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There’s a mystery in our Madonna House life. Like the caterpillars on display in our dining room for a short time this summer.
A slow-moving, many-legged green creature munched on the green leaves of the milk weed. Then a pause; a cocoon hanging by a slender thread, and silence. A week or so later, a Monarch butterfly emerged, its brilliant orange wings flitting about the room.
We opened the screen door. It seemed to nod its head in thanks, then soared outside into sunlight and freedom.
Then another caterpillar did the same. And another.
Maybe Madonna House is like that for our visitors—a slender thread they can hang onto . . . a pause “that refreshes” . . . a moment of silence. A time in which God can do whatever he wishes to rearrange molecules and memories into new patterns of loveliness.
It is still a mystery. Still a miracle. But one that we can believe in, because we see it so often.
From Restoration. “Combermere Diary,” September 1981
