You could easily miss it - tucked in a corner, surrounded by board books, puppets, and printer paper. The case itself is unassuming. About the size of an aquarium. Smudged with fingerprints.
But inside? Well, that's another matter.
Beyond the besmirched glass rest two upright branches. Milkweed. Thick-stemmed. Velvety. And clinging to those branches are two tiny marvels, draped in green and studded with gold.
Monarch chrysalises.
Asher first took notice of the glass case a few weeks ago, when two plump caterpillars munched greedily on milkweed leaves. With noses pressed to glass, we observed their striped frocks - black, yellow, white. We commented on their concentrated consumption. We compared them to a certain hungry caterpillar of children's book renown.
But by the next week, the caterpillars had vanished. And a new marvel had appeared. Two dainty green chrysalises, affixed to branches by tiny black stems. Jewels of nature. Gateways to transformation.
"Where'd they go?" Asher asked, voice padded with concern. So I explained the life cycle of a butterfly. How a caterpillar hides in a chrysalis. How it later emerges as a winged beauty.
Asher was visibly skeptical. And rightfully so.
Because, really, how can you understand transformation unless you see it?
And how can you comprehend the old-made-new unless you witness it with your own eyes?
And that got me thinking.
God is in the business of transformation. Of taking spiritual caterpillars and molding them into creatures of beauty.
So shouldn't other people understand God's power when they see our transformation?
And shouldn't they comprehend the old-made-new when they witness it in our lives?
In a letter to the church in Corinth, Paul asks his fellow believers to do a little soul-searching. To conduct a spiritual before-and-after:
"Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong" (1 Corinthians 1:26-27).
Think of what you were when you were called.
Ponder that for a moment. This instruction is given by Paul. Who "[breathed] out murderous threats against the Lord's disciples" (Acts 9:1). Who imprisoned Christ-followers. Who described himself as "in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for legalistic righteousness, faultless" (Philippians 3:5-6).
And then? Damascus. Paul's moment of transformation.
Who were you when you were called?
Paul goes on to say, "My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power, so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power" (1 Corinthians 2:4-5).
Paul didn't need statistics or data or facts to demonstrate God's power.
His message was "Christ crucified."
His proof was gathered on the road to Damascus.
His life was the evidence.
God's power is demonstrated in the transformation of a single life.
Your life. My life.
So? You and I have a story to tell. Of our transformation. Our Damascus. The moment God took our caterpillar-selves and gave us wings.
Sure, we could use data. Or wisdom. Or intellect.
Or we can think of what we were when we were called and let our lives be the evidence.
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