Butterflies
It's a big enough umbrella, but it's always me That ends up getting wet
Originally published November 20, 2024
Butterflies rest when it rains because the droplets can damage their wings.
It is okay to rest during the storms of life.
You will fly again.
I will fly again.
Seek shelter in the warmth and safety of memory. If you cannot move forward, it is here you must learn to survive.
The present is already consumed, becoming the past as we experience it. Time will gild these moments and they will shine and light your way forward. Watch as they are brighter than you ever saw through the experience.
Ahhhh, the storms of life… how they affect us all.
We tend to think of a storm as a destructive force—something that tears through what we have built, scatters what we worked so hard to gather, and leaves the landscape changed behind it.
But storms have another purpose.
Sometimes we need them to reset the environment, to flush away the accumulated litter and rubble that settles into the proverbial gutters of life. What feels destructive in the moment can sometimes be the very thing that clears space for something healthier to grow.
A forest fire can look like devastation, yet fire is part of the natural cycle. It burns away clutter and undergrowth, returning nutrients like nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium to the soil. In much the same way, the difficult seasons of life can break down what has accumulated, forcing a pause and creating an opportunity for renewal.
The moments that make us stop can also be the moments that replenish us.
The past does not have to remain a burden. It can be forged into fuel for whatever comes next.
And perhaps that is especially important in a world where people are often far better at giving than receiving, carrying than resting, and enduring than tending to the places inside themselves that need care.
When the storm finally passes, there is little value in lamenting the changed landscape or mourning the person who had to emerge from it. The landscape may be different. We may be different.
That does not necessarily mean something has been lost.
Sometimes it means something has been renewed.
There is something beautiful about the world after a summer storm: the snap of crystal-clear air, the brilliant blue of the sky, the clean scent rising from the earth. Everything feels washed and sharpened, as though the world has been given another chance to begin.
Perhaps people deserve that same grace.
To rest.
To breathe.
To celebrate renewal.
To look at the changed landscape and recognize that beauty can grow there, too.
The storm passes.
The air clears.
And somewhere beneath it all, something delicate and brilliant begins to open its wings again.
