As a child, one day I was walking past grandma’s bedroom when I saw her kneeling at her bed, Bible open, head turned up like an overflowing cup and her hands lifted in the air. I was shocked and surprised. Normally she prayed with her head bowed and her hands folded in a very subdued manner. At mealtime and at church this was her style of worship, so this was new for me and different. I asked her about it and she simply said: “Bathing butterflies hold their wings up.” It has taken me years to decipher her meaning.
True enough; when a butterfly lands on a pond, it holds up its wings, as sails, to skim over the surface. Granny was sailing on a pool of praise and catching the winds of the Spirit. Even then, I could catch a glimpse of the inner beauty that shined through her wrinkled face.
I have no doubt that as she lifted her hands and her heart to God she was including me in her prayers. Whatever serenity and smooth sailing I have experienced is somehow mysteriously connected to those bedside intercessions. Decades later, the memory of it still inspires me to be and do my best.
In my church indoctrination, I have been trained not to get too exuberant. That doesn’t stop me, however, from letting my spirit soar on the inside. As I told a friend: I may be sitting on this pew with my hands folded on my lap looking very dignified. But if you could see my spirit soar you would realize that, like granny, I’m holding my wings up for the slightest spiritual breeze that may be moving through the congregation.
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