Looking into the bathroom mirror I can almost see it. My tears slowly cover my eyes as if they're trying to protect me from seeing it. Strange as it may be, tears have a way of making an image even clearer. Through the rippled glass window of tears I see her plain as day. The soft thoughtful eyes that seem to always hold an understanding too strong for words. The flowing hair that falls around her shoulders like a waterfall. Lips that seem to say “I love you” without even moving apart. The face, so tenderly put together that it wishes nothing more than to share that tenderness with as many as she can. The face of my mother.
Dad always said I had a striking resemblance to her. Me and Mom would always laugh about it but… now that she's gone, I can't stop seeing it. It hurts. Now every time I see myself, I see her. It feels like a burden too heavy to bear. I'm nowhere near the kind of woman she was. Instead I'm a 22 year old girl who’s having stage fright over singing at my own mother’s funeral.
As I turn off the light and lay down on my bed, my head is drowning in thoughts. I've got to sleep. Tomorrow is the funeral and I don't want to mess up the song in front of all our family, but I’m so nervous. Why did she insist that I sing her song, as if someone else singing it would dirty it? I remember her singing it on occasion, though I never really paid much attention before, but it was her favourite song she wrote. But why me? I've never sung in front of her before. Or anyone for that matter!
As the thoughts continue keeping me awake I remember what she used to say to me on restless nights like this. “Pray, and let the Lord have your thoughts. He knows what to do with them when we don't.” Pray, it seemed like her solution to everything. It seemed to certainly be a reliable one I must admit, as I would always drift to sleep as she prayed with me through thunderstorms, nightmares, and any night that seemed to rattle my mind with anxieties. Now that I'm older I've fallen out of the habit, but I suppose tonight's as good as any to get back into it.
As I start to pray I feel my heart become just a bit lighter. I tell God about my situation. I cry about the loss of Mom. I exclaim how much I miss her and wish to honor her with the song. I tell Him how the butterflies in my stomach seem to flutter in endless circles with no particular place to go, and no apparent plans to exit. “I couldn't possibly sing in front of my family, I'm too scared. I'll mess it up!” As I pray and pray I drift away to sleep.
The rest is broken when I see what must be one of my “butterflies” flutter out of me and off into the darkness. Its radiant red and orange wings painted like fire never dimming as it deepens into the darkness. Suddenly it bursts into a blaze as it lands in a bush instantly igniting the entire thing. The sudden light acts as almost a spotlight as it reveals a man standing next to it. It's hard to make out any details about the man other than the tape across his mouth, and a look of fear on his face.
The trembling man appears to be speaking to the inferno but between the tape and the distance I can't make out anything but a muffled noise. Suddenly I hear a voice that comes from the flame that now reaches about ten feet high. It's clearer than even my own voice. As it begins to speak I can feel myself being forcefully pulled towards the flame.
“Who hath made man's mouth? Or who maketh the dumb or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? Have not I the Lord?”
Just then the voice stops and I can feel the heat of the flame inches away from my face as the inferno vanishes, and I'm left alone in the darkness once more. As I pause to try and recount what I saw, another butterfly appears, fluttering a delicate dance away from me and into the darkness. This one was unlike any I've ever seen. It was a sky blue color, mixed with a beautiful swirling pattern of gold. It was like a stained glass window come to life. It radiated a look of stern royalty but not without a sense of meek tenderness as it glided through the air.
As it went into the night, the darkness like a curtain was pulled away revealing a glorious palace interior, with quartz walls, lush red carpets, and towering plants standing like guards along the walls. As the butterfly reached the end of the corridor I could see a young woman in beautiful, royal clothing talking to someone, who I couldn't see as they were halfway into another room along the corridor. I couldn't make out too much of the conversation but it was what the woman said at the very end that took me back.
“I will go in unto the King… and if I perish, I perish-”
As shivers travelled my spine I watched the woman walk sternly down the hall right past me as if I wasn't there. As she came to the end of the hall and to the throne room I could now see the King in his towering demeanour, watching as the young landy stood in the doorway of the throne room.
I was scared for her as I watched the two for what seemed like an eternity just looking directly at each other without saying a word. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off with no visible timer. Instant relief came over me as I saw the King smile, then reach his golden staff out to the woman as if to approve of her presence. Then the woman, clearly as relieved as I was, walked up and touched the staff. Just as I sighed in relief the giant throne room doors slammed shut and I awoke to see my brother by my bedroom door. My brother has never been very skilled in the art of not slamming a door shut…
Somehow, someway, I made it through the night. I actually managed to sleep. Though as soon as I woke up I could feel the butterflies fly right back into my stomach.
Now I'm here. It's time. The platform where I'm to sing from is only a couple steps up, but from my point of view it looks about four stories high. The butterflies in my stomach are going crazy and no matter what I do or which way I breathe they're still there. They've always been there anytime anything important happened. Oh, why can't they just go away! Leave me alone! I decide to take one last look at my mother's song to refresh myself on the lyrics. I'd never forgive myself if I got them wrong here, the words she so delicately put together, and took so much pride in.
“Oh my saviour, comfort me,
Use me for thy will I plee,
Take my hand and hold it still,
Lest it tremble in thy will,
Give me pow’r and strength of voice,
For thy praises I rejoice.
From the burning bush declared,
From your will no man’s impaired,
You have made the speaking tongue,
The blind, the deaf, the old and young,
For if I follow thy command,
All my flaws you can remand.
Despite the fear that she may die,
To thy will she did comply,
As Esther stood before the throne,
Your mighty pow’r again was shown,
For fear is not from above,
But only power and your love.
Though bravery may not lack fear,
May the trembling draw me near,
Let it point me to the one,
Who the victory has won,
Oh my saviour comfort me,
Use me for they will I plee.”
As I review her song, it's like I'm brought back into my dreams. The burning bush with the man who couldn't speak. It was Moses. The woman in the throne room. It was Esther. Both of them were afraid, yet God used them in their fear. They didn't stop being afraid, they simply did as they knew they had to. Three of the lines from the song reach out and grip me like the talons of an eagle.
“May the trembling draw me near, Let it point me to the one, Who the victory has won.”
It's as if I had never heard them till now. Now when I'm in a place to understand them. The trembling, the nervous shakiness, the butterflies in my stomach. Maybe it's not there to be fought against. All this time I've viewed my fear as a flaw that I have to control. Something that I have to fix, but no matter how hard I try I can't gain control over it.
These few words however, make me see it in an entirely different light. My heart and thoughts are on myself, my performance, my efforts. But this isn't about me. This isn't about how well I do, or how good I sound. This is for my mother. This is to glorify God with song.
As the butterflies in my stomach continue fluttering around and around, I approach the center of the platform. The feeling is still there but now it has a different meaning. Instead of trying to pretend I'm not afraid, I try to picture the butterflies. The butterflies from the dream. A reminder from God that what I'm doing is important. Peace fills my heart as I remember that what I'm doing isn't about me.
It's for Him.
Author's note:
Thank you for taking the time to read this short story. I hope you found something of value from it. That it helps you go do what you're called to do with a spirit of power, and love, and not fear.
May the butterflies in your stomach be a reminder to you to look up when you're afraid.
This is such a beautiful story, Ethan! What a poignant way to express a godly way to handle fear and anxiety, with incredible scriptural heroes woven into relatable fiction in a deft and inspiring fashion. Your narrative writing has gotten really good, your descriptions are so vivid and the prose hooked me in and kept me going, to a satisfying and edifying finish. Kudos to you, brother (also banger ending line dude likeeee yooo that's metal).