Dodging Butterflies

Many years ago, I took a trip back to the Smoky Mountains, where I grew up. Although I was with a group of people, I had wandered a distance away and made my way down to the water's edge. Except for the water pushing its way over the rocks and flowing downstream, there was no sound -- just me and nature. A young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, also wandered down close to where I sat, but other than wondering briefly if her parents were keeping an eye on her, I didn't pay much attention to her. 

Then I saw it: Just a few feet away, a large, flat rock was completely covered with monarch butterflies. There must have been at least fifty of them, quietly sitting on the rock's surface, their wings gently opening and closing. I've learned since then that such a gathering is known as a "bachelor's watering hole." Monarch butterflies, as they migrate, will find a place to rest and replenish before continuing their journey. I'd never seen such a sight before, and it took my breath away.

While I was watching the butterflies, the young girl noticed them and came closer. I said something like, "Aren't they pretty?" She looked at them for a second, and then before I could react, she picked up a flat rock and slammed it down on top of the butterflies. I sat there speechless, not knowing what to say. She left the rock where it was, turned and smiled at me, and then climbed up the bank and disappeared.

It's been probably thirty years, and I've never forgotten the experience. I think it's because I can't understand why she did it. Why would someone deliberately destroy something so beautiful and so innocent? 

Unfortunately, the answer comes back: Why not? We don't live in a perfect world. Innocence doesn't last long, often not even through childhood. Maybe that little girl wanted to hurt something because she had already been hurt herself. Maybe she didn't understand what she was doing. That's my hope: that her actions came out of ignorance, not out of vengeance or some overwhelming need for power, because someone had taken hers away.

Sometimes, when I'm sitting in the quiet, enjoying the sight and sounds of nature, I'll see a butterfly float by. I'll wonder if that child remembers what she did. If she does, does she regret it? I'll never know. Could I have stopped her from destroying those butterflies? Probably not. It happened so fast. But I can choose not to make the same kind of decision. I can choose not to use careless words that crush someone's self esteem. I can choose not to turn away from someone who is reaching out. I can choose to protect the things I hold dear. I want to think -- no, I need to think -- that what I do matters.

A principal at an impoverished elementary school in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains makes sure that his students develop an appreciation for life. Seedlings in plastic cups line the windowsills of the dingy classrooms. Cocoons are watched eagerly for the first signs of life. Gerbils are stroked carefully by little hands. The principal prays that they will always be amazed by the works of God, no matter how small. After doing a tour of duty in Viet Nam, he’ll never take a sunrise, a rainbow, or a friendly smile for granted again. He even reluctantly admits that he dodges butterflies in the road.

For every person who can walk by a homeless man on the sidewalk, there are others who operate a shelter where the man can find heat, food, and a safe place to lay his head. For every company ready to cut off a family's insurance because the cost has become too high, there are people who bake cupcakes, wash cars, and dig into their own pockets to help a child fighting cancer. And for every person who can callously destroy a butterfly, there is someone else who will go out of his way to protect it.