So much depends on the angle of light, and the way you squint.
—Margaret Atwood
Butterflies, for instance . . .
How would you caption this photo?
Little bug, big attitude? Walk softly, and cast a long shadow? Dracu-fly wannabe with serious Cape Envy?
I almost missed this miniature drama at my feet. Dreamer noticed the lone butterfly. I chose where I would stand in relation to the light (a mindset I hope to keep cultivating).
Photo-ops surround us, waiting to be absorbed. Received, rather than taken.
Even for rookies, like me.
When it comes to photography, my No Know-how list is long: aperture, shutter speed, focal length, depth of field . . .
No tripod, no fancy lenses. Just me and the digital Lumix, no bigger than a diet-wise portion of beef (like a deck of cards, and equally chancy).
Dreamer and I will attend a weekend photography workshop next week. The prospect beckons; it also gives me butterflies.
Butterflies, in particular . . .
In his motivating new book, How to Be Here, author Rob Bell writes:
Make friends with butterflies
- Take his advice literally, which I did one day, as shown by this photo (story here.)
And . . .
2. Consider applying Bell’s advice to your next case of nerves—that nauseous flutter in the gut accompanied by clammy hands, dry throat, and heart-racing dread—typical symptoms of risk: being in over your head with no foreseeable escape so that now you must face the next scary thing. (Often, in front of those you’d most like to impress.)
Those butterflies.
Bell doesn’t stop there.
Nerves are God’s gift to you,
reminding you that your life is not passing you by.
Make friends with the butterflies.
Welcome them when they come,
revel in them,
enjoy them,
and if they go away,
do whatever it takes to put yourself in a position
where they return.
Periodically, I would add. No need to live on the edge; try occasional visits.
Thresholds . . .
We each have varying thresholds for risk. You might dread snakes, public speaking, or spiders; I’m unnerved by zip-lining.
Seems every time I clamber into the RV with Dreamer and take off for weeks at a time, I inch a little closer to my next personal ledge, the next swinging bridge over a chasm . . .
However: “. . . doing new things together is one way to maintain—or recover—the excitement in our relationship,” Laura Boggess writes, be it human relationships or how we interact with God.
As Bells says:
Risk is where the life is
Don’t buy into the lie that this is as good as it gets, Bell adds.
And no willy-nilly recklessness. No cares-to-the-winds plunge unless the venture before you sits well with your spirit (that part of us most attuned to God—and mostly immune to “butterflies”).
Researchers and spiritual guides agree that any moment we fully inhabit often reveals itself as sacred.
Even shooting pictures out a car window on a gloomy day. There just might be a butterfly that only you notice, carved into a mountainside, a fleeting, organic image that echoes the poet, Rumi:
Your life has been a mad gamble.
Make it more so. You have lost now
a hundred times running.
Roll the dice a hundred and one.
Your life has been a mad gamble. —Rumi 
MAKING IT PERSONAL:
When was the last time you took a risk? What did it teach you? Share with us if you’re willing . . .
If you enjoyed this post, you might also like: Exposed to Truth, Its Beautiful Sting
Thanks for a great and challenging post, Laurie. I’m all for risks. Life must be lived to the fullest!
Loved the rock butterfly, too!
Linda Jo, the wannabe-pilgrim in me salutes your bold spirit! — and draws encouragement from you as well. 🙂
I really appreciate this beautiful post, Laurie (and the link to Laura’s). When I saw that lovely photo (you do very well!), I immediately thought of how fear can overshadow reality and beauty, and also how the shadow of fear, itself, is not real, no matter how large and sinister it may loom. In the photo, the real thing is the butterfly. And that butterfly is gorgeous. So often fear obscures both beauty and that which is destined to take flight. It’s about flying that I am fearful right now . . . not so much flying itself, as all the threats we seem to be facing in the world today. And also flying alone. I’m praying about an overseas spiritual retreat, and have never flown that far away alone, plus in a foreign country. I’m prayerful. We’ll see what the Lord reveals. I need to know if this is my desire alone or His for me. I’m not sure if your lovely, beautifully written post is a piece of the puzzle He wants to provide to help lead me, or just a lovely, thoughtful post to tuck inside my heart for another time. We shall see . . . 🙂 I am particularly fond of butterflies–my love language–about which I have, myself, written, and through which the Lord has taught me a great deal. Thank you for such rich sharing!
Fondly
Lynn
Lynn, thank you for fleshing out the reality/shadow aspect — so well said (and surely, lived, or you’d not have the words for it!).
I will be praying with you for clear answers and timing as to how you fly next, and when, and where. A couple friends have recently taken retreats abroad, and I have both trembled and rejoiced with them in the doing—though it’s never truly solo, is it? His company settles alongside us wherever we venture, be it lightly, unobtrusively, and sometimes brightly as the butterfly on a hand.
I’ve been reading in Laura’s Playdates book today about resurrection, and her words are holding hands with your statement above: “the real thing is the butterfly.” I am twice blessed.
Deciding to fully retire from teaching this Fall–no more subbing, no more classrooms, period–so I could pursue writing and editing and minisry full time is a big risk. But God seems to be there when I just put one foot in front of the other. (and thanks for asking).
The way you’ve woven butterflies together–literally and figuratively–is a revelation. Well done…you’ve given me a lot of food for thought.
Jody, hurray! What a courageous, exciting decision. Feels like a “kairos” decision to me, a move for such a time as this. Sending up a prayer for that next footfall, and the next, and next . . . Thanks for letting me know about this marvelous change in how your days will unfold.