Nature, part two...or butterflies and happiness

So yes, I just posted my first blog, and here I am, already writing a second one.  I laid down to go to sleep for the night, and my head just kept spinning (not in a Linda Blair way) with ideas for what I'd write next. 

I've heard somewhere that happiness is like a butterfly--you cannot chase it if you want to catch it, but rather you must be at peace and wait for it to land on you.  I recently had the chance to visit home after my summer school course had ended.  I made the 12 hour journey home to Indiana, and was surrounded by the comfort of home, which really translates to the comfort of Mom.  I was immediately struck by the sense of relief I felt when I entered Mom's presence.  Here I could lay down my burdens, my expectations of myself, the expectations of others for me, and the masks I sometimes wear.  Here I could stop the performance of me and simply be me--a me loved unconditionally by the woman who bore me. 

I realize what a blessing I have in my mother.  Even as a teenager, I knew that God had given me the perfect mother for me.  My mother's not perfect, but she's perfect for me.  And so here I stop to praise God for this blessing.

As I was driving home, I realized that my mother has always encouraged my creative side, especially the crafting side of me.  She's a seamstress by trade, so creating things with her mind and her hands has always been the model she set for me.  I can remember clearly the small wooden crafts I would paint, and as I got older, the molded plaster I would bring to life.  The small wooden shelf, with a base coat of white, and a hand painted (free-handed, mind you) blue ribbon was my offering to her at 10 years old.  Seeing it years later, I can honestly say I was no prodigy with the paintbrush.  But for a 10 year old, I was decent.  And my mother encouraged me, both verbally, and sentimentally by holding on to the shelf that was too small to serve any real purpose other than to show a daughter trying to express her love for her mother. 

My expressions of love still often take the form of some craft.  On this most recent visit home, mom and I had lots of "projects," and we enjoyed each one.  We found some Goodwill bargains, including a $15 glider rocker, a $5 chair, and a $5 Hollywood bed frame to set up in the sewing room (and thus get the twin mattress out of the garage and into the house where it can be used by the grandkids when they spend the night).  We bought fabric to cover chairs she'd bought for me a few weeks prior to my visit, strapping material to repair the $5 dollar chair's seat, and materials for a baby shower gift Mom inspired me to make. 

All of this was a relief from the mental work of teaching summer school.  But it was in another of my "creative" outlets that my mother encouraged that I found the serenity of happiness.  My mother sold the house I'd grown up in when I graduated from college, and she moved into town closer to church and work.  And by closer I mean she can look out her back window and see the church building.  The house she moved into is in a retirement community and the house was already landscaped, with the community taking care of the front yard, and the tenant tending to any back yard planting he or she chose to add.  While I lived at home while working on my Master's degree, my mother allowed me to plant a rose garden, and I learned from a neighbor about pruning the maple tree in the back, from a church member about how easy it is to root a mum leaf, and from a former elder how invasive bermuda grass is.  Some of my projects have survived, like the knock-out roses on the side of the house, and some have not, like the original rose garden that no longer exists. 

My yard work now when I visit home is usually limited to a few annuals, if I visit in the spring, or some trimming if I see it needs doing.  The maintenance men are busy, and I think trimming is not on their priority list, but after living in an apartment, I enjoy being in the yard again, so I trim when needed.  On this most recent visit, it was needed.  The snowball bushes on either end of Mom's porch were starting to get out of control, and they'd already been trimmed once this summer.  Mom was on the verge of asking for them to be taken out completely, but I hated that thought since the blooms in the spring are sweet to smell and sweet to see.  Anyway, I started trimming.  And as it's been throughout most of the country this summer, the day I decided to trim was a scorcher.  I tried to get started early, but it wasn't long before the sweat was pouring.  My hands were covered in pollen and sweat, and my pruning hand still bears the mark from a blister. 

It was during a water break that it happened.  I was on the porch, drinking from the sweating ice-water glass, and evaluating where I needed to trim next.  And as I sat, calmly (or exhaustedly) pondering my next move, a butterfly, mostly black, with blue spots on the back of its wings and orange and blue on the "leg" side of its wings, landed on my hand.  The next cut no longer seemed as important, and the beauty of one of God's creatures amazed me.  I'd never really realized how fuzzy a butterfly's body is, or how long the "sucker" on its mouth (?) is.  I must have tasted pretty good, covered in sweat and bush pollen, because this wasn't a quick flittering of a landing before he (and I'm not sure why I gendered him with way) moved on quickly.  This was a good five minute inspection of my hand.  He was calm enough that my mother, who is vision impaired, was able to get a good close up look at him before he was eventually startled away. 

As I stood admiring the butterfly, I remembered the saying about happiness, and I praised God for the serenity of the moment and the reminder that when times are good, I should rejoice, and when times are bad, I should remember that God made one as well as the other.