To be called a butterfly…

In class this week we had lectures on hearing the voice of God. and in part of it we were asked to ask God who he thought we were. an exercise i have done once or twice.. probably not often enough, but… as I asked I heard simply “a butterfly” instantly my mind went into analyzing mode.

– Is God calling me a girl? Is God calling me fruity and weak and short lived? Or is God saying that i was in an ugly cocoon and now I’m beautiful?

And then i stopped. God isn’t hemmed in by humanities assigning of gender specific¬†animals. So there was a reboot of ideas. Butterflies bring insane joy. Children chase after them giggling. Adults collect them so that they can look at them time and time again. They are beautiful and colourful and joy-inducing. – I thought… I’m like that. Butterflies fly.. they don’t walk, they don’t stay in one spot super long because they need to keep going, bringing colour to other parts of the earth.

As i went in that train of thought I was pretty stoked that i was a butterfly. So I got up on a chair and proclaimed it. Instantly wanted a butterfly tattoo, although the tattoo butterfly had a beard and an axe.

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