The Butterfly and the Construction Site

Today I was driving behind a dump truck when a butterfly fluttered between us and then away. I took extra note of it because there's a lot of construction going on around us and it has made Hudson VERY interested in trucks and tractors lately. The delicate butterfly next to the big, dirty truck was an interesting juxtaposition to me and for some reason this sparked a story in my mind pretty immediately. So, during Hudson's nap this afternoon I set out to write a children's story about that little butterfly, and below is what came of it. It became a bit of an allegory for unexpected change, grief, the usefulness of trials, the deceitfulness of idols, true satisfaction, and the glory of finally experiencing freedom in Christ when you've given up on everything else. It's a bit long, I know, but hopefully still an easy, enjoyable read. :)

Without further ado...

The Butterfly and the Construction Site

On a butterfly bush, in a green field, near a rambling brook, there lived a happy little caterpillar. He spent his days munching on leaves and chatting with his caterpillar friends. His little bush had sweet leaves and stems, and was surrounded by other butterfly bushes, full of the most delicious green leaves that a caterpillar could want. He never had to go far or work very hard to fill his little caterpillar tummy.

One afternoon, the little caterpillar was munching on some milkweed nearby when a big cloud of dust and noise enveloped him. The little caterpillar coughed from all the dust and tried to wipe his eyes, but it was no use. He was scared and couldn’t see, and the loud noise drowned out the sound of his friends nearby, so he crawled under a leaf as best he could and hid for what seemed a long while. Eventually as he hid, he drifted off to sleep, but was awakened later by a different rumbling. This time it was his tummy, for caterpillars need to eat a lot.

He rubbed his little eyes and peeked out from under the leaf. The dust had settled. It was night now, and the loud noises had stopped, but things were still not as they had been before.

He looked out into the once beautiful meadow, which earlier that day had been filled with butterfly bushes, and grass, and milkweed- anything a little caterpillar like himself could want.  But it was not a meadow anymore; the ground was torn up, almost all the green, leafy things were gone, and big yellow machines with muddy wheels stood silently all around.

Little caterpillar tried to catch his breath. The little milkweed bush he had been clinging to was the only green thing around, and it seemed to have been shoved very close to the precipice which overlooked the little brook. Now that he was near the brook it didn’t seem so little anymore. Its rushing waters were loud and fast, and he was afraid that at any moment the little milkweed  bush would tumble down the hill and into the water.

Little caterpillar decided that as afraid and uncertain as he was, the best thing to do was to leave the little bush behind and look for somewhere else to live. Hopefully he could find his friends, and hopefully even sooner than that he could find some leaves to munch on, for he was very hungry.

The little caterpillar climbed gingerly from the leaf to the stem, and then carefully scooted down the stem until he reached the ground. He was accustomed to climbing from leaf to leaf or grass blade to grass blade to get where he wanted to go, but now he had to walk on rough, rocky soil. His little feet quickly became dirty and achey as he inched along, away from the rushing brook.

He inched and inched for what seemed a long while along the rough ground, and then the morning light began to appear. Little caterpillar blinked and took in the scene. He did not see his friends or any delicious bushes to munch on. There was just dirt, and stones, and the big yellow machines, and… then he saw it. One beautiful tree was left standing. It was big and tall and filled with bright berries and green leaves. Oh how sweet those leaves looked!

The little caterpillar looked at the path between himself and the tree. The hard rocky ground stretched out before him for what seemed like miles. And there were several big yellow machines between himself and the tree. He didn’t know why the machines were there, or what they were meant to do, but they were big and scary and unfamiliar.  He figured they must have made all the dust and loud noise the day before. And if they were what had turned his little meadow into rocks and dirt then he wanted nothing to do with them.

Nevertheless, he determined that he must get to the tree- even if it meant going near the big yellow machines and over the rocky ground. That tree was the only hope he could imagine. So off he went, inch by inch, towards the tree, as the moon disappeared and the sun crept higher in the morning sky, when suddenly… “VRVRVROOOOOM.”

The little caterpillar looked around in fear as the yellow machines filled the air with noise again and started moving around, reshaping his once green meadow even more.

Little caterpillar did the only thing he could think to do- he turned around and retreated as quickly as he could back to the milkweed bush from where he had come, even though it was ever so close to sending him over into the babbling brook, even though it was clearly not the best place for a little caterpillar like himself to live anymore. And there he waited, hiding and scared, until night fell and the noises died down and the dust settled once again.

It was at this point that the little caterpillar determined he must do his travelling at night, while the big yellow machines seemed to be sleeping. He munched on the few green leaves that were left on the little milkweed plant. The rest of the leaves had already shriveled and fallen in the two days since it had been uprooted and torn from the earth.

With his tummy at least a little full, the little caterpillar began inching into the night, across the rocky ground, towards the only source of hope he could see, the beautiful berry tree, its leaves lit silver in the moonlight. He remembered what had happened when the sun rose yesterday morning and the fear that had gripped him when the yellow machines and the hot sun bore down on him, so he endeavored to travel as quickly as possible and reach the tree before morning light.

But it was not to be. As hard as he tried, the little caterpillar made slow progress over the rocks and stones and became very tired. His pace slowed, and he could see by the height of the moon in the sky that morning was coming. Dejected, he began to look for some shelter from what he knew would be another long, hot, dusty day.

The only promising shelter he found was a large pile of rocks which seemed to be have been pushed together on purpose, and which he supposed, or at least hoped, would not be moved by the big yellow machines. So the little caterpillar made his way there, relieved to have found some shelter under a great boulder, yet still heartbroken over the loss of his comfortable life, his friends, and the once abundant leaves that filled his stomach. He tried to hold back tears as he looked across the landscape to the beautiful tree that still seemed so far away. He was afraid to cry because he already felt so parched, when he noticed the gentle drip drop of water nearby. The early morning dew that had collected on the boulder slowly filled its crevices and was now making its way down the stone, dripping into a clear little pool, just the right size for the thirsty little caterpillar.

The little caterpillar drank the sweet water down to the last gulp. He usually had no need to drink from puddles of dew when he was filling his belly with sweet leaves every morning. But on this morning, as the sun rose in the sky and dried away the rest of the dew, nothing seemed sweeter than the gift of a little fresh water, hidden away underneath a rock.

Another hot, dusty day passed by as the little caterpillar waited under the rock for night to fall once more. Eventually the sun sank in the sky, the big yellow machines stopped their earth-moving and noise-making, and the little caterpillar inched out from under the rock, hoping that by the next morning he’d be settling into a new life in the beautiful tree, munching on sweet leaves and berries ‘til his tummy ached.

Refreshed by the dew he had drunk under the rock, at first the little caterpillar made great strides on this night, but he was still hungry and was losing energy as he climbed over each little bit of rough gravel. Then in the dark, he stumbled across a little weed adorned with a crown of tiny white flowers. The flowers glowed in the moonlight and looked so delicate that he was sure they would evaporate in the sun just like the dew did. The little caterpillar, hungry as he was, took a little nibble of the weed. Its leaves were soft and sweet. Just right for his aching tummy. Then he tasted the little flowers- they melted in his mouth like honey. He joyfully munched and savored this unexpected treat until he saw the moon dropping lower in the sky once more and knew he must be on his way. And as he continued on, he was almost thankful that the big yellow machines had come, and that he’d had to hide under the rock, and that he’d been traveling in the dark of night, if only to experience this little delight.

As morning drew near, the little caterpillar saw that he was getting much closer to the beautiful tree, but a big yellow machine still stood in his way. He knew he had not the time to go around the big yellow machine before the sun would come out and the machine would resume its dust-billowing and noise-making. For a little while he did not know what he would do. He did not want to turn around and hide another day, even if it was safe, because of all the progress he had made towards the tree. He thought about the boulder, and the dew, and the weed, and all the unexpected ways he’d survived in the face of change and uncertainty, and suddenly he knew what he must do.

The little caterpillar inched towards the big yellow machine, climbed up its thick tire treads and found a place to hunker down for the day in the hollow of one of its giant wheels.

Little caterpillar felt brave that he had not run from the big yellow machine that day, and happy that he did not have to give up on all the progress he’d made toward the beautiful tree.

“VRVRVROOOOM.” The yellow machine started its engine and began the work of plowing through earth and rocks yet again. The little caterpillar had chosen his spot well and was safe from most of the dust and debris being churned up, and he even got used to the loud hum of the engine, but what he did not anticipate was the dizzying effects of clinging to a spinning wheel as it traverses across the ground.

The little caterpillar’s head spun and his body ached as he held on with all his might for what seemed a very long time. He was so relieved when he heard a brusque voice bellow, “LUNCH!”, and soon the big yellow machine stopped moving and the little caterpillar caught his breath before peering out to see what had happened. To his astonishment and delight the big yellow machine had stopped right next the beautiful berry tree!

The little caterpillar’s heart beat fast as he inched his way out of the hollow of the wheel, down the tire tread, and onto the ground towards the cool shade of the berry tree. He marveled at how he’d survived his ordeal with the big yellow machine and told himself it’d all be worth it once he reached the sweet leaves and berries on that tree. Time passed quickly in his elation and before he knew it, he had reached the base of the tree and begun his ascent. He climbed and climbed up the rough bark. It made his little feet sore, but he was sure it would be worth it once he was munching on the leaves and berries. The trunk stretched on and on and the little caterpillar was getting tired. He used every ounce of energy and strength he could muster, still certain that his reward would be well worth it.

Finally, he reached the first low-hanging branch and made his way past the rough bark to the soft, green stems on the end, laden with leaves and berries. His mouth watered in anticipation.

He looked around at all the fruit and leaves surrounding him and felt he had truly arrived. He was proud that he had made it to the tree, and felt sure that all would be right once more.

Then he chomped into a new green leaf- a favorite for hungry little caterpillars like himself. But for all the sweetness he had been expecting he tasted only bitterness. “Yuck!” exclaimed the little caterpillar. He decided it must have been a fluke and set out to try a berry instead, only to be struck by the same bitter taste. The little caterpillar was very determined though, and he kept searching and eating, first new leaves then old ones, small berries and large ones, until he ached, not from satisfaction, but from a tummy full of bitter fruit. “How could something that looks so beautiful taste so bitter?” lamented the little caterpillar.

He cried and cried as he realized all his hopes for restoration and a carefree life in the beautiful berry tree had come to ruin. He was full and exhausted and hopeless. He felt that he could not go on another step, or think of any solution to his plight. He simply wanted to wrap himself in darkness and not come out for a long, long time.

And so he did.

Hanging from the branch of the deceptively beautiful berry tree, he began to wrap himself in a silky cocoon. And as he finished wrapping himself in his cloak of darkness, he fell into a deep sleep.

Days passed into weeks and the little caterpillar finally began to rouse from his slumber. Though he was still covered by a dark veil, he didn’t feel quite so hopeless anymore. In fact, he felt quite energized and strangely optimistic. He wiggled and wriggled and bit by bit broke free from the bondage of his chrysalis.

Once  loosed from its bonds, he climbed back onto the branch of the berry tree, and, in the optimistic mood that he was, began to climb higher up the tree. He decided that if he could just climb to the top, he’d be able to see farther and possibly find a better place to call home, away from the bitter berry tree.

So up the tree he climbed, and he marveled at how light and unburdened he felt.

When he reached the top of the tree, he drank in the sunshine on skin that had been wrapped in darkness for so long, and he closed his eyes as the cool breeze brushed his face. It felt heavenly.

Then he noticed something he hadn’t felt before. As the wind blew, he felt as if he might be picked up and drift away. He felt a gentle tug on his back. He turned his head and beheld a spectacular pair of wings! His own wings!  He was not a caterpillar anymore; he was a butterfly! 

Immediately, without even having to think, he took off into the sky and fluttered around, above the tree, above the big yellow machines. He could see the pile of rocks where he’d taken shelter, and the brook which he had once feared falling into. The brook looked small now, a shimmering vein of glitter. He spun in circles and flitted up and down, and dove towards the brook, brushing his feet on the surface of its cool water. Now THIS was really living, he thought, and he didn’t even miss the taste of sweet leaves or berries.

He flew back up, higher and higher into the sky, until all that he once knew and all that once scared him looked very very small, and then he dove again-- this time toward a beautiful patch of green land, just a little ways from the place he had once called home.

The land was full of milkweed and butterfly bushes. Bees buzzed around happy caterpillars that munched on sweet leaves.

The butterfly swooped and landed on a milkweed plant and began to drink his fill of sweet nectar when he noticed a fat, happy caterpillar munching on a leaf nearby. The butterfly looked at the caterpillar, who was quite content munching away on leaves, completely unaware of the freedom and fearlessness of flying in the sky, and of the beauty of the land from above, and of the taste of nectar, sweeter than any berry or leaf he would ever eat. And the little butterfly looked and thought that even if he had known the reward in store, he might still have been too afraid to give up his comfortable home and happy existence of munching on leaves day in and day out.

And the butterfly marveled at all that had taken place, and for the first time he felt truly thankful for the big yellow machines, and for the rocky ground, and for the puddles of dew, and for the sweet honey of nighttime flowers, and for the dizzying motion of the big yellow machines, and even for the bitter disappointment of the berry tree, for they had made him struggle and invigorated him, and exhausted him, and embittered him, and eventually, they had taught him to fly.