Butterfly Chronicles Volume 68: The "Ick" Story

All the world's a stage.  Two players.


Younger woman; short, tight skirt; cleavage. Christian.

Older woman; bun high; shirt to chin; skirt to floor. Christian.
Jesus - carpenter clothes to King of Kings.

Older woman crosses restaurant to "Ladies."
Eyes razor slice up and down young woman.

Older "Lady" - sharp - two-edged sword - "Ick." punctures the younger. 
Out loud the older said it to those younger ears."Ick"

Titus says older teach younger what is good, kindness. Where does goodness and kindness reside - do we even try to see it?  Guilty. Would that older have been kinder if she knew the struggle younger has?  Christ - kind.  He loves that younger and that older, no matter what.  No matter what.



Does anyone remember that "...all our righteous acts are like filthy rags...?" I forget.  Does God see us or Christ in us? I see flickers of soft disgust in hurried glances across my son's name tattooed on my wrist and at the butterfly tattoo on my foot.  I smile and think, if only you knew.  Zach's death has given me a little kindness to see past what I couldn't see past before. It's good and kind to wonder through Christ's eyes what another's story might be. To be kind.

My soul longs for a re-do to erase the "ick" of a mother's life to save the life of her son, to erase herself and blow the red rubber remnants away, and draw the son's story again. God says, "No. The pencil for Zach's earth life is broken. The end."

Butterflies flutter over a heart beating tears.

Older woman, buttoned up prim, proper appearance as if garb can hide "filthy rags." Young woman taught "Ick" as if salvation was a man-made garment.

Isn't it when we catch ourselves eye to eye against the TRUTH, isn't that the birthplace of our "Ick." It's inside that "all we like sheep have gone astray." If we turned ourselves inside out - all our sins showing on the outside, who could love us? Christ alone.

Salvation isn't lost to cleavage, and it isn't gained by a skirt to the floor, or a good deed, or a thousand good deeds. God sees us through our King, and not one of us is worthy of His glance.  Aren't we blessed. Shouldn't I be glad God has Zach?  We try then ask why?

I want God to erase that night and all these days after. It's an "ick" we wear on the inside - chewing, hungry for our souls. Guilt  - coulda, woulda, shoulda.

Hand in hand, always fighting the fear of who will be next, Michael and I run and grab and desperately hold on to our living lights, our girls.  Flying behind them, we are kite tails, whipped, bounced, shredding strings slung against a violently calm ocean of air, the future incomprehensible, all of us - swollen with trauma. Nightmares haunt.  We will never be the same. We are lonely in our lives. Other boys grow up. Who could understand? God alone.

Zach is happy. Saved from whatever evil would've come his way. "Ick" erased. Salvation is what happened on his inside.  Zach is home, because of  God alone.  And we take another step because of God alone.

And He sends butterflies - never missed even one day.