A Butterfly Flapping

Category: Genesis

Stories from Genesis, Creation, Adam and Eve

  • The Transition of the Promise

    Genesis 25:19-34, 27:1-5

    You might think that I’m just a butterfly, but I’m a special one from a long line of special butterflies. If you’ve read stories about some of my ancestors, you know that we have an assignment from God to be with certain people. Each generation inherits the memories of the previous ancestors, so we know the history of our person from Adam and Eve up to our time.

    My line is with Isaac, who is near the end of his life. He’s blind and bedridden. And to be honest, I feel sorry for him.

    See, he’s almost never been a doer, the one who started something. He’s had some rough times, but not usually something he initiated. He didn’t even always respond to what happened.

    Like, when he was born, he was the second son. Of course, as a child, that meant nothing to him. Not even when Ishmael and his mother were cast out of the camp, cast out into the wilderness with a little meat and a little water. He was only a child at the time.

    What did he know? My ancestor at that time heard him ask once, “Where Ishmael?”

    Sarah simply said, “He’s not here anymore. Neither is Hagar. They’re gone.” Neither she nor Abraham ever mentioned them again.

    And that was it. But he was just a child, just weaned. Too young to remember even that he had an older brother.

    A few years later—I don’t know how many. Butterflies don’t pay attention to months and years. We don’t live long enough for that to matter. We have the stories in our memory banks, but not in a timeline with dates.

    Anyway, he was older, older enough to remember what happened on that mountain in Moriah. Abraham’s butterfly passed that story on to the rest of us.

    Abraham had several conversations with God. This particular one was a real challenge. God told Abraham, and I remember the exact words, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.”*

    My ancestor was with Abraham, of course, and he was as shocked as the man. Why would God tell him to do such a thing?!

    Abraham didn’t sleep that night, not because he was gathering up what was needed for the trip, but because he and his butterfly were trying to figure out what and why. As I said before, butterflies have a special relationship with God. But this was not something my ancestor understood. Was this a test? But wasn’t God all-knowing? If God was, then God knew where Abraham’s priorities were, that Abraham would obey.

    But if it wasn’t a test, then what was it? Had Abraham misunderstood? But his butterfly heard the same words, with the same meaning.

    Abraham questioned his butterfly. Could somebody impersonate God?

    Butterflies can’t laugh, but he shook his head so hard and so fast Abraham worried it would fall off. It didn’t.

    Whatever, it’s what God said to do, so Abraham and his butterfly set out the next morning with Isaac, his butterfly, and a couple young servants. The donkey carried the wood for the sacrifice. That was the longest three days in Abraham’s life. My ancestor tried to encourage him, but how do you give hope to someone who has just been told to kill his son and burn him?

    Abraham didn’t sleep well, even though they had walked a long ways. Isaac and the two young men slept well, but they didn’t know what was going to happen.

    As they traveled, the butterfly explored a new idea with the man. “Look, everyone around you does this. That doesn’t make it right.”

    “But God … that was God’s voice, I’m sure.”

    The butterfly tried a different tactic. Your friend Jared. Remember how you felt when he sacrificed his son?

    Abraham stopped. The memory returned. He had tried to argue Jared out of it. Maybe …Then he remembered.

    “But afterward, it rained. That was the point. We desperately needed rain, and the next day … a nice gentle shower that lasted for two days. The grass turned green again. Our flocks …”

    And you had prayed. So which was it, your prayer or Jared’s sacrifice?

    “But I’d been praying for a week. The rain came the same day he …”

    They walked on.

    That evening, sitting at the campfire, the butterfly tried again. So what was the promise God gave you?

    “You know, more offspring than”—he looked up at the stars—”than up there.”

    And how many sons do you have now?

    Abraham swatted at the butterfly. “You know that. Just Isaac. Ishmael is probably dead.”

    So where are those offspring going to come from?

    “You sound like Sarah. You know what I told her, God will just have to provide her with another son.”

    And the chances of that are …?

    “What were the chances the first time?”

    The third day, Abraham saw the mountain ahead of them. He told the servants to wait with the donkey. Those words were hard for him to say and hard for my ancestor to hear. “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.”* He almost choked on those last words. Isaac’s butterfly flew ahead, out of range to share his thoughts. He knew what was going to happen, but he couldn’t let Isaac know.

    The father took the wood from the donkey and tied it onto the son’s back. My ancestor tried to object. “You’re going to make him carry the very wood that will burn him?”

    Abraham swatted my ancestor, almost knocking him to the ground. After that, they kept some distance between them until they reached the mountain.

    As father and son walked on, Isaac asked a logical question. “The fire and wood are here.”*

    Abraham was carrying the spark of fire cradled in a small pot. His knife, the one he had spent the night sharpening, hung from his belt.

    “But where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”* Isaac continued.

    What could the man say? My ancestor saw a tear in his eye, a tear he quickly wiped away. Abraham and his butterfly had the same thought at the same time, a thought and a prayer. “God will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” He quickened his pace, and Isaac trotted alongside him.

    I can almost hear my ancestor telling the next part. They reached the top of the mountain and together, father and son, they piled stones to make an altar. As they worked, man and butterfly repeated over and over, “God will provide the lamb. God will provide the lamb.”

    My ancestor saw Isaac’s eyes open wide as his father bound him and lifted him onto the altar. “Father! NO! What are you doing?” The boy struggled, to no avail. My ancestor screamed at Abraham to stop, but the man was sure this was what God said to do.

    The father pulled out his knife and slowly raised it above his son, his only son, the one he loved. Two butterflies flew under the knife, but Abraham swatted them away. More gently this time, because he understood.

    And then a voice. “Abraham! Abraham!”*

    The hand did not move.

    “Here I am.”*

    Nobody breathed, not Abraham, not Isaac, neither butterfly.

    “Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.”*

    Abraham dropped his head and sheathed his knife. His knees buckled, but he stood to untie his son, limp from fear. The father wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him tightly.

    “God did provide.” The thought ran between all four at the altar.

    My ancestor noticed a ram caught by its horns in the bushes behind Abraham. “Look behind you,” he thought-yelled.

    The ram became the sacrifice, and as the fire burned, Abraham held onto his son, their tears mingling.

    But the angel was not finished. “I swear by myself that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, and through your offspring, all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me.”*

    For some time, nobody moved. When Abraham spoke again, he named this place, “The Lord Will Provide.”

    Together they watched the ashes cool, all four of them: man, boy, and butterflies. Isaac’s thoughts of fear mingled with Abraham’s gratitude and relief.

    Then Abraham picked up the empty fire pot, and they ran back to where the donkey and servants were. The trip that had taken three days was whittled to two. Sarah would be waiting anxiously for word of her son’s safety.

    Isaac had been a happy-go-lucky boy, but after that, he was never the same. That may be why he spent so much time off by himself. Even as an adult, he only did what was necessary.

    Like when it was time for him to marry. Most young men would have gone into town and checked out the eligible young women. He didn’t. When he and his butterfly discussed it, Isaac just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care.”

    “But you should. You need to find a wife. You have to carry on the Promise God made to Abraham about having more offspring than the stars in the sky.”

    The little butterfly didn’t think Isaac was serious when he said, “If God wants me to have children, God can find me a wife.” But Isaac didn’t go looking.

    Instead, Abraham sent his most trusted servant back to the town of Nahor to find Isaac a wife among his own people rather than from the Canaanites. Isaac and Rebekah had twins, but that’s a completely different story.

    Except it’s not because it’s the last important event in Isaac’s life, and again, it was what happened to him, not what he did.

    I told you that Isaac and Rebekah had twins. Esau was born first. He came out all hairy, like a goat kid. His size, making his birth more difficult, earned him the name Esau because of his red body. Jacob earned his name by hanging onto Esau’s heel as the two came out connected, like the Hebrew idiom, “he grasps the heel” meaning “he deceives.”1

    From then on, the newborns’ butterflies knew there would be trouble with Jacob jealous of his older-by-minutes brother. Isaac and Rebekah thought they had solved the problem by each taking one child, with Isaac favoring Esau and Rebekah supporting Jacob. That aligned the older child with his father, the power figure, and the younger with his mother, the schemer.

    As the boys grew older and the butterfly line continued, so did the rivalry. Esau was a hunter, a good one. Jacob preferred tending the sheep.

    One day, when Esau came back in from the hunt with no game, Jacob saw his chance to buy Esau’s birthright.

    Esau’s butterfly advised him against it, but Esau was hungry, and Jacob had stew simmering. “Look,” he said to Jacob, “I am about to die. What good is the birthright to me?”* Nothing his current butterfly could communicate to him made him change his mind. Jacob won that contest.

    Later he thought he won the final one, too, stealing Isaac’s blessing, but he didn’t benefit from it. Isaac’s blessing was to pass on to the older son the authority of the father, making him lord over the rest of the family, and giving him property and prosperity.

    The plan came from Rebekah, but it was Jacob who brought in two young goats, wore his brother’s clothes and the goatskins on his arms and neck. The disguise worked for blind old Isaac, but his hearing confused him. “The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau.”* He hesitated. “Are you really my son Esau?”*

    His nose confirmed the clothing of Esau, convincing him to give Jacob the blessing.

    Isaac’s butterfly tried to explain the real situation, but the old man ignored him.

    “Ah, the smell of my son is like the smell of a field that the Lord has blessed. May God give you heaven’s dew and earth’s richness—an abundance of grain and new wine. May nations serve you and peoples bow down to you. Be Lord over your brothers, and may the sons of your mother bow down to you. May those who curse you be cursed and those who bless you be blessed.”*

    Jacob left with the blessing shortly before Esau arrived with his game and p prepared it.

    Now no consequences had followed Jacob buying Esau’s birthright, but the blessing was a different story.

    When Esau took his game, prepared just the way Isaac liked it, to his father, the blessing could not be repeated.

    “Haven’t you reserved any blessing for me?”* Esau’s question came from both disappointment and anger.

    The old man shook his head. “I have made him lord over you and have made all his relatives his servants, and I have sustained him with grain and new wine. So what can I possible do for you, my son?”*

    “Do you have only one blessing, my father? Bless me too, my father.”* And the man wept.

    What Isaac offered was more a curse than a blessing.

    “Your dwelling will be away from the earth’s richness, away from the dew of heaven above. You will live by the sword and you will serve your brother. But when you grow restless, you will throw his yoke from off your neck.”*

    Out of respect for his father, Esau did not stomp out of the room, but once outside, his butterfly heard his threat. “The days of mourning for my father are near; then I will kill my brother Jacob.”*

    (to be continued)

    1 Footnote b for Genesis 25:37

  • Sister Rivalry

    Genesis 29:16-30

    Rachel, followed by a light yellow butterfly, rushed toward the tent she shared with her older sister Leah. “You’ll never guess what just happened to me!”

    As Rachel burst into the tent, Leah nodded. Beautiful Rachel always had something happening to her, something plain Leah was supposed to guess. She didn’t even try.

    Between breaths, Rachel explained how a young stranger had lifted the well cover by himself to water her sheep. “Usually Aryeh and Efraim do it together. It is heavy, you know.” she paused. “He said his butterfly gave him the idea and the strength.”

    She sat beside her sister.

    “And he’s our cousin! The son of Father’s sister Rebekah. I think he’s going to stay with us for a while. He’s sooo handsome!”

    Even more than Aryeh? Leah wondered to her butterfly. It simply opened and closed its wings in a butterfly shrug.

    At supper, the young stranger Jacob explained why he had come, speaking to all of the family members, but his thoughts to his butterfly focused on Rachel. Isn’t she beautiful?

    He soon discovered that, when veiled, both young women had lovely eyes.

    In the evenings, Leah listened to her sister.

    “Jacob is so handsome, isn’t he?”

    Leah nodded.

    “And so strong! Did I tell how he lifted the stone off the well all by himself?”

    The older sister rolled her eyes and nodded again.

    “When they told me who he was, Aunt Rebekah’s son, I was so excited! I ran and told Father. And now he’s staying with us, and Father has agreed that we will be married.”

    “A lot can happen in seven years,” Leah muttered to her butterfly.

    * * *

    The seven years passed. Laban gave a feast on the first day of the wedding. The servants brought in the food and drink for the men, while the women and their butterflies stayed out of the way.

    The sun continued its journey across the sky, eventually reaching the horizon and dropping below. In the shadows of the moon, the sisters, peering out their tent, saw Jacob approach Laban. Laban nodded and Jacob strode to his tent, his butterfly flittering excitedly above him.

    “Leah, come here,” Laban said as he stood in the doorway of his daughters’ tent.

    “Me?” Leah asked, her eyes wide. “Don’t you mean Rachel?”

    “No, I mean you. Put on your veil and come with me.”

    “But, Father,” Rachel protested, running to him. “I’m the one who is supposed to …”

    Laban held up his hand. “No, not the younger daughter. The older daughter is the first to marry.” He turned to Leah. “I told you to come with me.”

    Leah did not move until he grabbed her arm. Her veil in place, she let him escort her to Jacob’s tent. There, in the darkness, Jacob waited. Would he recognize her? Would he know she was not Rachel?

    Apparently he did not, as he pulled her to him. Jacob’s butterfly recognized Leah’s, but held onto his thought.

    The next morning, Leah lay next to him as he slept. What would he do when he saw her?

    The sun rose and lit the inside of the tent. He raised up on one arm and gazed down at her. His face turned red and he jerked away. “What is this?” he yelled, then grabbed his robe and raced out of the tent.

    Leah followed to the flap of the tent, pulling it closed around her face. She could see the shape of her father standing by the cook fire. She heard Jacob shouting and saw arms waving, “What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn’t I? Why have you deceived me?”*

    Is he angry at me too? Will he not want me? Should I go back to …No, Rachel will be just as angry. She won’t let me in.

    Her father was not yelling, so she did not hear everything he said. She caught a few words: “Finish this … younger one … seven years …”*

    Jacob stopped yelling, and his arms fell to his side. His head dropped forward.

    Leah’s butterfly tried to encourage her. It will work out. Trust God’s plan.

    Leah did not seem to listen. Will he come back to the tent tonight, after the feast? Will he still be angry? Will he still want me? And will Rachel ever forgive me? It’s not my fault.

    Jacob came back that night and they made love again. They did not talk much.

    “Am I still your wife?” she ventured to ask.

    “Yes.” He offered nothing more, and she did not ask anything else. Leah thought to her butterfly, I’m trying to trust. Keep reminding me.

    The next morning, after Jacob left, Laban came to his daughters’ tent. Standing outside, he spoke to Leah. “They need you in the cooking tent.”

    She did not argue, but she spent the day trying to stay away from Rachel.

    The week ended, and Jacob brought Rachel into the tent. Leah sat quietly in the corner, trying to ignore what Rachel and Jacob were doing. Her butterfly kept sending her positive thoughts.

    The next morning, Laban brought Zilpah and Bilhah as servants for Leah and Rachel.

    As time passed, Rachel and Leah managed to live together in the same tent. They spoke very little, but they did not argue.

    When it was obvious that Leah was pregnant, Rachel seemed happy. “I’ll be next,” she communicated to her butterfly. But she was not. When Reuben was born, Rachel held him and cuddled him. “He’s a fine baby,” she said. “Look at all that black hair. And all his fingers and toes.” Reuben’s first butterfly joined the others.

    Later that evening, Leah told her maid, “It is because the Lord has seen my misery. Surely my husband will love me now.”*

    Why can’t he love both of us? she wondered. Her butterfly passed that question to Jacob’s, who passed it on to his person. Jacob ignored him. Every night, Leah prayed to be loved as well, but Jacob preferred Rachel.

    Still, the number of Leah’s children increased, and the relationship between the two sisters deteriorated even more. Leah tried to comfort her sister, but Rachel turned away to Jacob. Red faced and fists clenched, she looked up at him. “Give me children, or I’ll die!”*

    Jacob shouted back, “Am I in the place of God, who has kept you from having children?”*

    As Sarah had done with Hagar, Rachel sent Bilhah to Jacob. “Sleep with her so that she can bear children for me and I too can build a family through her.”*

    When Bilhah gave birth to Dan, Rachel felt vindicated. They named Bilhah’s second son Naphtali. Rachel raised her fist and claimed, “I have had a great struggle with my sister, and I have won.”

    Leah responded by sending Zilpah to Jacob. The servant bore two sons, first Gad and later Asher. At this point, eight children lived in the tent—four from Leah, two from Bilhah, and two from Zilpah. Butterflies abounded.

    One day during harvest, Reuben found some mandrakes and took them to his mother. When Rachel asked for some, Leah objected. “Wasn’t it enough that you took away my husband? Will you take my son’s mandrakes too?”*

    Rachel did as her butterfly suggested, offering a trade. “Very well,” Rachel said. “He can sleep with you tonight in return for your son’s mandrakes.”*

    Jacob slept with her that night, and Leah had a fifth son Issachar. Another son Zebulun followed later and then a daughter Dinah. The butterflies kept score: a daughter and eight sons for Leah, including two from her maids; and two for Rachel, both from her maids.

    Finally, Rachel’s prayers were answered, and she was able to boast, “God has taken away my disgrace.”* She named him Joseph and prayed for another.

    Rachel’s second son would not arrive until after they had returned home to Canaan. His birth would cost Rachel her life.

  • Jacob’s Butterflies

    Genesis 25:19-34, 26:34-28:5

    Part 1

    While my ancestor was in his cocoon, God called him in and told him about a pair of twins. Which one did he want? When God described the older one , a hunter, my ancestor asked about the second one. God said that he wasn’t, so he said he would take that one. Let me tell you, since leaving the safety of my shell, several of us in his line have wondered about that decision.

    Even before the two were born, they were fighting. Rebekah, feeling them struggling inside her, knew that something was going on. She went to to inquire of the Lord. (They didn’t have a temple yet, but there were holy places where a priest or a prophet would explain God to people.) There she was told that she was going to have two very different sons, and each would be the leader of a nation. In other words, two strong-willed sons, who were at it already.

    But the prophet added something else, that the older would serve the younger. Now that’s not the way it usually was. The older received the birthright, which made him the head of the family, the one who gave the orders. For that order to be reversed, the younger one would have to be given the family blessing.

    Now one thing you need to understand about butterflies is that we have no control over our charges. We can warn our people, give them advice, but if they don’t listen, we can’t force them to change their behavior.

    Esau’s line of butterflies and mine spent a lot of time while our children were in the womb trying to advise them of the dangers of their fighting with each other. They figured that was the best time, before they were born, when they didn’t have anything else to do, to get through to them. They thought there were actually making some progress, but then came the birth time.

    As luck or fate or whatever would have it, Esau was the closest to the birth canal at the time, so he was born first. When Jacob saw what was happening, he reached out and grabbed Esau’s foot, in an attempt to pull him back. But, of course, by then it was too late, so Jacob became the younger son.

    Esau was the doer. He was the first to roll over and the first to crawl. But he struggled in the process. He spent hours twisting his body and waving his arms and legs before he accidentally hit the right position and rolled over. Then he had to go through it again and again until he was able to figure out exactly what to do to move his body.

    In the meantime, Jacob just lay there, watching and thinking. And then, one day, while Esau was wearing himself out trying to roll over again, Jacob simply flipped himself over. It was the same with crawling. Esau struggled, Jacob watched. Esau finally succeeded, but had to struggle to master it. Jacob just lifted up onto his all fours and took off.

    As they grew up, Esau loved to spend his time observing the wild animals. He wasn’t very old when he killed his first rabbit. Isaac showed him how to prepare it, and the whole family dined on Esau’s rabbit. (Fortunately, they had other things to eat as well.)

    Jacob, on the other hand, spent his time with the sheep. Esau would be gone for days at a time, sleeping out in the open. Jacob always brought the flock back to the fold at night. The sheep were safer in the fold, because bears and lions1 and wild dogs were a threat to the sheep out in the open. And Jacob got to sleep in the tent.

    It didn’t help at all that each parent favored one of the twins. It’s probably better, if there is to be favoritism, that each twin was favored by a parent, but it would have helped them learn to work together if their parents could have loved them both. But Esau was Isaac’s favorite. The boy loved to hunt, and Isaac encouraged him.

    Rebekah and Jacob were dreamers and schemers. They often sat and pondered what it meant that the older would serve the younger. Would Isaac actually bless Jacob instead of Esau? But the way he felt about the “older” son, the twin who was born first, that didn’t seem likely.

    One day, when they were in their middle teens, Jacob saw his chance to at least lay a claim to the birthright. Jacob was cooking a stew for supper, when he saw Esau coming back. Esau had been out hunting for several days, without any success. That wasn’t normal. His butterfly communicated he had several near misses, and only once was he nearly attacked by a bear. Fortunately, the butterfly was able to encourage a deer to run in between them, and the bear went after the deer instead.

    As soon as Jacob saw Esau, his then butterfly knew what he was thinking. Like I said before, our job is not to make people behave, but to encourage them to do the right thing. And to my then ancestor, it looked doing the right thing meant staying out of trouble with Esau. But, as usual, Jacob ignored his suggestion that sharing and being brotherly would be better than bargaining for the birthright. His butterfly tried to make him see that God is capable of working out the details. But Jacob, like a lot of human beings, had his own plan.

    So when Esau saw the boiling pot, he came over and asked for something to eat. “Just give it to him,” the butterfly thought/whispered. “Share with him! There’s enough for both of you!” Of course, Jacob never paid attention. It seemed that their communication system was broken.

    But Jacob sat there stirring the pot. He looked up at Esau and replied, “First, sell me your birthright.”

    Now remember that Esau hadn’t had anything to eat for except for a few berries he was picking when the bear showed up. He was hungry. Besides, the birthright wasn’t his to sell. He knew his father. Isaac wouldn’t bless Jacob over him. So what did it matter if Jacob thought he could “buy” the birthright?

    So Esau agreed. He even swore to Jacob that he was trading his birthright for a pot of boiled meat. Then Jacob gave him some bread and the stew. When Esau finished, he just got up and left. No conversation, he just rose and went his way.

    And my ancestor thought to Jacob, “OK, now what? This little trade won’t mean anything if Isaac blesses Esau before he dies, and Esau will just be all the madder at you for trying to cheat him.”

    Then he nearly forgot to flap his wings to stay in the air, because he heard Jacob say to himself, “OK, now what? This little trade won’t mean anything if Father blesses Esau before he dies, and Esau will just be all the madder at me for trying to cheat him.” My ancestor couldn’t believe it! Esau actually heard him! It may have been the first time!!!

    Now you need to understand what this power struggle looks like. On the one hand, they had Isaac, the head of the family, the ruler, so to speak, and Esau, the older son, who would be the head of the family, kind of like the crown prince. They make the decisions, how many sheep to sell, when to pack up the camp and move on to other pastures. On the other hand, they had Rebekah, a woman, with very little authority. She could make some decisions about the household, but they were always subject to Isaac. And Jacob, the younger son, who had the responsibility, but not the authority. He was the one who carried out the decisions, who sorted out the sheep, who folded up the tents and loaded the camels.

    And to complicate the struggle, they had the prophecy Rebekah was given before the twins were born. She was told that she had two babies in her, each would be the leader of a nation. It started right; she had twin boys. But she was also told that the older would serve the younger. How could that happen, unless the younger received the birthright and the blessing by Isaac? And they knew that Isaac would never give the blessing to Jacob.

    You see, we butterflies don’t have any power over our people. In that, we’re kind of like Jacob himself, we can advise, but we don’t control. Jacob’s line of butterflies had been trying to advise Jacob all his life, but any time it involved Esau, Jacob always took the path of most resistance. If it would anger Esau or Isaac, he did it. Cooperation was not a word he understood. So now my ancestor counseled patience, letting God work out the blessing. He had made a little progress, but he wanted more.

    Jacob went running to Rebekah and told her what he had done. At first, she was horrified! Trading food for the birthright? But a birthright is not a thing, an object, to be bought or sold! The birthright goes along with the blessing, given by the father to the son. Esau didn’t own it, so he couldn’t sell it.

    But then the two began to look at the possibilities. Rebekah’s butterfly and Jacob’s just sat in the corner, shaking their heads. Now and again, while mother and son were discussing their options, one of the butterflies would suggest, “You know, God can figure this out. Why don’t you just let God work on this?” But they didn’t expect to be heard.

    For obvious reasons, nobody said anything about the birthright exchange to Isaac. Time passed.By the time I came along, Isaac was blind and bedridden. One day, when Isaac was feeling particularly old, he asked Esau to go hunting and fix him some venison. Off Esau went, with his then butterfly following close behind. And I had the feeling that my winged partner had the easier job, only worrying about lions and bears!

    To be fair to Rebekah, she didn’t feel that she had much choice. The prophecy was the older serving the younger, meaning Jacob had to receive the blessing. With Isaac about to bless Esau instead, God wasn’t moving fast enough for her.

    She sent Jacob out to kill a couple of kids. She would fix the meat the way Isaac liked it, and Jacob would take it to him. Jacob raised a very practical objection—his skin was smooth, not hairy like Esau’s. You may wonder just how hairy Esau was, that the skin of a baby goat made a good substitute, but it did work! I have to admit, I didn’t think it would, either. It helped that Jacob wore Esau’s clothes, that smelled of open meadows rather than of sheep.

    The other problem came when Jacob spoke. He tried to talk in a deep voice and to pronounce words the way Esau did. He started with just two words.

    “My father.”*

    Isaac turned his head to acknowledge the speaker. “Yes, my son. Who is it?”*

    Trying to disguise his voice, the younger son answered, “I am Esau, your first born.”* Was that enough? Or should he explain why he had come? “I have done as you told me. Please sit up and eat some of my game, so that you may give me your blessing.”*

    Probably his little speech was too long. He couldn’t keep his voice low enough.

    “How did you find it so quickly, my son?”*

    “The Lord your God gave me success.”* Would Esau have answered that way?

    “Come near so I can touch you, my son, to know whether you really are my son Esau or not.”*

    Jacob leaned over his father, holding his breath as the old man reached for his hands.

    “The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau.”*

    The younger son breathed softly, trying not to give himself away.

    “Are you really my son Esau?”*

    “I am.”*

    At this point, I knew there was nothing I could do. He had committed himself to this fraud and would carry it through. Isaac ate the meat and bread, and then he blessed Jacob, the younger son.

    Well, as you would expect, Esau arrived shortly thereafter, and he was more than a little angry to discover that he had not only sold his birthright, but he had lost his father’s only blessing. What Isaac offered him was closer to a curse.

    As he left his father, his butterfly told me his thought. “The days of mourning for my father are near; then I will kill my brother Jacob.”

    We butterflies do work together in emergencies. This was one, so the word quickly made it back to Rebekah.

    She didn’t have the authority to send Jacob away, so she went to Isaac and reminded him about Esau’s Canaanite wives. “I’m disgusted with living because of these Hittite women. If Jacob takes a wife from among the women of this land, from Hittite women like these, my life will not be worth living.”*

    Now I’ll give Isaac credit, once he had given Jacob the blessing, he didn’t get angry at being tricked. Instead, he called Jacob back in and repeated the blessing. He passed on to Jacob the blessing that God had given to Abraham and that Abraham had passed on to him, the blessing that promised him possession of the land given to Abraham, where their descendants would become uncountable.

    As Rebekah filled a bag with food and handed Jacob a skin of water, I thought about Ishmael and Hagar being sent off into the wilderness. We had some wilderness ahead of us, but we had a destination with relatives, Rebekah’s family, beyond it.

    (to be continued)

    ###

    1 Bears and lions did exist in Israel in biblical times (1 Samuel 17:34-35). Also https://armstronginstitute.org/156-the-animals-of-the-bible, referenced 2/23/2026.

  • Jacob’s Ladder

    Part 2 of Jacob’s Butterflies

    Genesis 28:10-30:22

    So Jacob left home and headed north. Now Jacob was headed for Haran, which is a long ways to the north east of Beer-sheba. And we were on foot! Well, he was. I fly, using my wings. So we had a lot of time together. And as he walked, I realized that he was finally beginning to think. Not to scheme and plan, but to think … about himself, about his family, and about God.

    And you better believe, I gave him plenty to think about. We went through his entire childhood, and I reminded him of the times when God had been working in his life. I helped him see where God had helped him do the good things that he thought he had accomplished. We went over the bad things, how they could have been done better, if he had just listened to God instead of himself.

    It was an exciting time for me, because I could see some real growth in Jacob. Why human beings have to have everything kicked out from underneath them before they start thinking, I don’t know, but it seems to be that way.

    One night, early on in the journey, he traveled until after sunset. He drank a little from his water skin and ate a little dried meat. Then he found a smooth stone, just enough to hold his head off the ground, put it under his head, and went to sleep.

    A lot had happened in the last couple of days, and I was wondering if I should report in to God. Sometimes when God wants to visit with a butterfly, a messenger comes down. And if that particular messenger is really creative, there are lots of ways to come down. So, even though butterflies don’t need ladders, it didn’t surprise me at all to see a ladder drop down out of the clouds.

    What did surprise me was that Jacob saw it, too! In a dream, of course, but it meant that Jacob was finally getting in touch with his spiritual side, with his inner self.

    Now angels don’t usually get to use physical things, since they have no physical bodies, so there were several angels playing on the ladder, descending and ascending on it. Sometimes it’s actually hard for them to step on the step, they just seem to float above it!

    And then God decided to try the ladder (God really does know how to play, when given a chance). Once down, God walked over to Jacob, knelt beside him and told him gently, “Jacob, I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac.”* Then God repeated the promise made to Abraham and later to Isaac: they would possess this land, and they would have many descendants, like the dust of the earth, and …

    Now this is the most important part of the promise, the part that relates to the rest of the world. “All the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.”* And of course, Jesus is one of those offspring. The whole world has been blessed by Jesus. And then God promised to be with Jacob wherever he went.

    Now, as Jacob’s butterfly, I knew that God had always been with Jacob. But there is something special about the time when a human being realizes and accepts God’s presence. It’s better than winning the lottery! I get goosebumps every time it happens!

    So we lingered a little in the morning. Jacob set up his pillow stone to mark the holy place and called it Bethel, the gate of heaven.

    Finally we went on our way. For a while I just let him think about the vision he had. Eventually I started trying to get him to understand what God meant when God promised to be with him, that this was a major commitment by God.

    Yes, Jacob had a part in it. When he set up the stone, he also made a promise. “If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then the Lord shall be my God, and this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God’s house; and of all that you give me I will surely give one tenth to you.”*

    See, Jacob didn’t have God. The God Jacob worshiped was second-hand. Jacob spoke to Isaac about “the Lord YOUR God.” They didn’t have church in those days, but Jacob’s understanding of religion was like those people who insist on having their children baptized, “just in case.” God really wasn’t important, God was kind of an insurance policy. God to Jacob was only a prophecy, that Esau would serve him, but Jacob had to do everything to make it come true. Now Jacob was beginning to understand that God could actually work in his life. At this point, Jacob was still talking in terms of “if.” “IF God will be with me.” As we traveled, we worked on that “if.” God didn’t give Jacob that kind of promise, an “if” promise. God doesn’t do “conditional” promises, so God had now been committed to taking care of Jacob. Period.

    A couple days later, as we traveled and conversed (Jacob was getting a LOT better at listening to me), I asked him what it felt like to have that kind of unconditional promise, that special promise that God gave him. He was thoughtful for a few minutes, and then he said, “You know, I’ve thought about this a lot lately. See, the problem is that grandpa Abraham had the same promise. So did Father. And it almost got Father killed! If Grandpa hadn’t put so much faith in that promise, he wouldn’t have almost sacrificed Father as a child. And that promise didn’t help Father when I took the blessing away from Esau. I just don’t see what good that promise did either Father or Grandfather. How were their lives anything other than ordinary? So what difference will it make in my life?”

    I have to admit I wasn’t totally prepared for that question. You see, he was only the third person in the world to receive that promise, and neither Abraham or Isaac had ever raised that question. (The moral of THIS question is never to ask a question that you can’t answer yourself!) So we communicated about it, about God working through ordinary people in their ordinary lives. About how we don’t have to inherit the birthright or receive the blessing to make a difference in other people’s lives. He wasn’t convinced.

    Eventually we reached Haran.

    In those days, the well was the gathering place. Everyone came to the well, so if you wanted to find someone, you went to the well and waited. Jacob had never been to Haran, but he found the well and waited. Some shepherds were already there, waiting for the rest of the herds to arrive. They identified Rachel, Laban’s daughter, as she brought in her flock.

    You know how young men are, when they think they are smitten by a pretty young thing. Normally it took more than one person to lift the stone from the well. But Jacob took one look at Rachel, walked over to the well, flexed his muscles a little, and lifted the stone by himself! Yes, Rachel was impressed, especially when he told her that he was her cousin.

    She went running home and immediately came back with her father Laban. Laban was delighted to see his nephew. This was the first time he had seen anyone from his sister’s family. So Laban eagerly welcomed him as family.

    Now Jacob wasn’t above using trickery to get what he wanted, but he was also a good worker, and he knew sheep. It wasn’t long before Laban wanted to pay him, to keep him. Jacob had fallen madly in love with Rachel, so he offered to work for seven years for the younger daughter.

    Time went fast because they were in love, and suddenly it was time for the wedding. With that many people there, there were also plenty of butterflies, so I decided to use that time for a little vacation. I didn’t think Jacob was going anywhere dangerous, so he could get along without me for a while. I found some distant cousins and we shared our histories.

    I got back just in time to see Jacob come flying out of the tent, yelling at Laban. “RACHEL!!! RACHEL!!! You promised me RACHEL!!! Why did you give me Leah instead!!!”

    Now you may wonder, I certainly did, why it took him until morning to notice this, but … I wasn’t there, I don’t know, and it’s my feeling that there are some things better left alone. So I didn’t ask.

    Now Laban wasn’t really a bad guy, but he was not the most honest person you ever met. Don’t buy a used car from this guy. He explained to Jacob that it was not customary for the younger daughter to be married first. If somebody else had offered to marry Leah during the seven years, that would have been fine, but nobody had, so … if Jacob would go through the rest of the marriage process, which took a week, with Leah, then Laban would also give him Rachel as a wife. If, of course, he wanted to work another seven years for her. Some more of those conditional promises! That “if” word again.

    Jacob didn’t have much choice, so he agreed. The sad thing is that nobody had consulted Leah on this. Now she was stuck with a husband who barely even looked at her! All Jacob could see was Rachel! Because God is often on the side of the underdog, Leah was blessed with six sons and a daughter. Rachel had Jacob’s love, but she only managed to have one son, after several years.

    Now this seems weird, but back then the woman could send her maid in to her husband, so she would have children, and then the woman got to claim them as hers. That might remind you of the story of Ishmael, the brother of Isaac, Jacob’s father. So Rachel’s maid and Leah’s maid each had two sons by Jacob. That brings us to eleven sons. There was one left to come, making the twelve sons of Jacob who became the twelve tribes of Israel.

    Of course, I didn’t personally, well, as a butterfly, live long enough to see all those children born, but my descendants did.

    And I can tell you, there’s more to come.

  • 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.

  • 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.

    “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.