“Wings”

A Thanksgiving Story

Thanksgiving Day became a national holiday on October 3, 1863, when Abraham Lincoln, the 16^th President of the United States, issued a proclamation that the last Thursday of November was to be a day of giving thanks. Lincoln’s announcement marked the culmination of a multi-decade campaign by Sara Josepha Hale. What is so amazing about this holiday is that it was imbedded in the middle of the Civil War which had caused so much misery and suffering for the whole United States.

An event born during a severe darkness that tore at the fabric of our Union. A day to raise holy hands in thanksgiving to the Most High God who “while dealing with us in the anger of our sins, hath nonetheless remembered mercy.” His Light shining in the weariness of this obscurity. “To heal the wounds of a nation and to restore it in accordance with His Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.” To find value in who we are united making secondary the divisiveness of individual pursuits.

Perhaps a story would illustrate more fully. The front garden of our house consists of a small deck with cushioned chairs and a centered fountain with a space sectioned off for potted plants. Large bushes, such as a Milkweed plant with small lavender and white flower buds grow against the low wall. The garden was home to a caterpillar who was adopted by a community of worms when his entire family drowned during the great sprinkler flood of 2023.

They named him “Not a Worm” simplified to Worm and did the best they could to teach him how to survive garden life. Every day Worm bore the task of crossing over the brick sidewalk hoping to avoid the traffic of human feet and animal paws alike.

“Oh, please, don’t step on me,” Worm shouted daily at the impending shadow of a foot hovering over him. A certain cat liked to chase Worm and catch him in her paws while exclaiming, “Let’s play.” Never wanting to hurt the caterpillar so it would be there for her daily game. Often the humans responsible for the cat would intervene and move the worm to the other side away from the cat. When this happened, Worm was grateful for the cat and eventually began to see the cat as her enemy-friend.

Then one day the cat came no more. Worm was so distraught he crossed the brick walkway one more time to seek a place to hide. He found a bush with other worms that looked just like him creating little cylinder shelters from the digestive juices of their bodies.

One stopped to ask him, “Are you here to form a chrysalis, too?”

“I didn’t know worms have that skill” frowned Worm wondering what a chrysalis is.

“They don’t, but you are not a worm,” it answered. “You’re a caterpillar being drawn to your future destiny. Your body beckons you for it is time.”

He was delighted to find out that he too had the innate ability to spin a chrysalis, a protective silken encasement. “Pick a spot on the Milkweed host plant and let the metamorphoses begin.” Using the material contained in his own body, he created his own cocoon like shelter. When done, he crawled in.

Safe inside, he remembered and grieved the loss of his friend. In three weeks, a bright light shone around the cocoon and Worm felt the urge to push itself free. To his amazement, he was no longer Worm or even a caterpillar but now a translucently blue winged butterfly. Amazingly the same color as Kitty’s blue eyes.

He ate the shell while waiting on the milkweed leaves for his new wings to dry. One of the older, wiser butterflies landed next to him. You were once Worm but now you will be called by a new title for your wings bear the color markings of an Angelite with calming, soothing, properties of healing and forgiveness.

Going forward you will be known as Beauty, one who promotes peace and nurtures truth. Overwhelmed by it all, Beauty pondered the moment. “I will never see my cat enemy/friend again, yet I bear her colors, and I have wings.”

Is this story true? As an allegory, yes. For I am the Worm, and after Kitty died, I crawled into a cocoon of Covid to grieve her sudden death which proved to be a *severe kindness. An incredible grief observed* yet I found comfort. God did answer my prayer for Kitty to be healed, but just not the way I expected. He collected her back. No longer sick. For God, rich in mercy, gave me “Beauty for my ashes, the oil of joy for my sorrow, and a garment of gladness for my distress.” (Isaiah 62:3) Calling forth praise from my lips as a shining light. “I will never be the same again, but I am forever changed by the wings of thanksgiving.”

Giving thanks to God is like that. It enables us to rise from the unimaginable disappointments and unfairness of life and expect good to occur because of God’s mercy. So, this Holiday, I invite you to join me lifting Holy hands in a grateful song against the personal civil war of unmerited events that darkness creates and push out of your cocoon realizing you have wings. The substance of Thanksgiving.

By Kathy and Dave Benedetto, storyteller and editor

From The Garden Friends who chronically remember Kitty whose blue eyes live on.