I had a little dose of reality last week as my granddaughter and I watched the last of the four butterflies emerge from their chrysalis or cocoon. They came in an Easter kit that contains everything needed to support the butterfly as it transitions from one way of life to another. The chrysalis looks like mud daubers’ nests clinging to a piece of cardboard in a soft cage filled with sticks and grass. When the butterflies emerge small pieces of fruit nourish them until they can be released.

The idea of coming out of a cocoon to emerge as a butterfly is a bit romantic. There is the little cocoon and then the fluttering wings.  What I forgot was just how messy coming out of the cocoon can be. 

“OOO!! There’s a spot of blood!!” my five-year-old granddaughter squealed. She gave me one of her most skeptical looks as I assured her that butterflies do not have blood. I don’t blame her. The slime dripping from the empty cocoon was pretty gross and the butterfly’s wings barely moved until they dried out a bit. 

There is a certain amount of grunt work in transition. Going from point A to point B sounds simple but the actual work involved can be challenging. Ask a six-year-old.

Another granddaughter read to me a story from a book that has more pictures than words. The story was how the elephant saved all the fish from a shark. Slowly she sounded out words like, “the,” “fish,” and “hid.”

Then at the end of the story, she showed me her book journal that she turns in to her teacher every week. Each page has lines where she writes a statement about the book and then space where she can draw a picture. 

Later I looked at her journal more closely. As I held it and flipped through the pages, I was reminded of a flip animation book, where each page holds a picture that is just a little different from the one before. As you flip through the book the eye fills the gaps and the figure appears to move forward just like a cartoon. 

My granddaughter began her journal earlier in the year and I saw how slowly but surely each page reflected just a bit more confidence than the one before. Page one was barely legible. In fact, as she showed it to me, even she had trouble making out the words. Gradually over time her pictures and her writing transitioned from the barely legible to the somewhat clear. Most importantly, she could now read her own words and explain what she wrote. That was progress. That was transformation.

The journal pages kicked up a little bit of wind as I flipped quickly through the book and I thought of the slight breeze the butterfly needed to dry out its wings. In a way, each was preparation for its own kind of flight.

The journal will be tucked away waiting to be rediscovered one day. The very literate young lady will smile and remember how limited her now polished skills once were. What was once hard is now easy. What was once scary, whether learning to read or emerging from a cocoon, is now an accomplished task. 

It is easy to focus on one’s own limitations in the face of a task and in the struggle forget the truth.  

Change happens. Transformation comes. Sometimes it is messy like the slimy cocoon as the butterfly stretches and dries its wings. Sometimes it comes slowly, like one book, one story, one page at a time. Like the cartoon figure in the flip book, we need change to move forward as we adapt and thrive.