The Monarch's Monarch

How long was it since Josh's birth and my father's odd behavior? Less than a year?

The phone rang. It was my sister. Daddy was in the hospital. I can't remember why he was there, only his behavior that seemed to confirm our past fears. The nurses would become upset if Mother and my sister Patti left him alone. He would often be found wandering on other floors. He was anything but the cooperative patient. Once in the night someone woke my father to give him a sleeping pill. Daddy took the water and threw it in her face. Although the news of his behavior was very unsettling, the glass of water incident caused us to at least smile at what seemed like very appropriate behavior in spite of the protest of the staff.

I hung up the phone, indignant that those people would treat my father like he was crazy. I could feel the tension in my arms and shoulders. I had to walk it out. A rustic park, walking distance away was the ideal spot. Soon I was pounding down the paths. This path was the avenue for leisurely bike rides I had had with my children. Now it was physical therapy as I hesitated to wrap my mind around his possible prognosis. My shoulders began to relax as I reached my stride quickly passing newly blossomed flowers and the freshness of spring leaves.

I took a side path without breaking my stride. Suddenly fluttering orange and black wings hovered above and lit on nearly every bush, weed and flower. I slowed slightly as I marveled at the hundreds of Monarch butterflies on their homeward migration.

Nothing had changed. Daddy was still irrational in a hospital 1500 miles away. I still could not fly to my father's side and share the load my sister and mother bore. I knew they were both emotionally and physically weary. But why such a rare look at this quivering orange and black montage? What a glorious reminder from a gracious God that even when I am confused, indignant, frustrated or depressed, I am not alone. God is with me and he will use whatever it might be for my good and his glory.



Five years had passed; I was not 1500 miles away. The dreadful suspicion was now a reality. His speech had declined dramatically in the year since I saw him last. Incomplete sentences and gestures came as readily and more often then short coherent sentences.

It was the first day after my arrival. Someone attempted to keep tabs on Daddy at all times. There was less about him that was predictable. Stories of family members becoming junior sleuths were numerous. I imagined my mother peeking through the leaves of a forsythia bush to see which way he would go as he would stride across the field.

This day I tried a more direct approach."Daddy, I'd like to go for a walk. Will you come with me?" Silence. I hurried to keep up with him as I rephrased my request. His eyes rarely met mine.

Why? There was that ubiquitous word that sooner or later pops up during difficult times. Why our family? Why my father? Tears filled my eyes. A brief moment of despair was quenched when I spied the bright black and orange wings of 2 Monarch butterflies fluttering near a neighbors zinnias. There was no clear answer to the question "Why?". The importance of that question faded next to a clear truth. My heavenly father was a wise, loving sovereign who made me, my father and the Monarch butterfly.