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Butterflies and Helicopters

July 9, 2014

I’m doing as much as I know how to attract butterflies to my garden. For example, I’ve planted a butterfly bush and milkweed plants. I do this because these plants are supposed to attract butterflies and bees, and I know butterflies and bees are essential to producing vegetables.

One of the greatest miracles any person can observe is to watch a butterfly emerge from a cocoon. It was as wondrous to me last summer as the first time I saw it occur when I was a young child, when I first saw a butterfly emerge with damp, shriveled wings. 

I was told then that we shouldn’t interfere, that we shouldn’t help the butterfly escape the cocoon and shouldn’t help spread the wings. We had to let the butterfly struggle. We were instructed that the struggle would give strength to the wings, and that would be essential to the butterfly’s survival.

Childhood is much like this, but too often helicopter parents intervene and interfere with the growth process and, ultimately, weaken their children’s ability to fend for themselves, to overcome adversity and to take flight.

Helicopter parents endanger our butterfly children.
Second Half by MHSAA

Fixing Things

October 6, 2011

Leaders of schools and school sports have rarely been asked to do more with less than is demanded of them today.  Their plight has brought back to my memory that many years ago, a pastor from North Carolina, Stephen M. Crotts, told this story – one that I’ve kept in my files, and in my heart, ever since.  He said:

I started my ministry in Charlotte County, Virginia.  And there was a deacon in the church there named Harvey Milton who ran a seed and feed store in Drakes Branch.  Harvey and his wife Margaret sort of adopted me and helped me along during those first tentative years of the ministry.

I remember one day after I’d been there nearly three years.  I was struggling with trying to do too much, trying to keep everybody happy, trying to fix all the hurts.

I stopped by to see Harvey at his business and found him hunched over the back door replacing a broken hinge.

“What are you doing?” I politely inquired.

“Well, Stephen,” Harvey intoned, “there are four kinds of broken things in this world.  There are those things that are broken that if you just leave them alone they’ll fix themselves.  Then there are those things that are broken that are none of my business.  It’s up to somebody else to fix it.  Then there are those things that are broken that only God can fix.  And finally, there are those things that are broken that can be fixed and it’s my job to do it.  And this door is one of them.  And that’s what I’m doing . . . fixing this door.”

Stephen finished by saying this:  “When urgent calls, opportunities, pressure, criticism and thoughts of all I could be doing come, those words help me sort my duty.”

Perhaps those words will help you too.