Learning a Lesson from a Man and a Butterfly

In the few moments it took me to walk out the supermarket doors and push my cart to the end of the parking lot where my car sat waiting, I had the guy parked next to me all figured out.

He has, I thought to myself, lots of money. One could tell, by his fancy sports car. But he probably holds tightly to his wad. Totally buffed, he works out regularly at a gym. With his dark, slick, back-combed hair, his perfectly tucked in shirt, and those shiny black shoes, he probably sold used cars, was single, and with all those rings glistening on his fingers well, you get the picture.

It would have been so easy to carry on with my business of loading the groceries into my car and drive off with that view. Maybe he was, or maybe he wasn’t any of those things. All I know for certain is what I observed this fellow doing—far exceeding my expectations.

At first I thought he’d dropped money onto the pavement. He had his wallet out, his eyes were fastened to the ground, and he seemed very nervous about passing cars. (“He probably doesn’t want his money to blow away,” I surmised.) I wondered if I should offer my assistance, as he looked really distressed. But drawing closer, I sensed something unusual was going on. I didn’t see any money. But he was using his wallet to try to pick something up. At first it looked like a leaf, fluttering around the man’s feet. Or a baby bird, perhaps.

Not wanting to appear nosey, I started loading groceries into my car. But as he continued to struggle, curiosity got the better of me. Peering around his car I was surprised to see that this man was trying to help a large, gorgeous, silvery-blue butterfly that was trying mightily to alight from the warm, steamy pavement.

“His wings got wet,” he mumbled. “He’s beautiful.”

“Hmmm,” I responded. The poor thing must have gotten damp in the quickly passing New England summer thunderstorm.

I was tempted to help, but sensed he didn’t want it. Stepping back I held my breath as he made several attempts to gingerly coax the winged creature onto his wallet. Finally he succeeded and walked very slowly over to some shady trees, where he oh-so-gently lifted the butterfly off the wallet, and tenderly placed it on a stone wall to dry out. With a sigh of relief and satisfied that the butterfly was in a safe place, I hopped into my car and drove off—deeply humbled.

What kind of car that man drove, his hair, his shoes, those rings, all the things that I’d judged him by meant nothing anymore. He cared enough to save the life of a butterfly, and that sweet expression of grace was the only impression that counted.

As I drove home, I shuddered to think how all too often I quickly sum up strangers according to their “Halloween costumes” (that we all wear), dictated by fashion, age, profession, tradition or environment, mostly disguising who we really are. How could a physical body, however packaged, possibly convey the full story?

I know, for example, that there is so much more to an elderly woman sitting at a bus stop, than appears. Or, to the group of teenagers hanging around a school. I know there is such a goodness, a richness, and beauty hidden within each of them that I would love to get to know. The thing is to be willing to take a second look, to see what is really going on. And why not be expectant of a surprise. How cool to think that the potential is always there.