This post is dedicated to my aunt Joyce, who passed away this week. She leaves behind one brother, five children and their spouses, 14 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren. My prayers are with them all.
August is hot and humid where we live. Despite that, when I was growing up, I loved August because it’s my birthday month. But now, it’s a sad time for our family: my father passed away in August 2013 and this week his sister, my aunt, did too.
Years ago, I noticed that even though most flowers start to disappear in August, something even more wonderful appears. A type of beauty that enthralls us all, from the youngest to the oldest.
Butterflies.
Trio of tiger swallowtails, Georgia’s state butterfly
“The butterfly is a flying flower, the flower a tethered butterfly,” wrote French poet, Ponce Denis Ecouchard Lebrun.
Zebra longwing with a shy brown friend behind
Whenever I see a butterfly, I grab my phone and chase after it, hoping to get a clear shot rather than the usual blurry-wing thing.
But a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t have to chase anything. I had the pleasure of going to a butterfly festival at our local nature center. Dozens of butterflies were housed in a mesh tent inside a new building with window walls that allow views of the trees, natural light, and air circulation.
My husband and I had debated about whether to go because of COVID, but I found a time slot when only a few tickets had been sold. We showed up en maske and early, which is just what we do. The volunteers surprised us by letting us go in before our allotted time.
Once inside, it was just the two of us (plus a volunteer) for the next fifteen minutes. And in that time, we were able to get close to these beautiful creatures, offering them sugar sticks and taking photo after photo.
Black swallowtail
It was unrushed. Relaxing. Serene.
Monarch feeding on lantana
It was quiet, too, except for classical music. “Listen,” Mart said at one point, and I recognized the music that had just started playing. It was what we used for our wedding, Elgar’s Enigma. And we both thought how fitting it was that it would play at that moment.
Beauty for the eyes, the ears, and the spirit.
Many times in my life, when I was grieving or sad, I have been comforted by beauty like this. And I’m not the only one. Why else would flowers traditionally be gifted to grieving families for funerals?
Perhaps it’s because, even in death, flowers hint at the beauty of life designed by our creator. And, even more, the promise of heaven for those who believe in his Son, Jesus.
My hope is that such beauty and such promise will comfort my family as we grieve the loss of my aunt and look forward to seeing her in heaven. A place of extravagant beauty that we can only glimpse here.
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