In His time, dear one, In His time

This has been a lousy year for Monarch butterflies...at least in my gardens.

There was one in the early Spring, and one several weeks ago who met his Maker on the same day I found him.

I've done everything I can to lure them in, but ultimately the problem is that they are endangered and there just aren't a lot of them out there.

I'm not going to go into the reasons why...suffice it to say I am humming the song, "Oh When Will They Ever Learn?".

So when I found a post on the Birds and Blooms Field Editor FB page of a Monarch cocooning and hatching out, I was drawn to it like...well...like a Monarch to Milkweed.

I remember years ago, when Monarchs were abundant, watching the same process take place in my yard.

I would diligently mark each twig with yarn that had a cocoon on it, count the days, watch for telltale signs that their emergence was imminent...

And then sit there all day watching them come out.

Yes, it does take a lot of patience...but that glorious moment when they broke free, wrinkled and shriveled and shaking?

I would sing the "Hallelujah Chorus" to them as I gazed on in absolute wonder.

Only God.

But today, as I watched the video, I saw it a little bit differently.

Maybe because of where I am in life now.

And what some days feel like.

Today I watched with different eyes.

Yes, the glory and wonder were still there.

But this time there was some weird kind of anthropomorphic identification thing going on,

Big words for, "I feel your pain, buddy."

I had to wonder, "Does he ever feel afraid?"

"Wonder what is going on?"

"Raise his little tiny eyes up to his Maker and hope He sure knows what He is doing?"

I would.

At 2:31 into the video, when he's shaking and his world is changing and he can't turn back...

And he can't see the future...

And the darkness is coming...for many, many days...

I wonder...

Melting down in the wilderness

Last week I had a meltdown.

Not the kind that come from being too hot...though that would be a good excuse this summer.

It was an honest-to-goodness...like-a-two-year-old...meltdown.

Yup, and all over a pizza...

A Frozen. Gluten-free. Cheese. Pizza.

The kind no one should have to eat when they want a pizza.

So let me paint the picture for you...

The weekend before we had traveled up to Lookout Mountain, GA for 3 days to see our son and his family.

No problem there...it was totally fun.

We arrived home very late Sunday night and I woke up early Monday morning to Vacation Bible School.

I'm glad it's already capitalized or I would have to do it...such a momentous undertaking deserves capitalization. Two hundred people together for five mornings...picture it...and me, an introvert amidst all the chaos.

So, Monday- Friday, kitchen labor at VBS.

The next Saturday morning we head out yet again for a different part of GA, this time for our Grandbaby's first birthday celebration.

More fun. More people. More commotion.

I thought I could handle it...but my thinking was a little cloudy by then.

It wasn't until Sunday dinner time, when my gluten-free pizza decomposed in the oven, dripping its gooey ugliness all over my daughter's oven that my own meltdown began.

Now in order to to fully paint the picture I need to let you know there were 15, yes, 15! ordered pizzas piled up on the counter near said oven...all warm, and fragrant, and ready to eat.

But not for me.

No, my dinner was melting down in the oven...a precursor to what was to come...

So what does a meltdown look like, you ask?

Flinging the smoking pizza out of the oven and into the sink, and then beating the life out of it with a spatula.

And then, with tears running down my face, grabbing the nearest Gluten-Full pizza and scarfing it down.

That's what a meltdown looks like.

Okay, so that was a fun story wasn't it?

Except it's not...fun...at all...