I feel trapped in a small, dark place of limited movement and choice. I think of the caterpillar inside the chrysalis and imagine its cry, “Help! I can’t move! Let me out!
Does the caterpillar know its confinement will end? Is it preparing to accept calling and capacities beyond those it had before?
Perhaps I am captive in a dark, cramped chrysalis. Perhaps my endurance and patience are turning to wings of fragile beauty and strength to mount winds, traverse hemispheres.
I read the gospel story in which bridesmaids are admonished to burn their lamps until the bridegroom arrives. Encouraged, I renew my patience, attending life with all the attentions I have.