Grace, Gratitude, and Buterflies

The week my father died my caterpillar became a butterfly.

 

In the book, Gratitude, Diana Butler Bass writes about the time when her grandmother was dying. She had heart problems and had to rely on her daughter to care for her. During this time she started attending a church and learned a song that felt brand new, that she experienced as her story. She believed grace said it all, was the whole story and said it all. Amazing Grace, was brand new both for her and for her granddaughter. Bass after telling this story goes on to speak about the connection between grace and gratitude.

The words “gratitude” and “grace” come from the same root word, gratia in Latin and kharis in Greek, as mentioned earlier. In addition to being the name of a goddess, “grace” is a theological word, one with profound spiritual meaning. Grace means “unmerited favor.” When I think of grace, I particularly like the image of God tossing gifts around—a sort of indiscriminate giver of sustenance, joy, love, and pleasure. Grace—gifts given without being earned and with no expectation of return—is, as the old hymn says, amazing. Because you can neither earn nor pay back the gift, your heart fills with gratitude. And the power of that emotion transforms the way you see the world and experience life. Grace begets gratitude, which, in turn, widens our hearts toward greater goodness and love. Bass, Diana Butler. Grateful (p. 19).

I needed the butterfly this week. I needed to see that chrysalis that I thought would never transform, change. It was weeks. Weeks of that green chrysalis with its golden sewing. I checked it everyday for weeks, waiting for it to become a butterfly. Then I learned that it has to get black and then the butterfly will emerge. So finally my chrysalis turned black as I took a picture and headed off to the hospital to sit with dad. Not knowing what I would get when I was there. The Dad who was mad at us for not taking him home and so didn’t talk to us. The Dad who just slept the whole time I was there. The Dad who would smile and greet you and then fade away, but smile and greet you again when awake. I don't remember which it was that day. What I remember is the Dad I last saw. We had prayed The Lord’s Prayer together and I told him I was off to take care of River. My last sight of my dad was of him seeing me, really seeing me. Seeing me the way he did before the Alzheimer’s took him. He looked at me. I didn’t know at the time that that was goodbye. It was grace and gratitude in one moment I will never forget.