A Caterpillar's Heart

A couple of summers ago, my parsley crop was invaded and systematically eaten down to twigs by caterpillars just like the one in the picture. I was ticked. I considered them pests. And then, as is the case in nature, the miraculous happened. One day they just disappeared and in their places I found several little cocoons. And as if the story can't get any better, after what seemed like an eternity, beautiful Eastern Black Swallowtails began to emerge from those cocoons hanging on the bare parsley stalks.

They came just in time. They exhausted themselves to be born in my garden. And they came at a time when I, too, was exhausted. They were a gift of grace wrapped in gossamer wings and they brought me light when I was wrapped in darkness.

I didn't plant that parsley for those caterpillars, but I have never looked at it the same way since. And yesterday, after yet another difficult week, I looked closely at those plants and found the little guy in the picture. He brought friends and I welcome the havoc they will wreck on those plants. They will work hard and eventually, they will be changed. They are potential incarnate.  I always thought it was the butterfly that brought me hope, but I think I had it all wrong. It is this little striped guy working his way toward something we can't even see yet. That, my friends, is hope. I used to always want to be the butterfly, all light and loveliness. Grace and beauty. But I'm beginning to think that beauty is meaningless if I don't have the heart of a caterpillar.