Sometimes inspiration strikes...

A friend of mine, Jillian at Rooted in love..., wrote a post yesterday titled, "Aren't we all butterflies?"

She and I have had some similiar experiences with our children and it has been comforting to me to know that when I am having "one of those" experiences (or days...) that often times she's been there and we can email back and forth and I'm able to better deal with the issue or myself or whatever needs to be dealt with.

Now, back to the butterflies... Her post ended with the comment, "I have to believe that in the end we all have a chance to morph into something beautiful" (along with a BEAUTIFUL photo of her two sweet daughters/butterflies!)

I got to thinking about the experience Grace and I had last year with our butterfly farm. I was under the impression that the caterpillar ate a lot, made the chrysalis, did some changing inside of it, and then emerged as this beautiful butterfly that would flit away dancing on the breeze.

That is SO not how it happens...

There is blood (ok, more similiar to meconium - but it's red and looks bloody and stains whatever it touches), there is pain, there is A LOT of work that goes into changing from a caterpillar into a butterfly - and after reading Jillian's post I was amazed at the similarities between the metamorphosis of a butterfly and the metamorphosis that our adopted children have to go through.

Caterpillars spend most of their lives eating whatever happens to be underfoot. When it comes time for them to begin their change they often wander away from whatever food they have been consuming and find a safe place. Our children have left their homeland, their culture, language, and in some cases their family. It might not seem like it at first, but they walked away and found their safe place.

A caterpillar (this varies by species) will attach itself to a twig or a branch by its cremaster. The caterpillar twists and wiggles and pushes this cremaster into the silk attached to the branch in order to make a firm connection that will last until the transformation is complete. Our children have to go through the same push/pull/give/take in order to facilitate attaching to us, their parents.

There are as many different styles of chrysalides as there are caterpillars. Some look fragile and seem as though they might break in a gentle wind. Others are brown and hard and not very pretty to look at. Each of these chrysalides is designed to protect the growing life inside of it.

Inside the chrysalide the caterpillar is undergoing changes that I can hardly comprehend. For the most part, during metamorphosis, every system of the caterpillar breaks down into undifferentiated cells - much like our stem cells that can be used to make any kind of cell. These undifferentiated cells then put themselves back together in their new shape. This is not a process that is entirely devoid of pain for the caterpillar. Their entire being, the only way they had ever lived is destroyed. In essense the caterpillar is dying and in doing so, he will have the ability to be reborn. This amazing transformation is happening inside this tiny little chrysalide, building and breaking down, dying and being reborn. This is the process that our adopted children go through every day. We aren't asking them to let their previous life "die" - but we are trying to help them give birth to their new life. A life as a child, a life in a family, a life of safety and comfort and love. As is with the caterpillar, this transformation is not without pain.

The metamorphosis can take anywhere from days to months - our children also move through their transformation at their own pace. It is known that butterflies are able to remember things that they learned before their metamorphosis. Our children will never forget the pain and tragedy of their lives before adoption. It will continue to color who they are - but as the butterfly does, so will our children learn to live with these memories.

When the butterfly emerges from the chrysalide it does not immediately fly away. The process of being "born" is a long and difficult one. The butterfly has to make its way out of the chrysalis. They have to sort of "break-out" of the shell and it is HARD work. When Grace and I had our butterfly farm we watched in awe as the first butterfly made the first little tear in the chrysalis. It took hours for her to emerge fully and when she did she was NOT the beautiful, graceful creature I was expecting. Her wings were fragile and wet and transparent. I thought she was dying and could see immediately how vulnerable she was. A quick visit to google and we learned this was indeed how she should look (a big relief) but that she also had a lot more hard work ahead of her.

When butterflies emerge from the chrysalis they have to work so hard to get their blood pumping through the veins in their wings (it's not actually "blood" like we have - but it is red and looks bloody and stains so I'm going to stick with calling it blood!). If this doesn't happen rather quickly their wings will always be wrinkled and they will never be able to fly or function as we think of butterflies. It takes an enormous amount of work for this weak insect to flap the heavy, wet wings and force the fluid to flow into the outermost parts and in essense, to inflate their wings. During this time the butterfly also has to express a fluid called meconium from its body. This is a collection of waste produced during the metamorphosis. The meconium is literally forced out through the skin of the butterfly's body. Again, a process that has been found to cause pain in the butterfly - but if it is not done, the beautiful insect has no hope of survival. This meconium is a bright red, blood-like substance. It drips from the body staining everything the butterfly touches.

I think of the metamorphosis of our children. The fact that they have to work SO hard at accepting love and letting us parent them. They have to forget and relearn how to be a child. They have to push out all of the negative, all of the hard, all of the pain. They have to take it all in (their time growing up in their country of birth) and when they are home, with their forever families they have to push that waste - push that substance out through their bodies. There WILL be staining. There will be pain. There will be blood and tears and sleepless nights. But when our children have their blood pumping through their wings - My goodness won't that be an amazing sight? When they have come to the last stages of the metamorphosis - we can all stand back and breath a sigh of relief as we watch them prepare for their first flight as a butterfly...

If we made any attempt at helping the butterfly emerge from its chrysalis - if we were to peel away the hard outer shell rather than letting the butterfly struggle through it, he would die. It is in the work of breaking out of that shell that the butterfly gains enough strength to rid itself of the excess fluid and to push its blood into its wings. What would be done to help quicken the process and avoid the pain of hard work would in the end cause the creature to die. Our children must go through a similiar process. Though it is hard to watch them struggle and hurt - they must. We, as adoptive parents, have to sit back and observe this part of the journey. We can cheer them on, pray for them, love them - but we absolutely can't do it for them.

In the end - the pain and work and waiting, is a small price to pay for the beauty and grandeur of the butterfly taking its first flight. The beauty of our children living happy, healthy, "normal" lives... all of the work we do now, all of the pain and sorrow that we experience, all of the *stuff* - it's worth every bit of it.

Check out the rest of this story at rooted in love - I'm sure you'll never look at a butterfly, or our kids, the same way!