As we Midwesterners begin our slow goodbye to summer, we know that six months of all things dark and drab loom ahead.  Our descent into the dreary is eased somewhat by the bombastic colors of the fall trees.

As if to dare the onslaught of fall’s overwhelming brownness, the leaves emerge in irreverent hues: electric orange, sun-soaked lemon, fierce red. 

My favorites are the variegated shades, like the leaf I saw on a neighbor's driveway.  It was small and featured a bright green center crowned with an orange tint that looked as if God was experimenting with Photoshop. 

After taking a quick phone pic, I gently pocketed the leaf, intending to show it to my wife.  I forgot about it until the next day.  Pulling it out of my jacket, I could see that already, the color had faded a bit.  More noticeably, the thing had started to shrivel.

What a metaphor. Try as we might, we cannot pocket beauty.  We cannot keep it in a jar or hang it in a frame. Or seal it from decay—just one more unintended consequence from the fall.

We can enjoy beauty’s magnificence.

We can take snapshots.

We can inhale its fragrance.

But beauty cannot be frozen in time.

We can only enjoy it in time.

So—take the time.

Your wife’s smile.

Your son’s eyes.

Your favorite leaf. 

These are beautiful gifts from a God of beauty who bids us enjoy His creation. 

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.    —Ecclesiastes 3:11

It was hard to miss, even walking at the brisk pace I try to maintain on my early morning walks.  There on the side of the road was a magnificent butterfly.  Black and spotted and iridescent, I saw majesty in every flex of its silken wings.

My friend Chris, an outdoor guy with considerable experience, told me I was staring at an Eastern Black Swallowtail.  I had more time to study this creature than I should have.  Because when it attempted to fly, it fluttered and stuttered—but went nowhere. Yet the thing kept trying to get airborne anyway.  Try after try, it failed to leave the ground.

Why? I wondered.  Upon close inspection, the wings appeared to be in great shape—no dings in either antenna.  From what I could see, the head looked fine, and the legs seemed in place.  

The longer I watched its ill-fated flight attempts, the more obvious it became.  This was a butterfly in distress.

Sadly, I was unable to help. So I walked on, wondering what was to become of my non-flying friend. 

On the breeze of that early morning, a thought drifted into my mind.  There is hardly a day that goes by that you and I don’t walk past butterflies in distress.  Not the tiny ones with wings.  I speak of the tall ones on two legs. 

It’s the lady next door, hemorrhaging over the divorce she never wanted.

It’s the friend who got the disturbing phone call from the doctor’s office.

They are often hard to spot because they look just fine on the outside.  Watch long enough, and you'll see that they flutter and stutter—but get nowhere.  I submit...

• There are butterflies in distress where you work.
• There are butterflies in distress where you worship.
• There are butterflies in distress where you live. 

Maybe it’s your spouse.  Or your daughter.  Or your son.  Or even yourself.

We cannot fix them--only Christ can. But we dare not ignore them. Ours is to notice. To care.  To call. To pray. To encourage. But it all begins with seeing them on the side of the road.

Butterflies in distress—they’re everywhere.

Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ.  

–Galatians 6:2

Feasting on a breakfast of presweetened cereal—the kind kids like me love best—I bumped into a curious bit of philosophy. The back of the cereal box offered advice for your “Biggest Week Ever.” 

The box suggested we should be kind, be confident, be adventurous, and a few other “nice” things. One could hardly argue with the list.  Nothing wrong with being a dreamer, as was also suggested. 

Curiously missing from the list, though, were virtues like honesty. Or perseverance. Or integrity.

Since the audience here is young children, why not introduce them to respect as a value worthy of pursuit?Previous generations did.

I get that these virtues are not nearly as fun. And in fairness, we are talking about a cereal box here. Nobody released this as an official lifetime guide for raising kids. Still, when you sniff the cultural air, it feels almost like there’s a kill order on virtues no longer in vogue.

Have you noticed that virtues like temperance and prudence have all but disappeared from public discourse?  One web headline I saw reads, Why be honest if honesty doesn’t pay? 

Increasingly, our culture encourages niceness over integrity, agreeableness over principal.

Which leads to narrative trumping facts and tolerance over truth. 

As Christ-followers, we must resist the seduction of a lexicon of virtues that ignores biblical principles.  Instead, let us endorse what is “true and lovely” (Phil. 4:8) and “speak the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15).   All this while living “above reproach in a world full of crooked and perverse people" (Phil. 2:15).

God help us live a biblically virtuous life!

The beefy hornet dove at me again and again.  I’d had enough, so I grabbed the fly swatter and, with a well-timed swing, sent him on to his reward.  I wondered where he came from and how big was his hive.

The next day I met the family. Several hundred of them buzzed in and out of a nest bigger than a football.  

The problem is, the hive was not far from our bathhouse out at the campground. Time for action!

A search and destroy mission was set for dusk Saturday night, led by special ops team Mike and Gary. From the comfort of lawn chairs, we watched phase one: mega doses of hornet spray. 

At phase two, Gary hoisted a plastic-lined garbage can underneath the hive while Mike's pruning loppers snipped a branch.  The lid snapped shut and was opened only long enough for Mike to tie off the plastic bag.  

Suddenly I found my courage and walked up to Gary, who held the bag of angry insects.  The sound of the buzzing was so intense I recorded it on my phone.  Gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "mad as hornets."  But that all ended at phase three: incineration in a campfire.

Why do I share this story with you?  I see it as a metaphor.  Some people watch crises from the comfort of their lawn chairs, as I did.  Some stand at the point of danger to do what must be done. 

At the risk of sounding alarmist, I gently underscore that we followers of Christ live in dark and dangerous times.  God has always had faithful men and women who do difficult things, despite personal discomfort or danger. People who do the right thing because God says it’s the right thing. 

There aren't many of these folks, mind you.  Their ranks are thin. But make no mistake—you and I are called of God to be among them.

Keep alert. Be firm in your faith. Stay brave and strong.

I Corinthians 16:13

267,000 households without electricity. That’s a whole lot of fridges and freezers on the fritz. That’s a whole lot of air conditioners that aren’t conditioning!  But that’s the state of things after a swath of storms cut through northeastern Illinois Monday night.

Gratefully, our home remains spared, though we have friends who needed help.  So I took a generator to their house, fired the thing up, and plugged in a refrigerator and deep freezer.

All was well until I saw a text the next morning: “Generator runs—but no power.”   Huh?

I drove over right away, and sure enough, ol’ Bessie was cranking away noisily.  But at some point in the wee hours of the night,  she ceased being of any use. 

I tried unplugging and restarting the unit.  I tried mashing the reset buttons.  Result: Lots of noise and plenty of action—but no power. I am certainly not an electrical expert—and even less a gas engine guy.  So, for now, I have a generator that does not generate.  It only sounds like it’s doing something.

It’s a perfect metaphor—both visually and aurally—for the lives so many of us live. We're busy.  Very busy.  We satisfy ourselves declaring we're busy at work for Christ.  But we often do what we do in our flesh.  Publicly, we claim we're doing it all for Him, but privately it's really about us and how good we feel "serving Jesus."

Lord, forgive us for being engines without power. Forgive us for mistaking action and noise for godliness.  Lead us away from hurriedness to holiness.  Work your works in us and through us.   Only then can we be found useful for your kingdom.

Amen!