animals.”

    Mrs. Noah smiles, finds a pencil and some paper in her stash of things she brought aboard, and begins drawing house plans, adding special places for their butterflies. You won’t be afraid to come inside any more, after this year in the ark, she thinks to her winged companion.

    When the water disappears and the mud dries up, the butterflies gather with their people to admire the beautiful rainbow, the symbol in the skies of God’s covenant with creation. They hear God’s voice, “Never again will I curse the ground because of humans, even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood. And never again will I destroy all living creatures, as I have done.

    "As long as the earth endures,
    seedtime and harvest,
    cold and heat,
    summer and winter,
    day and night
    will never cease."

    The butterflies shiver as God continues, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the earth. The fear and dread of you will fall on all the beasts of the earth, and on all the birds in the sky, on every creature that moves along the ground, and on all the fish in the sea; they are given into your hands. Everything that lives and moves about will be food for you. Just as I gave you the green plants, I now give you everything."

    The butterflies did not wait to hear the rest, the limitations God added. Instead, they flew away to warn all the animals, the birds, the ground creatures, and the fish in the sea. Their world would change. They must know.

    ***

    1 Genesis 6:19 tells Noah to bring two of every kind, male and female, to keep them alive.

    2 Genesis 7:2-3: “Take with you seven pairs of every kind of clean animal, a male and its mate, and also seven pairs of every kind of bird, male and female, to keep their various kinds alive throughout the earth.”

  • Consequences of the Tower

    Genesis 11:1-9

    My writer decided to put this story in what she calls “first person,” so it’s one of the people in the story telling it. She still tells the details I told her.

    ***

    You’ve probably never tried to build a tower up to the heavens, especially with no cranes, no bulldozers, no machinery of any kind. We had ropes and poles and our own brute strength. And we actually made quite a bit of progress. The tower rose higher and higher and higher. Now it’s kind of hard to determine where the heavens are, so it’s hard to know when you have built a tower up to the heavens. We never hit the dome.

    You might ask why we wanted to build a tower to the heavens? I suppose we had lots of different reasons. I’m sure that some people thought they would find the Lord up there. But some of us had a very simple reason. We lived on the plain, on flat land, but in an area surrounded by really tall trees. If you went very far away from the city, it wasn’t hard to get lost. In the forest, you had to be very careful.

    So the taller the tower, the better we could see it from afar and find our way home. We figured it would be especially useful at night if we kept a fire burning at the top.

    Anyway, we were building this tower. That took a great deal of working together, of planning together, of talking with each other. It was a tremendous project. And we were very proud of what we were accomplishing. (Maybe that was the sin?)

    However, according to the way you folks have the story in front of you, what we were doing angered or frustrated the — not the Creator, but the Destroyer, the one who destroyed the world with a flood. Our old men teach us that the Lord created everything—the light, the dome of the heavens, the dry ground, the sun and moon, the vegetation, the fish, birds, and animals, and even us—the thinking, sometimes reasoning people. The Lord the Creator.

    Because not very far back in our storytellers’ tales, the Lord destroyed nearly everything from that creation, everything except our great-great-ever so great great grandfather and his family and two of all creatures. The Lord the Destroyer.

    And what we were doing apparently attracted the Lord the Destroyer.

    But the Lord had promised our ancestor not to destroy the world again by flood. This time the tool of destruction was our common language.

    Oh, and something else our old men told us, that we each had a butterfly. It must have been true because our city was … I won’t say “infested” with them, but there were many, many of them. Each family seemed to have their own kind of butterfly.

    Back to my story, to accomplish some great project, people have to communicate with each other. If you build a tower, you need the right size of stones, poles of a specific length, a ramp to push the stones up to the next place. Someone has to tell someone else the appropriate sizes and numbers. Someone has to figure out how to put everything in place. And someone has to organize the labor force. You have to communicate what you need.

    Apparently, the Lord thought we were doing this for the wrong reasons, so our language was confounded. One night we went to bed thinking about what we were going to accomplish the next day, and the next morning everything was gibberish. My family and I understood each other. Other families could talk with each other and make sense within their family, but not from one neighboring family to another.

    When the suppliers showed up with the day’s materials, they couldn’t understand each other. And the ones who should have received the materials couldn’t understand the suppliers or each other. The foreman could only scratch his head, because nobody made sense. And the engineers spent a lot of time waving their arms and pointing before they realized the futility of it all. Nothing happened that day on the tower.

    Instead, people began moving out of town, family by family, sometimes one family at a time, sometimes families closely related would find they could make out what the other was saying, and they left together. Finally we were only a handful of families left: my family and my brothers’ families. Only a handful of butterflies too.

    “Should we leave, too?” asked my wife.

    I raised my shoulders and held out my hands. “Where would we go?”

    “Where have the others gone?” my oldest son asked, tilting his head.

    “If we stay, what do we do?” That was my question. “We can’t work on the tower any more.”

    “We can still plant a little piece of land,” my son suggested.

    In the end we decided to stay, so that was our new beginning. My brothers’ families stayed, too. After a while we could understand each other better. We planted and weeded and harvested within sight of the tall, unfinished tower. Eventually I quit thinking about the tower, even though I walked in its shadow every morning.

    What I did think about was the “Why?” of it. Why had the Lord been angry with us? Why was it wrong to build the tower? What did that tell me about the Creator who had also destroyed the world with a flood? Why did the Lord confuse our languages? Was the Lord also the Confuser?

    And to be honest, I was confused. We had followed all the rules that had come down to us from the time after the flood. Lots of rules, and sometimes it was hard. Some of the rules may have made sense right after the flood, but they didn’t seem to fit our times, but we kept them anyway. We did the best we could. We tried, we really tried. And nothing in the rules passed down to us said anything about a tower.

    In the evenings several of us would sit outside in the moonlight. Of course, The butterflies were there too. Why? I don’t know. After a little while, the conversation always shifted around to the tower. Occasionally I would have a thought that had never occurred to me before, usually when we were talking about the tower.

    Somewhere in the conversation, someone would mention somebody’s name—always someone who was no longer with us. We never pointed fingers at each other. And what followed was always some shortcoming, usually related to the tower.

    Many times, the accusation had something to do with reworking creation, with changing what the Lord had created to make life easier for us down here. Often the accusation implied some kind of desire to play creator, to imply that the Lord had not created a perfect world and that we could do better.

    But to be honest, I didn’t remember hearing those things from the people I had worked with. Maybe I just worked with the wrong people (or the right ones, depending on what you mean by “right” or “wrong”). Anyway, it was always pure speculation because we really didn’t know.

    And after they all left, I would go back into my house, followed by my butterfly, and ponder. So what if a handful of people really had wanted to reach up to the heavens to get to the Lord? What would they do when they got there?

    What about the rest of us who were simply trying to make our world more secure, to keep people from getting lost? What percentage of people wanting the wrong thing would cause all the rest of us to suffer as well?

    Was there another reason? What would it be? Who was the Lord? How did the Lord think? Was the Lord jealous of what we were accomplishing? Why would the Lord be jealous, having created the whole world? How did a tower compare to that?

    Sometimes while I was asking myself those questions, an answer would come to me. I never knew from where, and I didn’t know which answers I could trust.

    You’ve probably noticed I spent a lot of time worrying about the Why. And I realized that my real question was “Why did we have to be different?” I had spent so much time thinking the Lord was angry at us that I missed what it might have been.

    Because one evening after our talk, I noticed several butterflies, all looking at me, like they were trying to tell me something. And I thought, “Well, that’s a dumb idea. What would a butterfly be able to tell me?”

    But they hung around with me wherever I went, always in front of me, but facing me. Somehow they seemed to be trying to communicate with me, to tell me something. I realized they were the same ones hanging around us since the Separation.

    So I began to pay attention to them. They were all different—different colors, different sizes, different designs on their wings. And each one was beautiful in its own way. Did that mean something?

    I went home, puzzling.

    Now my wife, she didn’t think the way I did. She wasn’t worried about the Why. She just took life the way it came.

    So I asked her, “Did you notice the butterflies?”

    She nodded. “Aren’t they pretty?”

    “But they’re all different.”

    “Isn’t that wonderful?”

    I didn’t think so. Back when we were building the tower, when we all worked together, it was like we were all alike, with one purpose, one goal. Nobody came up with a different idea. We didn’t ever try anything new. Maybe … no, quit worrying about the Why. Instead, think about how things have changed.

    What if the butterflies were all the same? Would we notice them?

    Now, when my friends and I talk in the evenings, we come up with different ideas. And some of them make sense. We’re making changes in the way we do things. And our lives are better. Would we have done that if the Lord hadn’t given us different languages?

    Is differences a gift from the Lord, like the butterflies?

  • God’s Creation

    Our problem as human beings is that we struggle to recognize the value of the diversity among ourselves.

    As we explore God’s creation, we discover more about the diversity of our amazing earth and the creativity of our Maker. The very air we breathe shouts to us that God loves diversity. Composed of oxygen, nitrogen, and other “stuff,” our air blows to us in many variations, depending somewhat on our location: breezes, gales, storms, hurricanes, squalls, tornadoes, monsoons, etc. Dust devils are my favorites.

    Our universe manifests differences on a grandiose scale: planets, stars, black holes, comets, and much more than my mind can grasp. Our earth is more than a smooth spinning ball; its surface is composed of mountains, rivers, oceans, ponds, plains, valleys—all decorated with trees, waves, grass, flowers, plants we call weeds—in a great variety of forms, sizes, and physicalities.

    The breathing residents of our planet are not just human beings. God did not create them in one form for each class of living creatures, but rather in species and subspecies, in colors and sizes and shapes. It must have taken Adam weeks to name them all, and there were many he could not see, feel, or touch, like creatures living in the poles or microscopic creatures.

    As beings created in the image of God, we are endowed with that same love of diversity. We touch our environment with a variety of colors, shapes, sizes, materials, all for distinct purposes and tastes. Mouse traps, houses, factories, launching pads and the space ships sent from them, the pyramids, the Great Wall of China, even our flavors of ice cream, all come from different imaginations, .

    We are only one race of human beings. We do not require people to identify themselves by their height or their hair color, so why take sides based on ethnicity or religion?

    “It is not God’s responsibility to be on our side; it’s our responsibility to be on God’s side.” (Art Clack, 12/10/25).

  • Cain, the First Child

    Genesis 4:1-2

    Many butterfly generations passed, and another strange thing happened. Adam and Eve had a son. The first child was born in this new world God had created. A freshly-out-of-his-cocoon butterfly appeared and rested next to him.

    Of course, rabbits had baby bunnies; cats had kittens; fly eggs hatched; even caterpillars became butterflies; but Cain was special because God had created his parents in God’s own image.

    All the animals came to see the new baby. But he was so slow to grow, most of them went back to doing whatever they did. I mean, Cain took forever to learn to walk or to make the sounds Adam and Eve did. The butterflies who saw the newborn never saw him walk, as they did for newborn lambs and monkeys. Many generations of our species came out of their cocoons before he walked. Each new butterfly visited him, but even after he could walk, it was a long time before he recognized that we were special to him.

    You see, God assigned one family of each generation of butterflies to each of the humans God created. Adam had his series of butterflies as did Eve with hers . And when Cain was born, another line watched over him. Not that we were guardian angels or anything like that. We were just there for our charges to treasure and to advise, when needed.

    I guess that was part of them being created in God’s image. God treasured us, so God’s special creatures should also treasure us.

    Only Cain … Well, he tolerated his butterflies, but as he grew older, he mostly ignored them.

    But it wasn’t just butterflies. See, Cain, being the first child, thought he was … well, let me put it this way. When Abel was born, their parents spent more time with Abel than with Cain. Now parents understand that, because newborn people babies need more attention. But Cain didn’t understand. He was only a year old, so how would he? But he resented the time they spent with his brother.

    So as the two grew up together, Of course, Cain was the first older brother, so he didn’t have any example to follow. And his parents didn’t have any experience either. So Cain was not what you would consider to be a good older brother. He didn’t hit his brother or anything like that, but he let Abel know that he was not welcome to hang around with him.

    Like when he was about six and Abel was five, Cain was playing with a rock. He had made up a game to see how close he could throw it to a target. Abel found another rock and was trying to do the same.

    “Stop it!” the older brother yelled. “This is my game! You make up your own!” He threw his rock at Abel, maybe not trying to hit him, but his aim had improved. It wasn’t a big rock, but it hit the younger brother’s leg.

    Cain’s butterfly flew close to Cain, beating his wings right in front of the boy’s face, trying to communicate his dismay. Fortunately, he reacted quickly when Cain’s hand tried to grab him.

    Abel, of course, ran crying to Eve, followed by his butterfly, trying to sooth him. That made Cain even more angry, that his brother was now getting the attention Cain craved. And the attention that came to Cain was not what he wanted.

    That was sad, because Cain had nobody to play with. Nor did Abel. At least, Abel had his butterflies, but, like I said, Cain didn’t care about his. Cain’s was always careful around his person, but it was his job to stay close. Not necessarily where Cain could see him, but still close.

    When they grew older, when they were expected to work, Cain followed his father: planting, weeding, and harvesting. When Abel tried to join them later, … well …

    Cain waited until his father wasn’t around. “Go away! We don’t need you! This is MY job to help Father! Not yours!”

    (Cain never spoke to his brother without exclamation points. That’s what the person who is writing this story for me said.)

    For a couple of days, Abel sat back in our tent, pouting.His current butterfly tried to coax him outside to play, but Abel stayed inside.

    Remember, none of the animals God created were wild because nobody ate meat, only the fruit of seed-bearing plants and trees.

    Abel’s butterfly coaxed a couple of lambs to the tent. Lambs love to jump and run and play. The butterfly hoped Abel would play with them. One of them landed on a sharp rock, cutting itself. Abel saw that and came out.

    “Let me help you,” he told the lamb. He washed the wound. When it stopped bleeding, he did what his mother did for him. He found the proper kind of leaf and stuck it tight to the lamb’s cut.

    “There. That will make it better.” That’s what Eve always said.

    Abel’s butterfly watched, thinking, “This is something Abel can do, watch the sheep so they don’t get hurt.”

    Immediately, Abel said out loud, “This is something I can do, watch the sheep so they don’t get hurt.”

    Abel gathered together a flock of sheep and tended them. He took them out to pasture, made sure they were close to water but stayed out of it, and that was most of what he did. Oh, occasionally he would shear a sheep, and Eve would take the wool, clean it, spin it into yarn, and weave clothing for the family.

    One day, Cain and Adam were out in the field, pulling thorns and thistles. In the heat, sweat poured off them. Cain stopped for a moment, wiped his face with a cloth, and looked across the field at Abel, sitting with his back against a tree. The older brother always kept an eye on the sheep because they liked to get into his field and eat his grain. Usually, Abel kept them away, but not always. Sometimes Abel was somewhere else, doing something else.

    Cain’s butterfly listened to his person’s thoughts.

    This is not fair! That lazy brother of mine is just resting in the shade while Father and I are working hard, sweating, muscles hurting! These thorns and thistles cut my hands and my arms! It’s just not right!

    (Even when thinking, my writer needed exclamation marks when Cain was speaking about or to Abel)

    Of course, he didn’t say anything like that to his father, and certainly not to his mother. When his parents were around, he knew he had to be careful how he treated his brother.

    “We’re the only ones here,” they would say. “Just the four of us. We have to take care of each other. The animals can’t do it, especially the butterflies.”

    But the family’s butterflies knew what was in their people’s minds.

    And the boys grew up.

    #

    As you probably know, butterflies don’t live a long time, just a few weeks with our wings. And, of course, I can’t write, so I’m going to let the person who is doing this for me finish my stories. She knows them. But I don’t remember all the names of my ancestors who told me stories, so

    Sometimes she’ll have me tell the story, but probably most of them will be written in what she calls “third person,” somebody else.

    Just remember, whenever the story includes a butterfly, it’s one of my ancestors. Maybe she’ll even tell you our story, how she came to write for me.

  • Cain’s Crime and Punishment

    Genesis 4:1-17

    “It’s time to offer our sacrifices to God,” Adam announced one morning. “Go select your best.”

    Each followed by his butterfly, Cain, and Abel went off in different directions to gather what they would bring for the sacrifice.

    Later that day, clouds gathered above as the men below stacked stones for the altar. Adam kept an eye on the darkening sky as they gathered the wood. Three butterflies hovered nearby.

    “Abel, you’re first.”

    As Abel lifted his lamb onto the altar, the sun broke through the clouds. The three butterflies fluttered with excitement. Cain’s was worried. Would the clouds hold their positions for Cain? The butterfly worried about Cain’s thoughts. Why did Abel get to go first?! I’m the older brother! He should be second to offer his sacrifice!

    All three men sighed in relief. God was pleased with this offering. The butterflies flew over the men and perched on a leafy branch behind them.

    As the fire eagerly consumed Abel’s sacrifice, men and butterflies watched the clouds gathering together. Cain’s butterfly knew the weather signs. He hovered near his man.

    “Now yours, Cain.”

    Cain lifted his basket of crushed grain heads onto the cut-up wood. He had crushed his best. Then, to fill the basket, he had taken more grain and crushed it until his basket was full. His mother had given him some olive oil to pour over it to create an aroma pleasing to the Lord.

    A raindrop fell. Then another, followed by a third. Holding his breath, Cain started the fire. The rain that continued to fall did not extinguish the flames, but he struggled to keep them alive. His butterfly fought to stay in the air amid the drops falling onto his wings.

    Nobody spoke as Cain’s offering reluctantly burned. The other butterflies flew to the cover of a branch with more leaves above it.

    When the offering was completed, Adam and Abel turned away to resume their normal duties.

    Cain stood by the altar, his red face buried in his hands. He heard God’s voice, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.”*

    The disheartened man did not move. His butterfly hovered behind him, fearing God also knew the man’s thoughts.

    # # #

    Later in the day, Cain, unaware of the butterfly following him, invited his brother to walk with him in the field. As the anger at feeling rejected by God built, the older brother picked up a stone.

    He almost dropped it to cover his ears as he felt someone screaming at him. “No! No! Don’t! Don’t do it, Cain!” He looked around. The only living thing near him, besides his brother, was that pesky butterfly that followed him everywhere. It was flapping its wings furiously right in front of him.

    With his free hand, he swiped the butterfly away and with the other, he lashed out with the stone, leaving Abel bleeding, dying at his feet. He knelt down, feeling the younger man’s last breath.

    “No! No!” The butterfly tried to shout using the only way to communicate with Cain. “It’s not Abel you hate. You’re angry at God for raining on your sacrifice. You don’t understand why!”

    Too late, Cain realized that he was not as angry at Abel as he was at God for raining on his offering.

    Abel’s butterfly dropped to the ground by Abel’s body and did not move. Cain’s hovered behind the older brother. Safety usually involved staying out of Cain’s sight, but even more so now. His thoughts repeated one word, “No.”

    Cain turned away, not sure where to go. He couldn’t go home.

    Again he heard God’s voice, “Where is your brother Abel?”*

    Confused by what he had just done, still angry at God, Cain yelled back, “I don’t know! Am I my brother’s keeper?”*

    He hung his head. God doesn’t have to answer. I know. I know what I did. If Father and Mother were cast out of the garden for eating an apple, …

    What happened was not what he expected.

    “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand.When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”*

    Cain fell to his knees, knowing he was hearing from God the One Who Punishes, the One who sent his parents out of Eden. “My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.”*

    But the Lord said to him, “Not so; anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over.”*

    After God marked him for protection and sent him off that day, Cain wandered aimlessly, with no idea where to go or what to do. As usual, he ignored the butterfly behind him and any of his thoughts.

    When darkness fell, he found a cave and slept. The butterfly perched in a tree near the entrance. He feared the darkness of the cave more than he feared Cain, but would his thoughts reach the frightened man? You are not alone! You have no brother, no family. But God did not kill you. God is taking care of you.

    When Cain woke up, the full realization of his situation struck him. He no longer had a brother, but he also no longer had a family. He was alone in the world. Completely alone. He shivered with fear. He sat in the cave for a long time with that lonely feeling building within him until he wanted to run out into the world screaming! He did not. He sat in the cave until the sun was at its highest.

    Still, he was alive. Was God taking care of him like God took care of his parents after they ate the apple?

    When he came out, the butterfly almost flew into him. The thought crossed his mind that he wasn’t completely alone. He shook his head. What company could a butterfly be?

    Startled, he remembered the butterfly from his childhood. This couldn’t be the same one. They don’t live that long.

    This dbutterfly headed in the direction the sun had come from. Did it tell him … foolish thought. Butterflies don’t talk. But something told Cain to follow it.

    With no better plan, Cain followed.

    After a while, they came upon a trail still muddy from yesterday’s rain. He looked at the prints in the trail in front of him and his behind. He looked at the butterfly as his mind told him, “These aren’t animal tracks. Long feet with five toes. Like mine. People!”

    Shortly before nightfall, the butterfly led Cain into a small village. Children played between the tents. The men were returning from hunting. On flat rocks in the fire rings, the women were baking their breads from the wild grain they had gathered.

    They all stared suspiciously. As the men turned towards him, he held out his hands to show that they were empty. The men greeted him cautiously, but they allowed him to enter the village.

    One of the older women—Cain learned later she was the medicine woman—motioned him to sit outside her door. She glanced at the butterfly and smiled. A man sat down across from him and was soon joined by a younger woman. The rest of the people disappeared into their huts.

    “Who are you and where are you from?” the woman asked.

    “My name is Cain. I am from …” He had no idea what his land was called. He thought it was the only place with people. He motioned in the direction away from the setting sun. “I come in peace,” he added. “I mean no harm to anyone.”

    The woman pointed at the butterfly hovering between them. “You followed the butterfly?”

    “Yes, it led me here.”

    “That’s a good sign.” She raised her hand. “That mark on your forehead?”

    Cain considered the story he had been making up since he found the human tracks. He shook his head and looked down at the ground. “God put that mark on me because I killed my brother.”

    The younger woman drew back. The man put his hand on his stone knife on his belt. The older woman frowned, but glanced again at the butterfly now resting on Cain’s shoulder.

    “But God let you live?”

    “Yes.”

    “Are you a threat to us?”

    He sighed. “No.”

    “Someday you will tell us the story?”

    Cain lifted his head. His eyes widened. “Yes, someday.”

    The woman turned to her brother. “Take him into your tent tonight. Tomorrow we will help him create his own. We will teach him our ways.”

    As time passed, Cain became one of the people of Nod. The young woman became his wife, and they named their son Enoch. The number of butterflies increased.

    Because Cain was no longer successful at farming, he taught the people how to plant wheat, but he did not himself. He didn’t want to spread thorns and thistles. He showed them how to tend sheep.

    He encouraged the people to build a town, not with tents, but with mud bricks that withstand the wind and storms. They would live in the town with their sheep and go out to tend their fields.

    He was careful with his butterflies, from one generation to the next, tending the larvae his current butterfly laid and the cocoons that followed. The number of butterflies increased.

    As time passed, Cain realized God had not forgotten him. He remembered the stories his parents told. When Adam and Eve left the garden, God provided them with skins for cover to protect them from the weather. God continued to care for them.

    Even after what Cain did, God marked him with protection. Cain believed he also sent this butterfly to take him to the village where people took him in. The One Who Punished was also the Caretaker, the provider of butterflies.

  • Temporarily Closed for Repairs

    (Click on the little number at the end of the word to read the explanation.)

    The Bible doesn’t name Noah’s wife or the wives of the three sons. No-namers, non-entities, not important. They don’t have any authority, so they don’t need names. But God gave them each a butterfly.

    Noah comes into the house one day and says, “God’s going to flood the world. I’m supposed to build an ark, which we’re going to fill with animals, and we will survive the flood by living in the ark for maybe a year.”

    Mrs. Noah, the woman with no name, sighs and says to herself, “Excuse me? We just built this brand-new house, with all the latest appliances,1 with a built-in vacuum system, with a big screen TV, with the kitchen just the way you designed it, and now we’re going to live in a boat?! With animals?! I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

    But to Mr. Noah, she just says, “Yes, dear,” because that’s all she’s allowed to say. Her butterfly glares at Noah’s, who just shrugs his wings, as if “What can I do?”

    You know what it’s like to pack to move? That’s what Mrs. Noah and her daughters-in-law do. They can’t take everything, in fact, they can’t take very much at all, because there are going to be too many animals. And, of course, the animals aren’t part of their decision, either.

    At least, they can decide what to throw away. Aunt Elizabeth’s silver pitcher? The art work the kids did back when they were in school? The worn and frazzled blanket that was a wedding gift from favorite Uncle Zeek? How do you live without all the things you’ve lovingly collected over the years?

    And the tearful farewells. How do you explain to people that you’re going to go live in a houseboat with two2 or seven3 of every kind of known animal and bird? How do you say goodbye to the neighbors who shared your children’s memories? The women who canned vegetables with you? Who shared cinnamon rolls with you? The friends you cooked spaghetti with for fund raisers?

    And why should you, anyway, just because Mr. Noah decided he doesn’t like it here anymore! He was always complaining about the neighbors, how evil they were. What reason does he have to do this to you? Why can’t things be the way they were before? Why does he have to be different?

    The night before they enter the ark, she lies in bed thinking. Her butterfly rests on the nightstand. They look at each other.

    “It’s true,” she thinks to the winged creature, “those people have their faults.” She remembers times when even she walked away from her neighbors. The vase that disappeared from her living room. The children stomping through her vegetable garden. The fire in the tool shed. She shakes her head. “They’re the only neighbors we have.”

    Her butterfly moves closer. “Agreed,” she “hears” in her head. “They haven’t been kind to their butterflies, either. Maybe …” but the rest hangs between them.

    In the morning, a few raindrops fall. And bigger ones. And it rains. The animals have come aboard. The women have found places for whatever household goods they brought, and Noah pulls up the gangplank.

    Mrs. Noah fumes. Well, there are chores to do, but between chores, she fumes. She remembers the painting by Picasso that he decided not to bring. Irreplaceable! How could he do that?

    She thinks of her iris growing in such neat rows. Now the weeds will get them, and, after they leave the ark, it will take her a month of solid yard work to get them into shape. She thinks of her neighbor. They had such good times together. She sure wishes they could share a cup of coffee right now.

    Her butterfly sometimes huddles with Noah’s. She wonders if they are communicating their own frustration. They are as helpless as she is.

    It continues to rain. And it rains some more. It just doesn’t quit raining. Was maybe Noah right, that this flood is going to destroy everything in the world?

    When the ark rises with the water, she is glad to be inside. Some light comes in from above the walls, where there is a space below the roof. She hopes the poles holding up the roof are strong enough.

    # # #

    After forty days and forty nights, it finally quits raining, Mrs. Noah looks out the window of the ark. There is absolutely nothing but water, as far as she can see. No TV antennas, no water towers, not even any mountains! Noah is right. God really has destroyed everything and everyone else. They are lucky to be alive. Noah is a good man. Sometimes he drives her nuts, but he is good and kind. What her husband said must have been the will of God.

    When the water disappears and the mud dries up, she points out the rainbow to her butterfly. Noah’s winged insect also admires the symbol in the skies of God’s covenant with creation.

    ***

    Notes:

    1 No, they did not have appliances in Noah’s time or vacuum systems or big screen TVs. This story mixes the distant past with the present to illustrate the enormity of what was happening.

    2 Genesis 6:19 tells Noah to bring two of every kind, male and female, to keep them alive.

    3 Genesis 7:2-3: “Take with you seven pairs of every kind of clean animal, a male and its mate, and also seven pairs of every kind of bird, male and female, to keep their various kinds alive throughout the earth.”

  • Living on Flour and Oil: 1 Kings 17:7-16

    David’s son Solomon became king and went on a building spree, conscripting farmers for his construction crews. When Rehoboam followed his father on the throne, the people asked him to lighten their load. The new king refused, and under Jeroboam, ten tribes separated from Judah. Israel and Judah continued as separate nations, with some kings better than others. Ahab of Israel was an “other,” so God sent a drought on the land.

    The drought also affected the neighboring countries, including the community of Zarephath in the region of Sidon, where a family of three lived.

    #

    Several Painted Lady butterflies came in the spring to enjoy the colorful flowers the mother tended near the house. The toddler loved to chase after the orange and black creatures. The father watched him carefully, but his stumbling footsteps were no match for the dainty wings. In the fall, when the flowers died and the leaves turned brown, the butterflies left.

    With no rain, during the first year of the drought, the harvest was smaller than usual. They kept aside a smaller amount of grain to plant in the spring and less for them to eat until the next fall. Everyone around them suffered the same problem.

    “Maybe the rain will come this spring,” the father said.

    It did not. Only a few pretty flowers bloomed for the few butterflies that returned.

    Before the time of harvest, the father died, leaving his widow to support their young son.

    The widow harvested what wheat had grown and set aside some for planting in the spring. “We won’t need as much for flour because there are only two of us now,” she told her son.

    The next spring, she had to make a choice. “Either I grind all the remaining wheat for flour, or I plant it. There is not enough for both.”

    She ground all the wheat to make bread. There would be no harvest if the drought continued, which it did.

    Only one of her flowers appeared, which she watered faithfully for the one returning butterfly.

    She made smaller and smaller breads as she watched her son grow thinner and thinner. He no longer ran and played and chased the butterfly. It spent its time on the flower. She felt weaker every day. They were both hungry all the time.

    One morning she realized there was only enough flour left to make a small bread for herself and her son. Only a tiny amount of oil remained in her jug. She sighed. “This is it. There is no more.”

    With the little energy she had left, she stooped down to pick up a few sticks for the fire to cook the last little bread. She heard an unfamiliar voice. From his accent, she could tell he was a Jew. But he spoke to her, a Gentile woman, a woman who did not worship his Lord God.

    “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?”*

    From his appearance, he would be thirsty. Dust covered his clothes and his feet, as though he had walked a long way. He dropped himself down on the stump of a tree that had died in the drought. Others had cut it down. She had been picking up its dead branches, the small ones others left behind.

    She nodded to him and turned to go to her house. Water she had, not in abundance, but she had a full jar. The town well was deep and continued to yield water when asked, as long as the women were careful about how much water they drew.

    “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”*

    She laughed, then blushed, embarrassed by her behavior. Elijah1 looked surprised until she explained. “As surely as the Lord your God lives, I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”*

    While that sounded melodramatic, it was the truth. After that little bread, nothing remained to eat. That was the last of the grain, ground by hand. Unless a miracle happened, not that she expected one, that would be their last meal,

    But this dusty, ragged, weary old man shrugged, almost as though he did not understand what she meant. Instead, he smiled at the butterfly clinging to the last flower.

    “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’ ”*

    Her shoulders raised, then dropped. She had nothing to lose. What good was one little bread going to do the two of them? Whether they starved sooner or later, did it matter?

    The butterfly flew up from the flower and rested on her windowsill. She had often thought that it was communicating with her, and somehow, that gave her comfort. This time, it did not move what passed for its mouth, but words entered her mind. “Do as he says. You will be fine.”

    She poured the last of the oil into the last of the flour, mixed it up, shaped it, and put it in the baking oven. A butterfly does not have a mouth, but she felt it smile.

    The empty jar and jug were in her hand to throw away.

    “What’s this? I know I emptied both of these, but there’s a little left in each.” Her eyes wide, she combined the last of the flour with the last of the oil and created another bread. As it baked, she turned to the butterfly. “Thank you.”

    And every day, the butterfly would sit in the window as she poured the last of the oil into the last of the flour, bake it, and feed the old man. Then she would pour the last of the oil into the last of the flour and feed herself and her son. And somehow, those small breads were enough that she felt stronger, healthier. Her son ran and played again. Another flower poked its head out of the ground, and the butterfly seemed stronger.

    That happened enough times that she thought she would quit being surprised about it, but she never did. And each time she gave thanks to the butterfly, which by now she felt represented the old man’s God.

    Thanks until the day her son took sick. Maybe it had something to do with having nothing but bread to eat, or maybe the same sickness had taken his father. Her son coughed a few times, like his father had, and quit breathing. She put her face to his mouth, but no breath came out.

    She gathered him up in her arms and went straight to the old man. “What do you have against me, man of God? Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?”*

    Her face was red, and her voice was harsh. For the last several months, she had shared what little flour and oil she had and given him a room on the roof. Was this how he and his God repaid her? Why had his God kept the oil and flour flowing and then taken her son away? Was it not enough that God had taken her husband? And now also her son?

    As she passed the two flowers, she noticed the butterfly hanging upside down. She had not seen that before. “Are you sad, too?” she asked, but she did not wait for an answer.

    The old man had seen the boy was sick. He had watched her sitting by his side, wiping his brow, encouraging him to get well.

    Looking at her holding the body, he reached out his arms.

    “Give me your son.”* He took the boy, carried him up the stairs to his room, and laid him on his bed. She stood at the bottom, sobbing with grief.

    The old man cried out, “Lord my God, have you brought tragedy even on this widow I am staying with, by causing her son to die?”*

    She could hear the emotion in his voice. He had spent many hours with the boy, carving him toys, showing him how to do things like his father would have done. Elijah was no longer a stranger, a foreigner; he was a friend, a good friend.

    He often told them the story about the ravens who brought him bread and meat in the morning and in the evening.

    “As long as water ran in the creek bed, God sent the birds to bring me what I needed to eat. I was hiding because I defied the king and queen of Israel, and they were looking to kill me.”

    But when the creek dried up, he left Israel and came to live here.

    She called up the stairs. “So if God sent the ravens, sent you to us, kept the oil in the jar and the flour in the jug, why did God let my son die?”

    He did not respond to her, but it seemed the old man wanted to know the same thing.

    He stretched himself out on the bed on top of the child three times, each time crying out, “Lord my God, let this boy’s life return to him!”*

    After the third time, she heard a moan, a small moan, a child’s moan, her son’s moan. He sat up, and the old man took him and brought him down the stairs.

    “Look, your son is alive!”*

    And he was.

    She hugged the boy, still crying, but now from relief. The butterfly flew to her and landed on her shoulder.

    “Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.”*

    When the rains came, the green in her field was not weeds. The grain she would have planted was sprouting. The oil and the flour lasted until she came home with her first gathering of seed heads. Her flowers grew in abundance, and the butterflies returned. She rejoiced because now she could fill the jar with oil and the jug with flour.

    Elijah returned to his own country to face his king and queen.

    #

    Endnote:

    1 Elijah was an important prophet from the Old Testament. He appears in both 1 and 2 Kings and in both 1 and 2 Chronicles. The gospels mention him. At the Transfiguration, Jesus talked with both Moses and Elijah.

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