Reflections of the Past, Visions of the Future
I celebrated my father's birthday this last April 4th, 2025
He would have been 75,
Yet 7 years ago, a white butterfly laid him to rest, with the rest of his family around his casket,
And my face playing masquerade among the living corpses giving me their condolences,
Not of any fault of their own,
Just that, my own brokenness could never be seen,
And between the layers of tears that covered my mother's face,
I knew,
I must be the one to carry this family's weight.
That was my state of mind back when we laid my father to rest,
Amidst the cries of those who grieved, and the white butterfly who rested its wings on the polished crimson wood.
That's what I believed would keep my family functional.
And it worked, for a season, by the grace of God, I felt His hand cocoon me from the demons that laid wait to weaken and ruin me.
And then it left - that beaconing presence that suppressed depressed presences within my soul,
Setting demons free once under control
And lessons once freeing felt stifling under the boulders that now crushed them.
I could no longer carry the weight I once bore,
Yet my stubborn spirit refused to let it go,
As if I insisted on doing 4 sets of 100 when I could only do 2 sets of 50
And I got hurt.
When we laid my father to rest, a white butterfly flew by my mother's face, and rested on his casket.
Yesterday I learned that butterflies rest during rainfall to protect their wings from damage.
Could it be,
A message spoken so subtly,
Softly whispering between the gentle flutters of each wing:
Sometimes seasons call for rest, and
OUR wings must rest.
OUR bodies must calm
And our minds need to decompress
From the raging waters within
And that's okay,
For it's just for a season,
Just as tulips shed their petals, and slowly wither into winter's cold, hard ground, they'll soon bloom again when spring finds its way around,
So, there is no shame in resting our wings,
For these are the very seasons God Himself gave His life for - the life that resolved impossible demands,
Through a love fixated on bringing me home through every season,
And He sent a white butterfly to remind me He is my reason to rest.
Copyright © Rebecca Kiser | Year Posted 2025
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