Taking Flight

I saw this little guy out my front window one day last week. He was busy fluttering around from one flower to the next, doing his beautiful thing. By the end of the week, I felt rather "butterfly-ish" myself -- lots of beautiful things going on, but not enough time to give to any particular one.



Or maybe I have all the time in the world to do all the things meant for me to do... only I'm too distracted by all the many beautiful juicy things surrounding me. Sometimes life seems to be chock full of distracting, beautiful, juicy things, and I feel worn out and dizzy trying to drink it all in.


Butterflies have a relatively short life -- and their caterpillar selves had even shorter spans. Do you think they know this, instinctively? Are they intuitively trying to enjoy the most beautiful things they can while they have the time? If I were a butterfly, I'd probably have a mental agenda: "this bush, then that one... and next the other. 1, 2, 3..." And I'd probably know how many minutes to alot to each for highest efficiency purposes.

But somehow I don't think this bright little thing had any plans going on... he was flitting and fluttering wherever his heart led him.


Sitting on and under my desk right now are several ongoing projects. I'm a short-term project kinda gal, I've learned that about myself. (I decided long ago: It's better to be honest than shadowed by vague uncompleted-project guilt). :)

When I start a project, or when I get a creative inspiration and can't wait to start a project, there is a general restlessness that accompanies the muse, and it reminds me of a butterfly. It lights on this and that, making it hard to settle to one completed task.

And all the while, there is an 8 year old that needs to be taught, a house to be cleaned, meals that need to be planned and prepared daily, errands that need to be run, gifts to be bought, and clothing to be stored away. These things rarely satisfy my creative urges, and I am often tempted to tend to them with the proverbial "lick and a promise." But I've learned this: every day, distractions await. Every day, there are justifications and excuses to be found in every nook and cranny of life.


Gitz has a canvas painted with these words:
"Some people pursue happiness. Others create it."

There is a kind of happiness that lights upon your shoulder like this butterfly -- it stays as long as it wishes, and leaves at will. On those days, my heart is less settled and creativity brings ideals and hopes -- and there is something about that that does make life easier, because it gives me something to look forward to, something light to consider, something beautiful to look at, something to do with busy, restless hands.

But generally speaking, I'm not a naturally sanguine, perky person, and so when I say "happiness," what I'm thinking about is more along the lines of JOY. Kinda like that "blessedness" that Jesus mentions in His Sermon on the Mount -- something deeper and less volatile. More settled, less "butterflyish."

I'm looking forward to tackling a few beautiful projects in the coming weeks, in the cracks of my "normal" routine days (for which I am thankful). But in the meantime, my prayer is that the "givens" -- those things that are made for me to do each day -- will become places where I can spread the joy, and also apply some creativity. Life itself can be a canvas, right? I'm learning something about this, but it's slow in coming and I'm a flighty little thing...