Butterfly Chronicles Volume 61: You Can't Take it With You

Thanksgiving over.  Climbing steps, returning to winter rest the attic dwellers - chairs, tables, to sleep til Christmas.  Topping that last attic step, eyes skipping over Zach named boxes stacked, a life, all packed away in brown cardboard. 

The last time I stroked Zach's hair, he coffin slumbered on white satin.  Dead. Cold.  Stroke those silky kid heads, and feel the life under your hand.

Commit to memory the feel of warm hands in yours.  Skip, smell the flowers, the spring, the frost of the season, and store the child eyes filled with wonder and awe tight in your brain - lock 'em up those memories.
All that stuff that covers shelvesfloorswallscabinetsatticsclosets and fills boxes, doesn't breathe, doesn't have a beating heart.  As dead as Zach's earthly tent in that coffin bed. 

Trust me when I say that if you lose a child, you will never ever ever ever feel like you had enough time with him.

Learn from the child faith your children have in a God so big Zach will never know all of Him.

Really, that Jesus stuff, that's what matters.  All the rest of the stuff...someday it'll be boxed up, your life, my life, stuck up in somebody's attic.  'Cause just like Zach, we can't take it with us.  Jesus took Zach.  My arms feel so empty.  I'm gonna go hug my girls and husband and feel them warm and hearts beating and alive. Live the stuff that matters.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 60: Wimpy Christian

All those grief books, stacked up, not speaking how I feel, telling me blessing comes, me miles away from destination joy.

Heroes they are; I am not.

Abraham: an alter left empty at my hands.

Noah: me laughing in disbelief.

Joseph: my plotting revenge, planning destruction.

Shadrach, Meschach, Abednego: a fear gripped heart - mine, facing fire.

Daniel: these ears roared to frantic panic.


A recanter of  faith - me - to escape bonds of a burning stake.

Do you ever doubt as strong as their faith: those Abrahams, Noahs, Josephs, Furnace Facers, Daniels?

It is easy for me to forget Jesus, cross splayed and the cost to those who died for faith. Filled with doubt,   I forget, my faith floats away on the wind.

Since Zach died, eternity beckons.  Calling me.  I doubt.  I forget. Is it real, true, this grace story?

To live is Christ; to die is gain - that's what He says, Jesus.  That shot rang out; Zach fell into the arms of his savior. Some days belief wanes. God, forgive me for missing him so much that it is hard to believe You. Does your faith quiver, waver, fail, ever?

Eternity beckons.  Live Christ.  I am a wimpy Christian. I doubt.


I'm waiting for the blessing. God deliver.

Butterfly Chronicles Volume 59: This Doesn't Feel Like Love

For the second time, I dreamed about Zach - a vivid, filled with real warm bodies kind of dream.  Crawling out of it at 5:00 am, I rushed downstairs to write it all down so I wouldn't forget - those precious dream moments with my son.  He hugged me hard.  I said, "I love you."  He said,  "I love you too."

Then he said with so much love I could taste it, "You' ll get here, it'll just be harder."  He meant heaven, and I knew that.  "It'll just be harder."

I'm a wuss.  He's right.  It's harder.  I don't want to be a light.  I don't want to be a witness.  I don't even want to leave my house.

Then, Zach's voice floats, painted in happiness; I feel him and see him saying, "You'll get here.  It'll just be harder."

Isn't that the best description of this life for all of us.  It'll be harder.  For all of us still in "The Fall,"  it'll be harder.


God, this is too hard.  This doesn't feel like love.

Zach said, "You'll get here.  It'll just be harder."

I love you, son.