A little package arrived at my house a couple of weeks ago. Inside, five caterpillars. And now, there is a tiny, plastic jar sitting on my kitchen counter. A couple of days ago, one of the little fuzzy black caterpillars, turned into a chrysalis. As we watched it, it began shaking vigorously. The chrysalis shakes to ward of predators. Who knew? And, then it got very still. On Easter morning, I noticed another caterpillar began hanging from the top of the jar. And today, it had a hard outer shell covering it. I watched it for a few minutes and it honestly looks like nothing is going on. Nothing. It was just hanging there. It is kind of like watching paint dry. Except we know better when it comes to caterpillars. It is truly amazing that when it looks like nothing is going on at all, everything is happening within that tiny brown womb. Kind of like a pregnant, swollen belly. Or a field just about to sprout with onion tops. It is hard for us humans to trust the dark spaces. To trust that deep down in the soil, a vulnerable green stem is pushing through the deep earth. And a new mother, trusting that this little being she feels squirming around in there, will be someone she comes to dearly love. We are like those little caterpillars. When we take the risk to be who we truly are. Not who somebody else wants us to be. Or what we think we should be. But, when we do things differently and from our hearts; when we choose to live from a place of tremendous love. That place is unknown to many of us. And pretty darn dark sometimes.

Lately, I am learning to say no. I never knew how to do that, because I was desperate for people to like me. And saying no, in my past, meant that I was not liked, in a big, huge way. I am also learning to say yes. And saying yes, I am learning, can be as hard as saying no. On Easter Sunday, I heard Handel's Hallelujah in our church. I was standing, as the choir belted it out, and I wanted to lift my hands. Hallelujah, Hallelujah. I could just feel the music opening my heart. Rolling the stone back with grace. But the voices inside said, "Oh my God, you are going to look strange, Jenny. People are going to think you are some charismatic, weirdo (which I am.) For heaven's sake, don't do it." Do you have those voices? I do, and my God, can they hold me back. I listened to this depressing inner soundtrack for a few seconds, and then, I raised my hands. Just a little. Not up over my head. That was just too big of a Yes for me. But I held them up a little. A little felt awkward, but it felt like me. And, in those tiny moments, it feels dark. It looks from the outside like nothing is happening. But, I am in the cocoon and I am having a conversation. Between the old and the new. Between hiding out, and stepping forth. The darkness gives me room to grow. Many of us put a negative connotation on the darkness because we get afraid when we are all alone in there. But, darkness, it's not a bad thing. Right upstairs, on my kitchen counter, there are five little fuzzy creatures that know that. And soon, they will spread their painted wings, God willing, and fly.