Just Katherine--Patron Saint of Hot Messes: The "Worst" Birthday Gift Ever

When William turned 4 in December of 2002, we were living in

Pittsburgh. It was cold and gray and there were record amounts of snow. School was frequently delayed and canceled several times. Everyone kept telling me, "This winter is an exception. It's never like this." Well, they could tell me that all they wanted, but it was my reality normal or not. I was stuck in the house with four children under 6 who couldn't play in the snow, or at least not for very long because they just sunk and got wet. I spent hours putting on and taking off snowsuits and boots.

Anyway that year, my sister thought it would be a great idea for William's birthday to give him a butterfly growing kit from live caterpillars. She thought it would be fun and educational. I thought I was about to spend a lot of time talking to the children about death while also trying to figure out what payback gift her daughter would get in a couple of months. William thought it was the best gift ever!

Going to admit this--I dragged my feet on starting this project. It seemed like a lot of effort for something I was sure would be a dismal failure. I might have even stretched the truth when I told William I had sent the coupon in for the caterpillars to be sent and they were just lost somewhere in the mail. Thank goodness he couldn't read the directions to see they would be shipped overnight, and thank goodness Sarah Katherine either didn't care enough to read it for him, or I was smart enough to hide the packaging.

Eventually, I could wait no longer, and with fear and trepidation, I ordered the caterpillars and our adventure began. We got everything placed in the net cage and I hung it up as high as possible reminding them not to touch it. I could picture them twirling it around and around or using it as a pinata when my back was turned. Seriously y'all, that was a real possibility. They had A LOT of pent up energy that didn't stay pent up.

For the first few days, the children ran into the sunroom every morning to see what our caterpillars were doing. (They also named them and swore they could tell them apart--an argument I wasn't willing to enter.) I can't remember which day, but within the first week, 2 caterpillars ceased moving. I delayed the conversation about the circle of life assuring the children they were sleeping. One morning I heard Christopher explaining to William, "They're not sleeping. They're dead like the squirrels on the road Mommy tells us not to look at." So much for believing I was shielding them from the reality of death.

Once the still living caterpillars were snugly settled into their cocoons, the novelty of checking on them rapidly wore off. When I remembered I would prod them to go look but to be completely honest, I had slim hopes butterflies would ever emerge. I reminded them frequently not to touch, and for the most part, they complied--most likely because they had moved onto some other "project." This project had become, in their words, "boring" "nothing is happening" "we can't play with it, we just have to look."

And then one morning as I sat drinking my coffee and having a brief period of total silence before the monsters, I mean children, woke up, I glanced over my shoulder and there were butterflies. I was so excited I forgot my never break rule of not waking sleeping children. They raced down the stairs and for a split second were completely quiet as they stood in astonishment. "They really did become butterflies." William said, "It's a miracle."

I decided to try to explain the miracle--they weren't interested. They were too busy trying to figure out which caterpillar had become which butterfly. I knew we needed to release them, but I was also really worried about how cold it still was. Nonetheless, a couple of days later we took the net cage outside, and with a warning from me to make sure he didn't touch them, William released the butterflies. We stood on the snow-covered patio and waved goodbye as they fluttered around together and then each flew away in its own direction.

This week I have been thinking about that gift and those weeks. I think from start to finish it probably lasted 3-4 weeks, but for the children, it seemed to go on forever. The novelty wore off; they got bored. It feels like the world right now.

When we first started the shelter at home, there was a lot of energy. As the days wear on, fatigue has set in. As the days wear on it feels like nothing is changing; it feels like no progress is being made. We miss touching others. And the hard truth is so many people are dying.

I have retold myself this story several times this week, and last night at the family dinner table. I love this story and what it reminds me of. It reminds me that although just like we couldn't see the changes being made in the cocoons, we can't see all the work being done by others. It reminds me that although we don't know when, this time will indeed come to an end. There will be a day we are all released back into the world, and it reminds me that even when that happens there will be dangers. We won't be able to touch each other; we will each have to find our way in a new world. We will all have to find a way that fits our lifestyles and our needs. Those of us who have been sheltered in place together will go our separate ways. This story reminds me God is also working in and through us. This story reminds me God is ever-present.