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Below is a special work of fiction. It is a children’s story by Holy Light Ministries and is based on 2 Corinthians 12:9 & Philippians 4:13. It is dedicated to a particular young lady named April and all others who feel inadequate and purposeless. May you be blessed by this imaginative, Bible-based story.

“On a very blustery day in April, a colorful little butterfly emerged into the world. The silver trumpets of the Butterfly Kingdom resounded near and far, and all the butterflies rejoiced with flutters of congratulations. The King and Queen, Monarch Butterflies, of the realm sent gifts, while ambassadors from other kingdoms sent various treasures. From the Bee Hives came golden honey, from the Chicken Coops came eggs, from the Tree Realm of Chipmunks and Squirrels came nuts, from the Bear Caves were sent berries, the Bird Airport sent fruit and seeds, the Sheep Pen sent wool, the Crow kingdom brought corn, and the list could go on indefinitely (what the dogs and cats sent shall not be mentioned!). There was dancing and feasting on that spectacular though stormy day when a butterfly of purple and pink graced the air with her silvery lavender wings.

But she was a delicate butterfly. Her wings were thin, and she grew afraid that the wind would tear her to pieces. So, she refused to fly. Though her beautiful mother, garbed in blue, silver and gold, tried to encourage her to exercise her wings, she refused. Her fun-loving sisters, who glittered with red and gold, fluttered about her happily, but she herself would not be happy. After all, what was there to be happy about? She could not fly like they could. She felt absolutely useless, for she could not fly nor be productive like all others creatures of the Butterfly Kingdom and of the forest realm.

One day while her sisters were playing with each other and their friends and her mother ran some errands in town, she sat alone on the edge of a cliff, her silvery lavender wings drooping and large tear drops falling down her slender face.

Tromp, tromp, tromp! Sounded behind her, but she did not hear it. Her sobs were too loud. Thump, clomp, tromp! Thudded nearer to her, and then stopped. And though she still did not see nor hear, a man sat down on a log next to her where he looked down into the valley far below.

It was a misty valley speckled with crystal studded webs and glistening rivers of grass. A sparkling stream, flowing icily down from the snow-hooded mountains in the distance, ribboned its way through the emerald world. It was entrancing, and the man sat silently for several moments, his eyes dancing with its beauty.

Then, completely aware of the little crying butterfly, he turned and addressed it.

“Little one, why do you cry?” His voice was deep, and she turned her reddened eyes in his direction. Though he had startled her, she did not jump nor try to fly away. When she continued to sniffle but did not answer, he asked the question again. “Little one, what is wrong on such a lovely day?”

She tried to dry her tears, but they just kept streaming down her face. “I, I,” she choked, “I can’t fly!” The streaming tears turned into a gushing river.

“But you have wings don’t you?” He asked, his eyes examining her. “Looks like it to me!”

She nodded meekly. “But, but, but,” she wiped her nose, “they don’t work right.”

“What do you mean, little one?”

“Can’t you see?” Her voice grew higher in pitch, and she fluttered them out so that he could see them more clearly. “They’re too thin!” Again she sobbed.

“Come here, little one.” He extended an open hand to her. “Come, hop into my hand.” She shook her somber head no, but with great gentleness and grace he lifted her from the end of the log.

“I, I, I…” she tried to speak, but her voice trembled and faltered.

After many seconds of silence, his deep voice whispered, “Why are you here and not with your sisters and Mother?”

“They don’t understand! They think I should fly anyway, but I just know the wind will tear my wings to pieces! I just know it!!!” Her eyes grew wide with fear.

He breathed in deeply the cool morning air, and sighed. “Does your family know where you are?” She shook her head no.

His expressive eyes, warm with compassion, spoke louder than his words when he said, “Why are you here on the edge of this cliff, little one?”

“Because, I, I,” she lowered her frail voice and turned from his eyes, “I don’t want to live any more. And, well, I thought that since I have no purpose and can’t even fly, I’d just throw myself over this cliff.”

He stroked her silvery wings which glistened gloriously in the sunlight. “Who told you that you have no purpose?”

“No one has to. I just know it. I mean, everyone else seems to be productive. Sheep have wool, cows give milk, chickens lay eggs, bees make honey, chipmunks gather nuts, and dogs are man’s best friend. Everything has a purpose except me!” She wept. “Actually,” she said through her tears, “I don’t even know if butterflies have a purpose!”

“Little one, why are you comparing yourself to others? Do you not know that you are unique?”

“I don’t want to be unique! I want to be like the others!” She cried.

“But, even the others are unique,” he corrected her.

“What?” She had never heard that before. Others were unique too? How could that be? They all seemed normal.

“There is no one who is the same. Each created being is like a snowflake. No one is alike, just like each snowflake is not like another snowflake. No one is normal. All are special,” he explained.

“Really?” She asked and then burst into tears.

After allowing her to cry a minute, he said, “Look at me.” She looked up. “You know what I see when I look at you.” She shook her head. “True beauty. Look at your coloring.” She glanced down at her bright, rich colors. “Are you not as lovely as a flower?” He smiled, and his smile was like balm to her hurting heart. “Butterflies DO have a purpose. They help flowers like bees do, you know, gathering pollen. But, more importantly, they are made to display a vision of heaven to this fallen world. Don’t you know that you are beautiful?”

“I am?” A large tear formed in one of her eyes.

“Yes,” he pointed at her with his other hand, “you are.”

“But,” she puzzled, “what about flying? Aren’t butterflies made to fly?”

“But!” He waved the hand that was not holding her. “You can fly.”

“No, no I…”

“Yes, yes!” He interrupted her. “Yes you can!”

“But, you don’t understand…”

Gently he stopped her once more. “Yes I do. I understand much more than you know.”

“But…”

“You can fly. I know you can because I CREATED you.”

Her eyes grew wide, and her little mouth dropped open.

“Yes, I created you, and therefore, I know you can fly. Yes, your wings are weaker than other butterflies. I know this.”

She asked, “Why not just make me strong like other butterflies?”

“Everyone, butterflies, dogs, horses, cows, cats, everyone has their own weakness. You think you are the only one with a weakness?”

She nodded.

“Well, you aren’t.”

“Why, why do I and others have weaknesses?”

“So, that you will look to me. You see,” his soft eyes looked deep into her tearful ones, “MY STRENGTH is made PERFECT in weakness. It is when you are weak that I am strong.”

“So, then, you’ll help me?” Her drooping little wings gave a hopeful flutter.

“I am an ever-present help in times of trouble,

the rock of your salvation, your Prince of Peace, Everlasting Father, who will never leave you nor forsake you.

“So, then, you’ll really, really help me fly?” Her wings flapped a bit more.

He grinned. “Absolutely!”

“Wow!” She looked out across the valley below. Was it really possible that she could fly over all that? She felt so weak, so afraid. With the Creator’s help, could she really?

“Now, remember,” he touched her tiny nose, “do not listen to the father of lies anymore.

She tilted her head to the side. “Who is that?”

“He’s right over there. See, at the end of the log?”

She jumped up onto the shoulder of her Creator at the sight of the large snake coiled right beside where she had been sitting before God picked her up into His big, strong hand.

“Yikes! Was he there the whole time?” She shook like a leaf ready to fall from a tree in the fall.

“Yes. He was whispering in your ear, telling you that life was not worth living, telling you through his forked tongue that you had no purpose and might as well give up. He is a liar and the father of lies, seeking to steal, kill and destroy.”

She gasped. “Really? I thought those were my own thoughts!”

“He makes you think that those thoughts are your own,” explained her Creator.

The purple and pink butterfly’s pensive eyes looked into her Creator’s. “But, you don’t lie or destroy.”

“That’s right. I give life. I created you, and you are wonderfully made, crafted by my very hand, breathed upon by my breath of life, and delivered into this world with a special purpose that only you can fulfill.”

A smile, like the rising of the sun over the horizon after a very long, cold night, spread across her lovely face.

“Now, how about a flying lesson!” God chuckled.

“You really think that I can?” She hesitated.

“Well,” his eyes sparkled like a gem in the sun, “only one way to find out!” And with that, he released her into the fragrant springtime air.

She squealed with glee and a bit of fear as she tried out her silvery wings. Though they were both weak from being thin and because of a lack of use, with great gusto she flitted here and there, and with pleasure she landed on several silky, brightly colored flowers.

“Hey! There she is!” She heard two familiar voices approaching from behind her. “We found you!” Exclaimed her sisters. “And you’re flying!!”

Throughout the Butterfly Kingdom all three sisters dodged, darted, and dashed, chasing one another with giggles of glee. Why! They even went out for ice cream sundaes with their mother in celebration.

Though the little purple butterfly with silvery lavender wings grew stronger with time, her wings gave her trouble through her life. At those times when she was completely overwhelmed and did not know if she could go on, she looked to her Creator and said, “Your strength is made perfect in my wings! I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” And so she did all things on her silver butterfly wings, and taught others that they too were unique and could do all things through the strength of their Creator. Even today one may catch a glimpse of her flying on the wind, but what is not seen is God’s invisible guiding hand, and her paper thin wings being upheld by His breath.

The End”

In the Strength of Christ,

Holy Light Ministries

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