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Broken
Wings?
We All Have Them
Lessons From a Caterpillar’s Transformation
By Blumie Abend
It’s just a
butterfly, I tell myself.
A beautiful, painted
lady butterfly.
With a lopsided wing
that seems to be deformed on the left side . . .
Together with my
young charges at the We followed their progress day by day school I work
in, we watched five tiny caterpillars, freshly hatched, fatten up and shed
their skin periodically as they outgrew themselves in their ultimate quest to
transform themselves into an entirely new entity.
We followed their
progress day by day, marveling at their growth, watching the wonder of
metamorphosis unfold before our very own eyes.
But as one by one
they began to form their chrysalises, I noticed with a sinking heart that the
process wasn’t going so smoothly.
Two caterpillars spun
perfectly formed homes for themselves at the appropriate place: the top of the
little container they were in.
But the other three
were struggling. I walked into work one morning and saw three clumsy-looking
chrysalises lying on the bottom of the container, somewhat squashed and
sad-looking.
When the children
came to school, I explained that we were going to transfer the chrysalises to
the butterfly enclosure, but I warned them about the three on the bottom,
letting them know that they might not make it.
A week went by. We
watched and waited.
This morning, I
headed for the butterfly enclosure on my arrival at school.
There was something
so simply enthralling about seeing a live, fluttering pair of wings clinging to
the net of the butterfly home.
I was further
delighted to see that the butterfly had emerged from one of the chrysalises
that lay on the floor of the enclosure. He made it!
The kids were equally
ecstatic. We have a butterfly! One came out! We sliced oranges and placed them
carefully at the bottom of the net.
But as I moved the
enclosure back to the shelf it had been sitting on, I realized that something
wasn’t quite right with the little butterfly.
I watched it for a
few moments and saw it spread its wings, and that’s when I noticed the left
one.
It was hard to tell,
but a tiny snippet of wing was missing. It prevented the butterfly from closing
its wings perfectly, making it look lopsided and not quite as pretty as it
should have been.
As the children came
into the classroom after being outside for playtime and were made aware of the
movement the butterfly was now making, their excitement knew no bounds.
They eagerly peered
into the net, and right away saw the butterfly struggling to keep its footing,
that misshapen left wing hanging awkwardly, lending an inequality to the
fragile balance provided by the symmetrical wings on both sides.
“It’s falling!”
The children pointed
out, some of them worried, some of them merely observing the obvious.
“It can’t fly.”
I stayed quiet,
unsure whether to mention the broken wing or to let the journey of time be the
lesson for them, for even I was not certain this butterfly could not join its
friends eventually.
I couldn’t help but
think of people who have broken wings.
The obvious ones are
people like the man who sits outside the grocery store I frequent, his legs
useless, his body confined to a wheelchair.
Or the boy down the street
who is autistic and lashes out in a rage when things don’t go the way he wants
them to.
The cashier at the
dollar store I went to today, his eyes somewhat unfocused peering over thick
glasses, his speech slurred, his actions stiff and out of sync.
Or my daughter, her
left hand missing parts of its fingers, and though it seems so insignificant,
so little in the grand scheme of things, she brings it up at least once a week
these days, and we talk about it and how it makes her feel.
I realize that what I
tell her in those I couldn’t help but think of the people who have broken wings painful
conversations is what I’m seeing today.
Everyone has
something “different” about them, I say.
Some people don’t see
well. Some people don’t hear at all. Some people are born missing different
things on their bodies.
She frowns, and I
continue. Some people are not kind.
Some people don’t
know how to share. Some people don’t know how to be happy. Some people are
jealous.
She is too young to
completely get it. The hurt is what is dominant to her right now, and I
understand that.
But one day, she will
learn that we were all created betzelem Elokim, in the image
of G‑d.
In His wisdom, He
formed each human being, and He chose to create us with flaws.
The flaws are part of
His plan — for without them we would have nothing to strive for, no goal to
accomplish.
Every soul has a
journey, and some have a journey more twisting and winding then others.
But He has given us
the tools to reach our true potential and to take that journey on.
Blumie
Abend
is a freelance writer living in Los Angeles, California. She is a mother and
teacher, and uses her life experiences as a backdrop to her articles.
Art
by Rivka Korf.
Rivka uses her creativity and expertise to create masterful compositions and
illustrations. She shares her love of coffee with her husband, and passes on
her appreciation of art and design to her children.
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