I sat on my patio, hung my head and cried. “God, please let me know that Charlie is with you.”
My husband passed away a few days earlier. We’d been married for 47 years. Without him I felt lost. I was thankful to have my three kids at home to help make arrangements, but I longed for comfort from God himself.
Just then, a bright yellow butterfly appeared, fluttering its wings across the patio table. I called my sons in the front yard. But it was too late. My butterfly was gone.
“Mom!” my son Glen called to me a few minutes later. “I saw your butterfly…it circled the house three times!” Could it be?
My daughter came outside and joined me on the patio. I’d hardly finished telling her about my prayer and the butterfly when it flew up and hovered in front of her nose! “This must be your butterfly,” she laughed. It was! The butterfly brought us all a little peace that day.
When we chose Charlie’s plot, my sister spotted a yellow butterfly flying past. And then a friend surprised me with a beautiful butterfly necklace. But it didn’t stop there. The following week I opened a grief catalog from Charlie’s hospice center.
Right there on the page was a T-shirt emblazoned with their symbol of hope: a bright yellow-flecked butterfly. “What the caterpillar calls the end of life, the Master calls the butterfly,” it read.
My eyes welled. I bought the T-shirt, and I’ve been into butterflies ever since: necklaces, a purse, even a shower curtain. They’re my symbol of hope too. And an answer to my prayer.
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