The Butterfly That Stayed

I don’t know exactly what happened today.

I’ve replayed it in my mind over and over, and every time I do, I get emotional. Maybe because it happened at exactly the moment I needed it most. Maybe because it reminded me that there are some things in this world that simply can’t be explained. Or maybe because it reminded me that love has a way of finding us, even after we think it’s gone.

This morning, my mind felt heavy. Serene Moms has been growing, and with growth comes things I never really thought about when I first started this little dream. More decisions. More responsibility. More behind-the-scenes work. More moments where I have to trust myself even when I don’t feel completely ready. I found myself questioning everything for a little while. Would life be easier if I just kept things small? Am I really meant to keep building this? Am I capable of carrying something bigger than what already exists? Fear has such a quiet way of making us doubt the very things we’ve prayed for.

I didn’t say much about it. I tucked those thoughts away as my husband, our daughter, and I spent the afternoon walking through a local wildlife reserve. I remember thinking that it felt good to be outside. Nature has always been one of the places where I feel closest to God.

As we were walking, a butterfly landed on our daughter’s shoe.

At first, we all smiled. It was adorable, but we were surrounded by butterflies, so it didn’t seem particularly unusual. She was so excited to see it, pointing down at her little shoe and watching it open and close its wings.

Then we kept walking.

And it stayed.

Our daughter is three. She wiggles constantly. She swings her feet, laughs, points at birds, and never really sits still for very long. Yet somehow this butterfly simply stayed with her. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. We even walked inside the nature center for a while, and I remember thinking, “Surely this is when it’ll fly away.”

It didn’t.

At one point we wondered if maybe it had somehow gotten stuck, but when we looked closely, it was moving freely around her shoe. It walked from one side to the other. It stretched its wings. It could have flown away whenever it wanted.

It just… didn’t.

Eventually we started walking toward the parking lot, but we didn’t want it to end up around the cars, so we turned back toward a path filled with flowers. We thought maybe there was something on her shoe that it liked, so we gently took her shoe off and placed it on the ground.

The butterfly stepped off.

For a second we all thought, “Well, I guess that explains it.”

Then it flew directly onto my shoe.

It stayed with me for a little while, walking across my shoe before climbing onto my leg. I honestly just stood there staring at it. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

A little while later it flew over to my husband. It landed on his shoe, then his knee, almost as if it had decided to visit each one of us before moving on.

Only after that did it finally fly away toward the flowers.

The three of us just stood there looking at each other, wondering what in the world had just happened.

What made the whole experience even more emotional was something that had happened only a few nights earlier.

Almost exactly one year ago, we lost our beloved cat, Hamilton. He had been with me since college. He lived through so many chapters of my life that sometimes it still feels strange that he’s no longer here. Grief has softened over the last year, but it never really disappears. Grief simply changes shape.

A few nights ago, our daughter walked over to the little altar where we keep his paw prints. She picked them up all by herself and started talking to him. She told him she missed him. She told him she was excited to start big-kid school soon. She told him she knew he was in Heaven. Listening to her speak to him so naturally brought tears to my eyes. As a family, we all found ourselves talking about him, remembering him, and saying how much we still loved him.

Then today this butterfly appeared.

I don’t know what happened.

Maybe there is a perfectly logical explanation for everything we experienced today.

Or maybe there isn’t.

I can’t tell anyone else what to believe, but I know what my heart felt in that moment.

It felt like love.

It felt like reassurance.

It felt like a gentle reminder that we are never as alone as we think we are.

As I stood there watching that butterfly, I couldn’t help but think about the fear I had been carrying only an hour earlier. The fear that maybe this dream is becoming too big. The fear that maybe I’m not capable of building the community I feel so deeply called to create.

And almost immediately another thought came into my heart.

What if the very things we are called to build are the things that will ask us to become braver than we’ve ever been?

Maybe that’s why fear shows up.

Not because we’re on the wrong path.

But because we’re standing at the edge of growth.

I don’t know if that butterfly was sent by God. I don’t know if it was somehow connected to the sweet cat we still miss so much. I don’t know if Heaven works in ways we’ll never fully understand while we’re here.

What I do know is that sometimes something happens that reaches beyond logic and speaks directly to your soul.

Today was one of those days.

When I tucked our daughter into bed tonight, I found myself thinking about the conversation she had with our cat only a few nights ago. About the butterfly that refused to leave her side. About the way it visited each one of us before quietly disappearing into the flowers.

Maybe it was simply a butterfly.

Or maybe, every once in a while, God allows us to catch a glimpse of something we can’t explain—not so we’ll have all the answers, but so we’ll have enough hope to take the next step.

Today, that was enough for me.