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Monday, January 21, 2019

The Butterfly of Hope

When I was 6-years old we lived in Wharton, Texas. Every Saturday morning I would sit in front of the radio listening to the Lone Ranger--"A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty 'Hi-yo Silver'";  Sky King--"From out of the clear blue of the western Sky comes Sky King"; Sergeant Preston of the Yukon--"On King! On, you huskies!"

My favorite was Big Jon and Sparky--"an elf from the land of make-believe who wanted more than anything to be a real boy!" I only remember one episode from that program and that had to do with an adaption of the Greek myth about the first woman Pandora, a lovely, shy maiden whose name means "the gift of all."

The gods lavished her with gifts, bright garlands of blooming flowers, silvery raiment, a crown of gold. To test her faithfulness Zeus presented her with a golden chest emblazoned with diamonds and pearls that unbeknownst to her held all the harmful things of the world. Zeus admonished her never to open the shimmering trunk.

Pandora possessed a lively curiosity. The desire to know overcame her. She opened the box. Out flew dark spirits, hideous effigies of plague, famine, rape, pillage, pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth, sorrow and mischief for all mankind.

In terror Pandora rushed to clamp down the lid. Just before the chest closed out swirled the butterfly of hope.

Hope, our comfort in misfortune, the sustainer in the midst of trouble, that which brings the expectation of fortunate events has been described by Emily Dickinson as "the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all;" and by Pope as that "which springs eternal."

The swallow as the first bird to appear at the start of spring, the anchor that holds things in place and the dove that brought the olive branch to Noah have been symbols of hope, but I will always think of hope as a butterfly with gossamer wings that flits around me, a motif for the Holy Spirit that encourages and comforts me.

Memories of Wharton, Texas fade away save one: that of a little boy shuddering from all the evil spirits that had escaped from Pandora's box... and then delighted by the butterfly that offers hope to us all.

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