Inspirational Stories

After that I walked around the exhibit area in awe and drove home with Ryan At the time I was having real independence struggle with Ryan's older sister who was almost 20. Things were tense and difficult. I knew when she went back to university quite a distance from home I was going to be a new empty nester. Ryan lives with his Mom most of the time. That story and the butterfly exhibit really helped me let go and move on. I realized I cannot do everything or fix everything - she has to 'struggle out her cocoon'.

As she drove away with her room mate I silently said 'work to break out of your cocoon and learn to fly my beautiful rainbow coloured butterfly. The butterflies taught me how to let go.

Finally, after 40 minutes with the butterfly, it flew away. I was 9 weeks pregnant at the time with our first, and 2 days later, I miscarried. I feel like this little butterfly was my baby, saying 'I love you, wish I could stay, but I have to leave you now.'

Everytime I see a butterfly now, I think of all the hope for the future I have and beauty in the world. I know that although this child wasn't meant to be, My husband and I still feel like we were able to 'play' with our child for at least a little while.

I've had anxiety, depression, and dependency issues that i was working on with these people, and finally I have figured out what it is I have to do in order to have a good life and a happy one. I know it's difficult to make these decisions, however I am doing just that. Before I had problems with making decisions about my life and events in my life but now I have Matthew to thank for this because he has shown me how to make decisions without him in my life. I feel I have been transformed. I can spread my wings out and am in a crystal ball. The ball is my boundary, nothing will hurt me ever again. The butterfly makes me feel comfortable with any stages in my life I know I can reach any level I want to now. I have fully grown and I know the mistakes I've made in the past and in the present I will not ever make again. And this I have Matthew to thank for...May God bless him....

I was having a great deal of difficulty dealing with the loss of an old friend and the illness of my father. I spent a lot of time thinking about my father and found myself writing my thoughts down and praying.

I guess I should mention that I make Butterflies. Large hand crafted, hand painted Butterflies. I have always been interested in Butterflies since I was a child of 5 years old. I majored in art in high school and collage but wound up being a part of the corporate business world for many years. I finally began doing what I wanted to do, be creative and make people smile and make something beautiful to look at. I took 53 years to get there, but I finally did.

Easter was very near and I had to do something to get my thoughts clear from the depression I was feeling. I elected to do something for my church. I decided to make small 3 inch Butterflies in purple with the words 'He has risen' in smaller letters on the wings. They were to be given to every family after the Easter service. That's when I began to look at some of the notes I had written down while dealing with my deceased friend and sick father. I decided to write a blessing. A blessing about what? It had to tie into Easter, but how? Then it struck me, why not write a Butterfly Blessing. I had been told in my youth that the Butterfly was the sign of ascension. Now I had two projects to keep me very busy.

The time past quickly, too quickly. It was the Monday before Easter Sunday. The Pastor from my church had called after reading the Butterfly Blessing I had written. She was just short of tears while asking me if I would read this special Blessing at the end of her Easter Service. I tried to decline and asked if she would read it. 'Not a chance she said'. 'God made you write this Blessing for a reason'. I was at a loss for words. So I accepted her challenge. Not knowing what was to come.

Later that afternoon I received another phone call. 'Jim', my youngest brother said. 'Dad's Gone'. 'He passed an hour ago'. Now my spirit drops to the floor along with me. I must go to my mother and younger brothers in northern California to say Good-bye to my father. Now I knew why I wrote the 'Butterfly Blessing'. I was unable to read the blessing in church that Sunday but each and every family from our church received a beautiful Purple Butterfly and a copy of this 'Butterfly Blessing' I had written----- for my father. (Click HERE for copy)

Butterflies are one of the most beautiful things in the world. They flutter their brightly colored wings so quietly you hardly know they are there. But when you do notice them, their vivid colors and their beauty strike you with a feeling of wonder and peace.

My sister Cheryl was like a butterfly. She fluttered about so quietly, landed on our shoulder for awhile, and shared her beauty. And, now sadly, she has flown away.

Cheryl's life, in a way, mirrored that of a butterfly. She went through the typical life stages wrapped in the chrysalis of her family's love. A love that guided her and supported her, and most of all, showed her the power of love.

Cheryl learned those lessons well. She was always there for her family - returning the love she was given many times over. Like a butterfly, she had a calm influence over everyone she met. She did this so subtly that you didn't know it until sometime later - after the butterfly flew away.

You could say that her ""metamorphosis"" occurred when she became a woman in Christ. When she committed herself to the missions, she did this with the strongest faith I have ever seen. But again, the wings were fluttering so softly she never had to force you to listen, you just knew by the peaceful look on her face when she spoke about the bible and their mission work, that she truly believed and that she was not afraid to fly.

She was a wonderful daughter, sister, wife, mother and aunt. She was always the quiet one - always fluttering about making sure everyone's needs were taken care of, always putting everyone else first. She flew around to so many places - touching down on so many people to share the word of God, and all the time sharing her own beauty and leaving us with that feeling of wonder and peace.

They say that to make a wish come true, the Native Americans would whisper it to a butterfly, which would carry it to the Great Spirit in Heaven. And there the wish would be granted. Cheryl carried with her so many wishes to the Great Spirit in Heaven where her beautiful butterfly wings have now turned into angel wings.

So the next time you witness the freedom and beauty of a butterfly, make a wish and realize that you may have just been touched by an angel named Cheryl. Now, whenever I am outside, there is a butterfly around me, and I know that it is Cheryl telling me that she is happy with God and not to grieve for her, but to celebrate her life in the beauty and the colors of nature.

As a child, growing up in California, I developed a love and respect for butterflies and moths... (and pretty much all living things)...but, at that time, I was very focused on butterflies, moths, and especially caterpillars. My father used to tell me they were all ""pests"" and I should not even bother with them. I ignored his advice and continued to be fascinated. I was a child, 6-8 years at that time. I would find what I called ""fuzzy brown caterpillars"". Finally, my mother bought me an insect keeper, the kind you can't get any more. I would find one of these caterpillars, catch it, then give it food (especially lettuce), always making sure it would like it's new home. Then, I would wait patiently. First, for it to form a cocoon. After that, I would wait for what seemed like forever to a child - I waited to see the transformation.

My grandmama was such a wonderful lady. She always had the time to appreciate the beautiful things in life. When I first told her that my caterpillar was going to go into hiding, then, be re-born as a butterfly or a moth...she wondered what I was talking about. My grandmama had a very limited English vocabulary...her first language was French. She learned English on her own. She was amazed one year, to watch a new life come into the world. She had little or no knowledge of butterflies etc...only what she would learn from me. She was amazed that, in her words, ""I could make butterflies"". Year after year, when my caterpillars turned into butterflies or moths...my grandmama's eyes would sparkle like a child's eyes...and she truly was amazed. She could not understand how or why these fuzzy creatures could transform. She didn't care really care to know how or why the caterpillars could transform itself into a completely new body. My grandmama just appreciated their beauty and believed it was a miracle. She always used to say that I was special because I could make butterflies. So, we left it at that, and just accepted the miracle of transformation. Ever since, we shared a special bond because she believed in me.

My grandmama also knew that I loved anything living...and encouraged me to learn more and to have fun at the same time. One year, my grandmama was visiting and I inevitably had a caterpillar waiting to be re-born. It's an incredible feeling to be able to set free, something as special as a butterfly. At least, that's how we looked at it. One year, she arrived just in time to see the beautiful monarch butterfly emerge from it's cocoon. She was, at first, nervous to handle something so tiny and frail...but, she did anyway. There she was, standing in the back yard, with a monarch in the palm of her hand. At that time, my grandmama's eyes were those of a child. My grandmama held the butterfly as it prepared to fly away. She believed this was one of the most beautiful things in life, and, she was able to participate.

I would always send her butterfly pictures so she could enjoy looking at the different types of butterflies and moths. In addition, I would always send her birthday cards and other greeting cards - all with butterflies. The last birthday card I sent to her was a beautiful story about butterflies. This particular card had a perforated edge that one could use as a bookmark for reading. It had a wonderful saying (when I find it, I would love to share it). Anyhow, I knew my grandmama was ill, and I was terrified of losing her. I removed the bookmark and kept it in a special place. As it turned out, that was the last card I would ever send her. I cried for such a long time, (even now, she's special in my heart)... who would encourage me now? Who would be as amazed as my grandmama and I? All I knew then was that she loved me and that nobody could replace her. I wondered how I would get through life. I was a child and just did not understand death. I decided one day, to continue to ""make butterflies"" (grandmama's words) long after she went to heaven. Then, I grew up, became an adult, and somewhere along the way, I stopped ""making butterflies"". It just was never going to be the same without her...

Two years ago, this week, I have been in Canada with my family. There were many tragic events that happened during those years and I was very depressed and sadness had filled my heart. My mom talks about grandmama everyday and she still misses her so much it hurts. Last year, I found a fuzzy caterpillar! With the enthusiasm of a child, I gently picked him up and made a home for my new caterpillar. Even though I am an adult, I was overwhelmed with sadness that she could not be here to experience the wonder of transformation and re-birth.

Yet, I continued to watch, finally, my caterpillar had started to settle in. It would soon be inside it's cocoon which it built in a dried up leaf. I waited, and waited, and waited...my mom, even this week, kept telling me that it was dead. I immediately became that little child with so much faith and told her that there was no way it was dead. I believed the caterpillar would emerge as a butterfly or a moth, and I prepared myself for a long wait. And...I waited a long time!

Today, I went to do my daily check. I was really looking carefully, and then noticed that something was moving. I watched, for a long time, as it came out of it's cocoon - completely transformed. I now have the beautiful creature - a white moth with a colorful body underneath. I felt like the same little girl discovering how amazing life is. Despite hearing ""it's dead"" too many times, here was this new life form. My mom and dad came home and were wondering why I was so happy. I said ""I told you it wasn't dead..."", to my mom. So many times mom had suggested that I throw it away...I didn't. I kept my faith.

Right now, the moth is still preparing to fly...I hope to release it tonight so that he has a chance to live, before being spotted by a bird. I am amazed. Some people would most likely think that I was ""not all there"" so to speak...but, I don't care. It's a miracle in my eyes and it brought back so many memories of my grandmama. I was crying, disappointed that grandmama couldn't be here, with me, to set it free...I know she is with me, watching from heaven...and probably saying ""You are such a special little girl who makes butterflies"". I believe that her kind spirit is still with me. The ring she gave me before she died, is sparkling like never before. That's when I can sense she's with me.

I went outside for a few minutes, and I found a single fuzzy caterpillar. So...I am beginning the process all over again...

Life is short and it really is important to appreciate all life has to offer...to me...finding another caterpillar on the same day the first one emerged, is a sign that my grandmama is with me...I just wish I could place the moth in the palm of her hand and let it fly away. Who knows? Maybe it will fly to heaven...

Never lose faith in what you believe. If I had, I wouldn't have been able to witness the re-birth of this little creature...

I guess that's it for now. I am hoping to find out what species it is, yet, that's not important. It is important that I helped something live, grow, change, and then set free!!!

I will never forget my grandmama...this story is for her.

This ritual became a daily thing, several times throughout the day, moving him from flower to flower. Sometimes it would take me a little while to find him, and I would discover he had flown a few metres, so I always had to be careful where I trod in case he was on the ground. Once I went to move him and couldn't find him at all, but when I came back a few hours later, there he was! And so again, he was put to a fresh flower,and food! You could feel the excitement in his body as he ate! It was such an awesome experience and a real privilege to look after this special butterfly. Finally, with rain impending, I decided to pick a vase of flowers and bring him inside. Well, he disappeared again, and for 24 hours I blamed the cat! But there he was again, and ate greedily!

What I admired the most about this special butterfly was his strong determined will to survive against all odds. I knew the day he was dying, and thanked him for the lesson he taught me in life. I will never forget my special butterfly.

I was amazed at God's creativity and a few years later I was drawn still deeper as I considered these marvels of creation through high power magnification. The scales displayed tremendous architecture and detail that could not be fully appreciated unless viewed with high power instruments and printed as full color pictures in books my parents bought for me. My delight turned to awe as I observed these scales that were opaque, translucent, iridescent, transparent and prismatic in endless design and color.

When I was 11, I found a Monarch egg on Milkweed plants that hatched into a hungry caterpillar. He ate until the day he spun his chrysalis. I went to camp and the butterfly emerged so Mom let it out. I never did see the final transformation but some time later we visited the Butterfly store in NY. I remember Mr Glanz giving me a cocoon. ""Take this and see what you will get"". A few months later this huge 6"" Polyphemus Moth came out. The whole family was amazed to see it unfold it's wings. But then I struggled with killing it. ""Forgive me God for killing this moth for my collection. . it will only live a few days. . . and it will never find it's mate around here and besides it's perfect and I can show it and tell the story for years to come but despite our extensive traveling across the US and Canada, I was never able to see or catch the large beautiful Luna Moth that I always wanted.

And so it was that I put away the things of youth as fond memories, always remembering the splendor of God's creation that I first saw in flowers and butterfly colors in my mother's garden.

By the time I was 17, we had been living at our new lake home for 5 years. We were living the life of luxury and as a teenager, I lacked nothing. My father and I flew together on many weekends in the company helicopter and I was working on my student pilots license for fixed wing.

I had toured the USA, Europe and Canada, was attending a top private school, had a fast car, boats and all the fine food. On August 6th, 1970 I was speeding up our 1/4 mile driveway on my dirt bike all bored and thinking ""all this stuff and I am depressed and feel hollow inside"". This was the last conscious thought I had. I don't remember seeing my mother coming in down the hill and was told I had such speed as I was unable to stop so I hit her car. My sister rushed out of the car to wrestle the bike away as an authoritative voice commanded her . . . ""You must breathe for your brother"". I was clinging to life in a coma for several days. I had internal injuries, broken pelvis, broken left leg, head injuries and road rash.

Several years went by, the steel pin in my leg was removed and I resumed a fully normal life, entered the college of my choice and partied hard for the first three years. By my Junior year I recognized that hollowness creeping in all over again. I was headed down the wrong path of typical college life that tried to fit in with the rest of my peers. After one weekend of partying, I had had enough. I remember getting down on my knees and saying ""God, I know you are there, somewhere. I have seen your glory in this great land and in Butterfly colors from my youth. I need for you to show me the way to go. What is the truth? I hate religions and hypocrites. You have my attention, show me what's next.

While home on Easter break, I picked up my sister's ""Living Bible"" which is a easy to read version. I remembered reading in one of my books that the butterfly is seen as a symbol of the resurrection. I grabbed the bookmark card and began to read it. The words pierced my heart like an armor shell. ""All have sinned and fall short of the Glory of God."" ""The wages of sin is death"" (separation from God) Accept God's Remedy ""I am the Way, The Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father but through me"" (Jesus). I accepted the Easter message quietly and felt a tremendous burden lift off me. I was free like the butterfly in April 1975. To remember this time in my life, I put together 2 collections of the most spectacular specimens I could find. Most of these remain to this day. But the times they have been displayed have only been few over the past 25 years, that is until last Saturday June 5th 1999 when God spoke clearly to me by circumstance and with scripture in my heart.

I went on a retreat with 6 other men to relax, pray and seek the Lord in Tolland, Connecticut. We arrived Friday night and my thoughts turned to concerns over financial matters and God's provision and direction for my life. I remembered the song that was sung a few months ago at the Full Gospel Businessmen's Convention by Ronn Jones- ""His eye is on the Sparrow and I know he's watching over me. . . "" ""Please God, let me know that you have things in control"", I prayed.

The next day a festival was held in that small town. The Rhododendrons were in full bloom and a crowd was standing nearby looking at something. ""what is that?"" they said. There was a Hummingbird Moth hovering in and around the flowers. Just then several Tiger Swallowtails came in to join the party. I carefully grabbed one to show a little boy who smiled with delight. ""Our God is an awesome creator."" I said to the boy and his parents as I let the creature fly off.

That night we finished supper and went for a walk. A friend asked how my kids were and I replied, ""well nearly 40 years have come and gone since I was my daughter's age. Kristen is 7 and Justin is 10. Now she is interested in collecting butterflies and moths. Today they have all but disappeared. She is happy to catch anything, but you know, I never was able to catch that Luna Moth I always wanted as a kid and I wish I could get one now for her.

The sun went down, we got back to the cabin and 2 hours later there was something flashing in the lights outside. ""It looks like a bat"" Sal said. I ran outside to catch with my hand a Polyphemus Moth which is the same species that hatched from the cocoon. As I stepped back toward the door another large moth came at me and landed on my pant leg. I quickly picked it up, something that God himself had ordered up just for this time in my life and not before, a perfect Luna Moth!

""I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free!, His eye is on the Sparrow and I KNOW, He's watching over me."" ""My son,with patience and love I have formed you and watched you grow. Your days have been ordained by me and I have examined you to see the day of faith rising in your heart. Know that I am the Lord who keeps you, watches over you and shows you the way you should go.""

May God Bless all those who read this message, whether they collect or just appreciate Butterflies and Moths. I think that most of us can agree with God when He says in Romans 1 that His wisdom and divine order can be seen from that which is made so that men are without excuse. When we behold the creation, it bears that testimony of our loving Creator.

In this relaxing meditation state of mind I traveled with my senses and concentrated on sounds, smells, and touch. I eventually started hearing a sound that I couldn't place. It almost sounded like a faint rain dripping through the leaves. There being almost a full moon and a complete blanket of stars I knew it couldn't be rain drops. I listened deeper. Then looking out through the forest in-between the moonlight shadows I figured it out. I yelled into Sharon ""They're coming...."" She came out to the porch asking who's coming. I told her to close her eyes, listen and to hold out her hand. It only took a few minutes until a familiar little green caterpillar with a black face dropped into her lap. She jumped and then smiled.

The sound we were hearing was the millions of young caterpillars chewing and pooing. Over the next week or so they will start building their cocoons and by the last week in May they will stretch their young wings and fill the hollow. Words and pictures can't come close to describing and showing what it's like to be among a million butterflies. You have to be here to believe it. In the mean time if you would like to see more pictures and hear how our farm, Butterfly Hollow got its name stop by our website.

My Mother and I had always talked about death and the possibility of being able to communicate after one had passed over. We agreed that whoever went first would let the one that remained know that they were ok.

She was in the hospital for 3 weeks before she died. I was with her day and night, only going home to bathe and change clothes. On the morning of the day she died, she told me that she wanted me to hold her for awhile so I climbed on the bed and put her head on my shoulder, she closed her eyes and after about 15 minutes I knew she was on her way home. That night a terrible storm passed over the hospital and as I stood by her bed I told God that since he was in the neighborhood Mommie was ready to go home with him. At 10:55 pm she took her last breath and I was privileged to witness the most amazing transformation I have ever seen in my life. As I stood and watched the years,the pain, the misery just slip from my Mothers face. It was truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

After burying Mommie I returned home and for weeks I would sit in my kitchen and look out the windows and think of Mommie. To my amazement there were hundreds of butterflies just fluttering around the windows, It was as tho they were checking up on me. Somehow I knew they were connected to Mommie. They were never there before and never came again. So everytime I would see a butterfly I would think Mommies watching me.

One year after her death I went to Georgia and invited her friends and pastor to go out to dinner to celebrate Mommies life,to remember her on this day. I had her favorite flowers (stargazerliles) on the table and we all enjoyed a great meal and shared memories of her. After we left I went to her grave and sat for awhile talking to her. I told her how much I loved her and how very much I missed her and please let me know she was ok now. I left the flowers and went to the motel.

The next morning I decided to go to the waffle house as it was one of her favorite places to eat. As my husband and I were eating I saw this beautiful butterfly flying around our car, it would land on the hood then fly around the car again. I told my husband that was Mommie, he said you are probably right. We finished eating and went out to the car, the butterfly was sitting on the hood, I stood and looked at it and I said Mommie if that is you land on my hand. To my amazement the butterfly flew to the palm of my hand and just sat there slowly moving its wings up and down, looking at me. I had to fight the urge to close my hand and keep her. I knew that I had to let her fly away, She had let me know that she is beautiful, she's free and she can fly forever.

Released from his earthbound chamber he now soars above us. Carried by warm winds and love, he can fly free, happy and painless.

Just after finishing my sophomore year in college nearly two years ago, I went on a two-week long biology field trip offered through Iowa State University's Study Abroad Center in conjunction with the University of Costa Rica with about twenty other students, living the first step of my lifelong dream to study and farm butterflies in the tropics. Although the overall scope of our trip to about 10 different national parks and preserves was much larger than my interest in insects, me and two of my fellow colleagues in Iowa State's entomology department, Clint Pilcher and Jared Ostrem, were there with me so that we could bring back a fine sample of what Costa Rica had to offer for Iowa State's collection. The only thing missing during this trip was the companionship of my grandmother, the one who had fostered my interest and fanned the flames to make it grow. I wanted very badly to see and then be able to take a picture of a morpho butterfly for her, and possibly catch one.

While on layover in San Jose between a trip from Haciena Solimar to El Estacion Biologica de La Selva, we were considering a visit to the Alajuela butterfly farm. It was there where I hoped to get a close-up picture of a morhpo for my grandmother, but as luck would have it, everyone decided against visiting the butterfly farm, so I had to hope beyond hope that I would get that picture of a morpho. I wanted that picture so badly so that I could give a piece of my trip to my grandmother because I had shown her pictures of morhpos in my books before, and they were by far her favorite butterflies. That's also why I wanted to catch her one too.

When we reached La Selva, I was anxious and apprehensive. Clint and Jared had brought the collecting equipment we needed, but they had lost their bait trap gear back in San Jose. Our field leader, Oscar Rocha, was able to scrap a makeshift bait trap together, but there was still the issue of what to use for bait. Our itinerary called for only a three day visit in La Selva, so I knew that we would have to act quick. For the first two days of our visit, we set out ripe and rotting bananas in our trap, and got nothing. I was starting to get uneasy, especially since the last day in La Selva would be almost strict research (we had a project to do and present with a partner). The next day, I set out early to get my project notes and summary done. Noon hit, and I was starting to get very depressed. I had seen a Morpho peleides fly just over my head on our way to the barracks when we first arrived, but I didn't have a net handy. And I had seen a Morpho amathonte the day before, way below me while I was walking on a bridge. Then it hit me...how could I have been so stupid? How could I have missed such an obvious oversight? I knew that baiting morphos with bright blue objects was nearly twice as effective as baiting for them, so I set out during a period of dead time just after my lunch. Two o'clock found me on one of many of La Selva's fine nature trails deep into the forest. I had my trusty bright blue raincoat with me, and not just for morpho attraction either! :-) I waited for the light drizzle to subside before I finally was able to tie my coat up in one of the trees high above. Then, I waited...and waited...and waited. 4 o'clock found me still apprehensively waiting, and I was getting very sad and anxious. I would have to start back in 15 minutes, because the walk back was a good 45 minutes and supper would start in about an hour. I had to get cleaned up for supper and our presentation just afterwards too. Then, I saw a dark sapphire flash out of the corner of my eye. Probably a Morpho peleides limpida, the most common morhp endemic to Costa Rica I thought to myself...

The morpho alighted with its wings spread, then hovered around the coat. I slowly lowered the coat without disturbing the morpho's hovering pattern, getting it to within focal distance of my camera. When I finally worked my coat down to the ground, the morpho finally perched on it, with its wings partially spread. Perfect shot! I could get a view of the contrasting sapphire wings and the dark brown underside with it's spectacularly huge eyespots. It was then that I realized that what I was watching wasn't a Morpho peleides either, but rather a Morpho amathonte! I was ecstatic. Although I had seen a Morpho amathonte just the day before, it was a rarity...the most difficult of Costa Rica's morhpos to photograph and obtain! I snapped the shot, and then quickly netted the morpho for my grandmother. But then, a twang of guilt came over me. I looked at the butterfly as it fluttered helplessly in my net and saw how raw, powerful, and beautiful it was. It was so pristine and perfect...

Everytime my grandmother had seen something as beautiful and powerful as that before, and she had a chance at catching it, she would let it go, and she instructed me to do the same thing every time. Was that trophy that would be on her wall worth the guilt I would have by killing it when she probably would have let it go? I weighed both sides of the argument before finally letting the big, burly, and priceless beauty go.

Five minutes later, I saw why I had reason to be glad. Right above me, in plain sight on a bare twig of all places, was the shed exuviae of a berry-like, green cocoon. The Morpho amathonte had just emerged from its cocoon before our encounter. I thanked God for letting that innocent, pure, and pristine morpho go. That butterfly had its whole life to live, and somehow, I think my grandmother knew too. I think that's why I got the message when I did.

Meanwhile, something strange was happening back at the bait trap. When I got back, imagine my surprise when Jared and Clint had managed to bait three morhpos! One for Jared's collection, one for Clint's, and one for Iowa State's department. They were all peleides. Just as they were papering the morphos they caught from the bait trap, a Morpho amathonte alighted in it! Jared was ready to lunge for it, but I said, ""Uh uh, this one's mine."" Just before I was to eat supper and do my presentation, I netted a Morpho amathonte, and my grandmother had peace of mind, a picture, and now, a specimen. Things couldn't have gone better!

When I got back and showed my grandmother the prize I caught her, she told me it was the best gift she had ever gotten. She also told me that on the same day I took the picture of the Morpho amathonte, she was thinking about me and what I would do if I had caught one for her. I told her about how I let that first one go to live its life, and she said, after looking at how breathtakingly beautiful the picture was, that she wouldn't have had it any other way.

The capper on this whole story is that just as we left La Selva the next morning, a Morpho amathonte guided us as we left, hovering right next to the seat where Jared, Clint, and I were sitting. I think it was the same one that I had let go just the day before, and that he was thanking me for letting him live on

We will post a list of what we find in this web site next week. We are also going to pay attention to the botany and the avian fauna

I realize that this story seems contrived, and that it couldn't possibly be real. But I swear that it's true. Perhaps I'm searching for comfort in something that wasn't really there, but I honestly believe that Christa was with us that night, and that that was her way of letting us know she was alright. Whenever I see a butterfly I'll think of Christa.

I would also like to note that my youngest daughter was very upset that the butterfly didn't lite on her, but the next day at the last cleaning out of my grandmother's home before it was to be torn down, my daughter just happened to find my grandmother's old yellow butterfly magnet that she had on her refrigerator ever since I could remember. My daughter looked at me as she held it in her hand and said, ""Look Mom, Grandma didn't forget about me after all."" Isn't Life Wonderful?!!!

Five years later I am still sober and feel that just like the caterpillar and the butterfly, I changed from crawling to flying. Today I am free from that bottle and have a whole new life. Everytime I see a butterfly it reminds me of those days spent in rehab and how today I have a new life and am free. Free of alcohol and I didn't have to die in that bottle.

A week later, all of my extended family gathered at my father's home for the 4th of July. As we grilled and prepared a meal for the family, a beautiful Giant Swallowtail came to visit the garden, and lingered for a while. I called to my sisters to come see, that ""Dad"" was visiting us. Sure, it could just be coincidence, that the first butterfly I saw after my father's death happened to be a Giant Swallowtail. But I've always had faith in serendipity, and for me, watching that butterfly in my dad's garden was a sweet and uplifting moment that I will remember happily.

Over the years, I have dealt with many emotional ups and downs. Two years ago I heard Rick Mikula speak at the local park. You see on my lowest days I would walk along the water looking for answers. In the same park, we went nature walking one Sunday with Rick on a butterfly watch. Since then I have had much solitude spending time with nature. The birds and butterflies have been my inspiration. Occasionally a butterfly or hummingbird comes and persists. I know it is my mother and God reminding me that life is precious and special. As my husband recently lost his job of 10 years we have decided to farm butterflies. We feel this is God's way of allowing us to share nature with children and the elderly. God does work in mysterious ways.

Having stopped laughing, I took a step forward. My attacker rushed me again. He rammed me in the chest with his head and body, striking me over and over again with all his might, still to no avail. For a second time, I retreated a step while my attacker relented in his attack. Yet again, I tried moving forward. My attacker charged me again. I was rammed in the chest over and over again. I wasn't sure what to do, other than to retreat a third time. After all, it's just not everyday that one is attacked by a butterfly.

This time, though, I stepped back several paces to look the situation over. My attacker moved back as well, to land on the ground. That's when I discovered why my attacker was charging me only moments earlier. He had a mate and she was dying. She was beside the puddle where he landed. Sitting close beside her, he opened and closed his wings as if to fan her. I could only admire the love and courage of that butterfly in his concern for his mate. He had taken it upon himself to attack me for his mate's sake, even though she was clearly dying and I was so large. He did so just to give her those extra few precious moments of life, should I have been careless enough to step on her. Now I knew why and what he was fighting for.

There was really only one option left for me. I carefully made my way around the puddle to the other side of the path, though it was only inches wide and extremely muddy. His courage in attacking something thousands of times larger and heavier than himself just for his mate's safety justified it. I couldn't do anything other than reward him by walking on the more difficult side of the puddle. He had truly earned those moments to be with her, undisturbed. I left them in peace for those last few moments, cleaning the mud from my boots when I later reached my car.

Since then, I've always tried to remember the courage of that butterfly whenever I see huge obstacles facing me. I use that butterfly's courage as an inspiration and to remind myself that good things are worth fighting for.

Dad was buried on a lovely June day. After the services, Mom, I, Sis, grandchildren, and family members and friends stood nearby Dad's grave which was covered with flowers. We all were busy in conversation about Dad/Jim. Suddenly a huge butterfly, as large as the palm of my hand, flitted around us. The colors were black, blue & white. It landed on the flowers & seemed to be listening. I noticed that its colors seem to match what Dad was wearing...a charcoal gray suit, white shirt & a medium blue tie which exactly matched the blue on the butterfly. We stood there in amazement over this friendly, curious butterfly. How were we, then, to know that butterflies were to become so prominent in our lives from that day on?

All that summer our back yard was visited by an abundance of butterflies, mostly monarchs, with one landing on Mom's finger much to her delight! She (and Sis & I) were sure these butterflies were Dad's way of communicating his concern for us and his love.

He passed on before he & Mom could enjoy their 50th anniversary together. On that day we visited his grave - also visiting was a big monarch who hovered nearby us .... of course it was ""Dad."" When I was out shopping for a 50th anniversary gift I found myself heading for a San Francisco Music Box store in a local mall. The most perfect gift was awaiting me...a water globe with a branch of flowers and a large black, blue, & white butterfly resting on them. The music it played was the theme from the film, ""Somewhere in Time.""

After a few years, Mom needed surgery for a large, cancerous tumor in her abdomen and Kathy (Sis) and I waited, very afraid & nervous, in her room until the surgery was completed. The room had large windows which overlooked a parking lot and it was up fairly high - 8 floors up. I blinked with surprise and told Kathy to come and look out the window. There, right in front of our faces in the window, was a small ""colony"" of monarch butterflies flitting around, right up there in mid-air outside of an 8th floor window. Dad had sent the troops! His support for us and concern for Mom came right through from the beyond. We watched in awe and gratitude and were comforted by this merry band of monarchs for about 20 minutes!

While Mom was battling ovarian cancer, in her last days we talked openly about ""signs from the other side""... she said she would also send butterflies to us. She was very calm about facing her death, - a truly remarkable lady.

For weeks I watched for these butterflies but it was in the early part of April; the weather just seemed to cold for these delicate creatures. I'd let the idea go until Memorial Day when I brought her swan planter to her grave. Filled with her favorite flowers, impatiens and lobelia, I wondered if these flowers would attract butterflies. I talked and pleaded into mid-air hoping that Mom would somehow hear me - ""please send me a butterfly so I know you're here!"" Good thing I was the only one around as I'm sure others hearing me and watching me look above would certainly think I was a crazy person. As I slowly walked to back to my car and got in, I took a last glance at the very pretty swan bouquet. Lo and behold... I noticed a yellow (Mom's favorite color) swallowtail landing on it and seemingly liking it. In my surprise, I could only holler out, ""Thanks, Mom! You made my day!

I realize I have been a lengthy in telling my story but needed to tie it all in. Thanks for reading and may you be granted many, many ""butterfly kisses"" yourselves.

Nina Lee Hutchins died on the first day of spring in 1981 and she will always be missed.

It was in very late May on an exquisite almost-summer day in Amherst, MA. Some college friends and I had been painting an elderly couple's home to make ends meet. At that time, the Cold War was still in full swing. Amherst was in the flight path of the SAC bomber base in Chicopee. I was lying on the lawn feeling the warm sun when I heard the distant whine of a B-52 approaching to land. I lay there as the enormous bomber slipped overhead --- my view couldn't have been better.

I remember being awed by the enormity, the complexity and even the grace of that plane as it passed above me. The power of its engines, even in their near-idle state, was humbling. As it disappeared to the south and quiet returned I continued my revelry looking up into the blue sky.

Silently, a butterfly appeared directly over my head, hovering or at least bobbing back and forth in my field of view. It was a beautiful Tiger Swallowtail. I was quite amused that it would appear so close to my face and seemed to work at staying right above me. I studied it --- the structure and coloring of its wings, the intricacies of its body. It then became embarrassingly obvious. This creature was the true marvel. Not the huge, loping war machine but this simple living work of art. I smiled. The early summer warmth spread inside again.

My son was my love and my light. He was always so happy and so loving. Damian would light up a room just by walking through the door. He had a kind heart and wonderful spirit, he was loving and giving, a gentle giant. Damian loved children, and children loved him. He loved life and everything in it. His love for God and his faith were strong. God, how could this be happening? How could the first most wonderful thing that happened in my life be taken from me?

The next few days were nothing but a blur; funeral arrangements, family and friends, shock from what I had just been told about my son. I was numb. My worst nightmare had come true. What was I going to do?

A couple of days after the funeral, in my desperation, I went to the cemetery to visit my son’s grave. I was alone at last. Alone to let out all of my tears, alone to scream at the top of my lungs, where no one else could hear me. I knelt on the dirt, and directly in front of me was a single rose that someone had placed into a clump of dirt. As I was screaming and crying, I asked, “Damian, what will I do? How can I go on without you?”

At that exact moment a beautiful butterfly landed on the rose, directly in front of me, despite my delirium. I stopped crying immediately. The butterfly slowly fluttered its wings while facing me. I stared in amazement. Several moments passed, and I slowly reached out to touch the butterfly. Just as my finger was about to touch it, the butterfly fluttered up and above my head. I was stunned. My first thought was to say “Alright Damian, I get the message. You are okay in your new life.” A sense of relief and peace swept over me. I knew this was a message sent from Heaven to ease my pain and loss. For the next several days, everytime I went to visit the grave, the butterfly would be there, happily flying about.

About a week later, still numb with grief, I sat on the floor sorting boxes of pictures, looking for those loving reminders of my dear child. While sitting there, weeping, I noticed an envelope addressed to me, written in my dear child’s handwriting from many years before. The postmark on the envelope was May 10, 1985, when my son was seven years old, at which time he was in the first grade. As I opened the letter and began to read, tears poured from my eyes, and I could not contain myself. Evidently a school project, my son wrote to tell me how much he loved me, in the only way a seven year old can. The letter read:

Dear Mom,
I love you very much. You always help me. Thank you for being so sweet. I love your cooking. It is so nice to have you wake me up. homework wold be terrible without you. you are the best mom and have the bigest heart. I love you.
Love, Damian

I then noticed a crude drawing at the bottom of the letter. In blue crayon he had colored the bottom half of the page, except for one place in the shape of a butterfly. In the center of the butterfly he had written these words:

Butterfly
go to my mother.
whisper that I love her.
Love, Damian

From that moment on, I have never doubted that the butterfly that came to me at the cemetery was a message from my son. About a week later, I met with Damian’s first grade teacher. Fighting back tears unsuccessfully, I told her the story of the butterfly. I told her that I understand her job is very hard, and a lot of times thankless. I know most teachers are not given the appreciation that they truly deserve. Teachers touch the lives of so many children, in ways that they may never know. The simple little project she had done with a first grade class so many years ago had impacted my life forever. Together we hugged and wept.

Thank you, Mrs. Ann Hardy! I will remember you with love forever, and you will always remain special in my heart. And everytime I see a butterfly, I smile and think about Damian, and it brightens my day.

The funeral was on Wednesday and I thought this could be the last Monarch I would see, but I didn’t want to catch it and keep it imprisoned in a box for three whole days. So I took a chance and let that one go, determined I would find another butterfly on Tuesday. Now on Tuesday I went out looking for any kind of butterfly. The whole day was gone and no butterfly. The sun was getting low in the sky. My wife drove home then and both of us looked around for the last time. We realized that nothing was going to happen. You don’t find butterflies at night. I followed my wife toward the house. She went in. I stopped and closed my eyes and the thought was something like, 'Please God I need a butterfly by tomorrow.' Right after that I knew I’d be out in the morning and it would show up. It might be magic, but it would be back. Then I dismissed the thought and feelings going through my head and after five seconds of that I went in the house.

My wife was on the phone with a woman who was telling her that she had just found a Monarch Butterfly at her doorstep. Earlier in the day she’d found the Monarch and was concerned because it was so late in the season and was calling people to find out how to care for a Monarch butterfly. She had called me to come pick it up and take care of it for her.

My wife, having been skeptical about all this butterfly magic, was amazed. She had now become a part of this process! I threw on a Monarch T-shirt and went to pick up my Monarch. When I arrived the first thing she said was 'I have the same T-shirt!' She also had a butterfly cage in her house and had taken care of them two years ago. I gave her a copy of a book I brought with me, I, Monty by Marcus Bach, because of our similar experiences. The magic of sychronisity was back and, of course, it was all about butterflies. The butterfly had landed in her yard, the yard of a butterfly lover. She had thought to call me and it was on that very evening when I was especially looking for a butterfly! The magic was back.

I took the butterfly home, made it a sugar/water solution and hand fed it. It became active after eating and flew around the house. I put it to sleep for the night in a dark cage of its liking. The next day at the funeral I released the Monarch while reciting a prayer from Marianne Williamson’s book Illuminata about spirit flying free. The butterfly took off straight up in the air and disappeared in a flash. People came up to me later and said it was the most beautiful service ever. People felt that the soul had left on the wings of that butterfly.

George said that he needed to be alone for an hour at the gravesite. As I was walking to the car I kept looking back wishing that butterfly would appear again. We left and it didn’t appear. I thought, 'Oh, well, nice thought. I can’t have everything I wish for.' On the way home I told my wife that something’s going to happen. I’m thinking that the night after I lost my aunt I felt my aunt walking down the hall and that something like that was going to happen.

Here’s what happened. George called us when he got home. On his way home from the cemetery he stopped at a light and a Monarch landed next to his car. This was an area under construction, not a place where you’d normally see a butterfly. When the light turned green, the butterfly flew right along with his car and kept pace with him. As the butterfly followed him, he broke into tears, beautiful bittersweet tears. When he got home he opened his door. He saw his father sitting there. I had only felt my aunt’s presence the day after her funeral, George said he actually saw his father. Whether you believe George saw his father or not, is not important. What is important is that butterfly meant something to George that absolutely heeled his pain. George knew then that his father was with him and always would be.

After several months of therapy it was clear nothing was shrinking her very substantial tumor. It seemed as though it as becoming less cancerous, but any treatments available weren't able to help us. We stopped treatment. After a few weeks of being fed by a tube and rest from chemo, I sat outside on our lanai behind our home on Oahu, Hawaii. I was pushing Emma in her little dolphin swing. About five butterflies come over to see Emma. I felt as though they they had missed my baby girl. They made me feel as though everything was going to be okay, like I hadn't felt in nearly a year. Emma giggled as they floated along on the warm, soft trade winds. We lived on a military base, and our homes were all very close together. As strange as this may seem, the butterflies were always in our yard, and we haven't had to go back to the hospital very much since.

We now live in San Diego, and we are getting ready to plant a very butterfly friendly yard here. My daughter Emma is still not getting cancer treatment, but is healthier than she has ever been.

Mother died at age 54 in February, 1977. Her wishes were to be cremated. When the weather turned warmer, my father, sister and I got in a motor boat with the Rector of our church and proceeded to a wildlife refuge not far from where the Maumee River (runs through Toledo, Ohio) meets Lake Erie. The ashes of a number of parishioners were distributed in the water by the Rector. Then it was my mother's 'turn'. With a mixture of solemnity and peace--knowing we were following her explicit wishes--we committed her remains to the Refuge.

Just as we finished and an emotion-filled silence filled the boat as we stood there gazing at the water and her ashes dispersing, a butterfly fluttered throughout our midst--not just passing by but staying within the portion of the stern of the boat where we stood. That was no coincidence and I was both heartened by that 'sign' and deeply moved by it. Obviously, none of us there will forget that moment and now seeing butterflies in any form brings me the joy of the remembrance of how much she enjoyed them...and we her.

I was about 8 years old and it was a cool fall day. I lived in a small suburb in Western New York at the time. My mother had sent me outside for the afternoon, much to my disagreement! While standing in the front yard, a large cloud had dimmed the sun. I still don't know if it was reflex, or curiosity that made me glance to the sky at that moment, as I had seen many clouds block the sun, but at that moment it struck me that it was not a cloud that had blocked the sun that day, but a mass of Monarch butterflies! They were beautiful and graceful. Only a moment had passed, and they were gone from my view, but etched forever in my memory.

I now have children of my own, and still look to the skies every time a cloud covers the sun....

Each year I extend my garden a little more, so now have holly-hocks, phlox, pin-cushion flowers, asters, false sun-flowers and carnations. It is a wonderful array of colors and a peaceful place for me to think about Jesse; each time I see a butterfly flutter by, it fills me with pleasure. I know Jesse would have enjoyed my garden and I have wonderful memories and a peaceful spot in my yard. I have added an angel here and there and it has become my favorite place to be.