Mindful Growth: How Nature (and Chaos) Teach Us to Thrive

I absolutely adore butterflies. Growing up, I had a number of "pet" butterflies, all of whom I named Chelsea. Why Chelsea, you ask? Couldn't tell you. But I loved each and every Chelsea with all of my heart, which broke a little bit every time I released another one into the wild after they transformed from fuzzy caterpillars into beautiful butterflies.

The world has felt incredibly chaotic recently — more so than usual. I'm not sure if perpetual chaos and uncertainty is simply a characteristic of adulthood, or if it's more reflective of the current state of the world. Regardless, I cherish the moments of peace I am able to find in the midst of the chaos — moments that make me feel like I'm a little girl again.

I had one of those moments recently, when I saw a passion butterfly (henceforth referred to as Chelsea) feasting on the wildflowers in my front yard as I pulled into our driveway. I have a new favorite flower every time a different variety pops up in our garden, and lately I've been particularly partial to coneflowers. Chelsea bopped around all the flowers, but she kept coming back to the coneflowers as if there was a magnetic force gently pulling her in.

As I parked the car, I was thankful I was driving our hybrid. Our other vehicle is a truck with a roaring V8 engine that comes in handy when I need to transport furniture between the houses I stage, trailer in tow. I quietly turned the car off and whispered "please don't leave" as I tiptoed towards Chelsea and the coneflowers. Our dynamic duo of attention-hungry, 90-pound dogs went wild when they heard me approach the door, and I crossed my fingers hoping they would zip it before scaring Chelsea off. By the grace of God, she didn't fly away in terror. I sat down on our front porch steps and watched her flutter from coneflower to coneflower, explore a few other flowers, and return to the coneflowers nearest the porch. It was a moment of utter bliss, shockingly set against the backdrop of a hot, humid Texas August day.

In a setting where I'd typically feel suffocated by the brutal heat of the sun beating down on our west-facing house, distracted by the sweat dripping down my legs and neck and back, time stood still. It was just me, Chelsea, and the coneflowers. I sat in awe of the beauty in front of me — a magnificent creature that was once a caterpillar, her delicate wings drenched in the most vibrant colors and unique patterns, eating nectar from the field of flowers that, 365 days ago was a patch of cardboard, cow manure, and seed — this magical moment reminded me that life is beautiful, chaos and all.

As I sit here writing, I am reminded of another term often used interchangeably with wildflower gardens: chaos gardens. My beautiful garden, the source of so much of the color and joy in my life lately, is a result of embracing chaos. Mixed bags of seeds scattered by the handful into piles of dirt, compost, and excrement. When I sowed these seeds, I had no idea which would yield what flowers, which would grow better in sunlight or in shade. It was a blind act of faith, of hope for a future where something beautiful would, indeed, appear out of seed and compost, in spite of freezing winters and sweltering summers, seasons of destructive downpour and unbearable drought.

Both the wildflowers and the butterflies are reminders that life is full of seasons, some much more enjoyable than others. But through them all, we keep growing. Caterpillars become butterflies with wings, sustained by the nectar of mature flowers. Sometimes we are the caterpillars, unaware that we'll be able to fly in the future if we just keep crawling. Sometimes we feel trapped in the darkness of the cocoon, unaware of the light that awaits us on the other side. Sometimes we are like Chelsea, flitting around from flower to flower, the wind giving strength to our wings. And sometimes, we are like the coneflowers, deeply rooted with enough energy to share with others.

So whatever season you are in, you'll get through it, friend — our ecosystem was built to function best when we use our strength to support those around us. And when the world feels especially bleak, I refer to one my favorite Bible verses:
“Consider the birds—do you think they worry about their existence? They don’t plant or reap or store up food, yet your heavenly Father provides them each with food. Aren’t you much more valuable to your Father than they? So, which one of you by worrying could add anything to your life? And why would you worry about your clothing? Look at all the beautiful flowers of the field. They don’t work or toil, and yet not even Solomon in all his splendor was robed in beauty like one of these!" (Matthew 6:26-29, TPT)