September 21, 2012 is a day that will go down in history: it is the day that my wonderful mother-in-law left the limitations of this life, to be forever in the presence of the Lord. As we watched her decline in the months before her death, her internal struggle to accept the inevitable was obvious. Sarah was a woman of great vitality, a force of nature, and cherished by all. I think her heart was extra large from all the love she gave to her ten children and 32 grandchildren. It was so hard for her to think of letting go!

A month before she died, a neighbor friend brought Sarah a special gift, collected from the field with her school aged kids: it was a chrysalis, a monarch butterfly in its pupa phase, hanging precariously from the stalk of a milkweed plant, in a quart, mason jar. The brown cocoon sat still as stone for a week, on the table beside Sarah's recliner. Larry and I happened to be visiting her in Ohio the following weekend. We noticed on Saturday night that the chrysalis was losing some of its opacity; you could just faintly make out colorful wings inside. Sunday morning we were up early, helping Sarah prepare for the day. Suddenly someone noticed activity in the mason jar. The chrysalis was totally clear and the Monarch butterfly was emerging, with wings still folded. Its feet and antenna moved rapidly as it tried to acclimate to the violent changes occurring to its very being. Slowly the butterfly unfolded its gorgeous wings, though they were still too wet for flight. We opened the jar and let the newly hatched creature crawl out onto Sarah's hand.

The symbolism of that Monarch's metamorphosis, given the journey in front of Sarah was palpable. It was a sacred moment that needed no words; you could tell from her face that she saw it too. The caterpillar wrapped in that drab, claustrophobic, cocoon, had no idea what lay ahead of it, that it would become an etherial creature of flight. Is there any better picture of what waits for the child of God, when we leave this earth?

"Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall all be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:    'Death is swallowed up in victory? O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?'  The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."  I Corinthians 15 : 51-57

Within a few minutes, the butterfly's wings had dried and it started to flutter, experiencing for the first time the weightless feeling of flying through the air, rather than crawling on the ground. We opened the door and released the captive; without so much as a backward glance, the Monarch flew out, rested briefly on some ferns, and then was gone.

It seemed fitting, three weeks later, as the family planned Sarah's funeral, that very butterfly should take center stage on the memorial program.

Sarah would have loved her own funeral! During the service, all ten of her offspring (or a member of their family) shared a story about her. We laughed and we cried and we all thought about the way she loved and accepted each of us. She was an extraordinary woman, small of stature, but giant of heart. And all of the grandchildren stood up front and sang a song together about heaven: "Wish You Were Here". I think surely she was humming along somewhere.

We said our "temporary" good-byes at the graveside. Our Mennonite subculture has a lovely tradition, a way of paying one last respect to someone as the shell of their body is in the ground. Several shovels are passed around and family and friends take turns placing scoops of earth over the casket, until the job is complete. If one is not familiar with this tradition, it might sound morbid, but it is a way of acknowledging the full circle of life, returning dust to dust, and helps provide closure and acceptance. With teary eyes, we turned to leave; I nudged Larry and our children, for fluttering off across the field was a Monarch butterfly. 

This is everybody in the immediate family, except two granddaughters-in-law and their babies. You can only imagine how much fun it is to be part of such a colossal family! As you can see, there are lots of grandkids and even some greatgrands. One of my favorite "large family" stories involved Derek's beginning conversational German class at McCallie. The teacher asked each student to form a sentence stating the number of first cousins in their family. When it was his turn, Derek said, "Ich habe sechsundsechzig." (Translated: "I have sixty-six." Remember Derek's mom is from a large family as well!) The teacher corrected him, "Nein, nein, sechzehn." (Translation: "No, no, sixteen.") Derek quickly replied, "Nein, nein, sechsundsechzig!" (Translation: "No, no, sixty-six!")