Church of the Butterfly

I thought my first blog would be about something else, but I guess we are starting with the Church of the Butterfly.

I was biking along late at night trying to get home. The roads were quiet and besides other bikers there were few cars. The long paved roads and the bikers in front of me eventually led me to this small children's park. By small I mean it would fit inside a large living room. You walk in and the walls are made of wood that raises so high that it almost starts to feel like you have a ceiling above your head. The architecture is nearly perfect for it has stood for years. In front of me there were mini train rides and a mini roller coaster that starts outside and goes inside of the building. There are tiny slides, and other things that made you aware this was a park for small children. Inside this foyer and to the right is the little lady who runs this establishment. For now I will call her Grandma.

Grandma is a little lady who is so comfortable and huggable. Always she is kind. Always she is sad. The years have taken their toll and her beloved face show the wrinkles of all her good times, and all the hard work. Her blond hair is short and in curls. These days she is forgetful, and a little uncertain. She has Dementia. Even through her confusion times however she is loving and kind, just confused and forgetful.

I only have been able to see her three times in my life. This time I break down crying because my heart misses her so much. It hurts so much that I can not stand, and I clutch my chest as my heart feels like it was about to burst. I crumple to her feet. She asked if she had issues before on previous visits (talking about the Dementia episodes) to which I shake my head signifying yes. She says her soft voice, "That happens sometimes. "

I hug her and I don’t let go. This stranger, this perfect stranger, who I have cried on, who has comforted me, and stroked my hair when I was sad. Who had freely given me her advise. Someone I did my best when I could to help her through her troubles. I can't stop hugging her. Even now as I type this the tears stream down my face, and my heart aches in desperation.

Grandmother in her life created a space place for children to play and be children. She greeted each child and family at the gate as they came to play in her humble Church. The sun always shone on her space and the walls filled with laughter. Now the place is silent, except for the adults who come to visit her and the bikers who use her Church as a way to get where they are going. Some like me stop and stay at the entrance where Grandmother is always waiting to greet the people who come. We stay, we talk, we visit.

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted a space safe for people to be able to go to. To pray, to sit in quiet, to be without fear, to be able to breathe. Never did I think about a place that inspired laughter. Grandmother filled a place in childrens hearts that allowed children who were in need, to come and find a place of refuge where they not only were able to pray, to breathe, and to be with out fear; but also to laugh.

When you go so long without laughter, you just start trying to seek peace. Then someone comes along and makes you realize it isnt enough to have peace. You need joy. Desperately peace is not enough, but joy fulfills and sustains. These are the lessons I learned as a child at the Church of the Butterfly and at the hands of the one and only Grandmother.

You never know how much you miss something or someone until you see them again after so long. This is the power of Grandmother Joy. In her kind and gentle ways she breaks down your heart, brushes your hair, and kisses your cheek. Then she tells you to go play. To seek your joy.

Im still crying, laughing through them, I cant stop. The deep needs that Grandmother Joy makes us aware of. Shes making us aware of the deep pain we have held onto for so long that it just became apart of us. Grandmother Joy draws it out like poison, and soothes the pain. She brings us to awareness, and gives us the medicine that we need. That we desperately need.

If you come across my Grandmother the building is old, and can be a little creepy, but it is a refuge for children and wayward travelers. The Church of the Butterfly is a place still where you can find Joy, one little Grandmother whose hugs are magic, whose words are wise, and who is worth spending your time on even through her forgetful moments. Please be kind to her. She is worth every bit of it you can spare. During the day you can still bring your children by and she would be so happy. During the night the adults can find her in comfort, still waiting for anybody who would come in no matter the hour. The door is always open.

Grandmother I miss you. Let me hug you one more time.