For most of 30 years, the MetroHealth Adult Burn Survivor Support Group has embraced the symbol of a butterfly to represent the spirit of transformation. From a dried, dying caterpillar and shriveled chrysalis comes brand new life. Butterflies are, therefore, a fitting metaphor for the notion of, “beauty for ashes.”

Gathered for this retreat, and building on that imagery, we are, today, a symbolic “swarm” of the creatures. But, what does science call a gathering of butterflies? We know all about a “pride” of Lions; a “herd” of cattle; a “flock” of Birds, a “pod” of Whales and even a “murder” of Crows. But what do they call a gathering of butterflies?

The best answer to that is observed annually, when North America’s Monarchs fly an average of 1,800 miles to overwinter in the mountainous areas of Mexico. Arriving in October, they return to the same forest every year. Purposely seeking out the tallest trees on the highest hills, 5 – 7,000 feet above sea level, they rest where the sun is sure to break through.

The gathering is so vast it’s not measured by number but by the hectares of ground they cover. On average, about 5 acres every year up to 44 acres in 1996.  

When they stir themselves in March, when a half-billion of them ­– orange and red, black and white – begin to rise, the sky is obscured with shifting, tumbling patterns of color. In that moment, we begin to understand why they call such a gathering, a Kaleidoscope of Butterflies.

It is to this, Kaleidoscope of friends, all of whom have chosen to “dwell on things that are higher,” that I presume to speak about Transformation and the Evidence of a Miracle.

Transformation carries the notion of change. In our case, it’s beneficial change that tends toward wholeness and the transformation is from victim to survivor to miracle.

To clarify terms, I define miracles as a joyful and unexpected reversal of terrifying circumstance. Miracles make people feel better. A miracle will lift a mountain of stress and fear. Transforming miracles open doors in our minds, allowing for new possibilities, leaving evidence of themselves in our daily lives.

Before presenting my three pieces of evidence, I think it appropriate to share my credentials, my “bona fides,” that allow me to speak on the subject, at all. 

Born in 1948, the illegitimate son of a 15-year-old girl, I finally left the Foster-Home system when I turned 13 and then dropped out of school after the 9^th Grade. Between 15 and 17, I spent a year and a half incarcerated in Illinois and Pennsylvania. Quoting Nicolas Cage in the movie, Wild at Heart, ”I had no parental guidance.”

As a result of a profound spiritual experience my life was turned around. A life-long musician, I’m widely recognized as one of the earliest pioneers of Christian Rock music in America.

I am blessed with six children, five on earth, one in Heaven; 14 Grandchildren, 12 on earth, two in Heaven. My oldest child and one granddaughter were shot to death. One granddaughter died of an overdose. My brother, Randy, was burned to death in a car accident in 1972.

In 1973, I was electrocuted with 27,000 volts of electricity resulting in third-degree burns over 55% of my body. With hand amputations, breast bone and chest muscles removed and a hole blown in the back of my head, I spent nine months in the hospital, six months to heal, another 3 months for reconstructive surgeries.

Since then, I’ve pastored two churches for 10 years, toured the country as a musician for another 10, trained horses and dogs and operated a family Goat Dairy. I’m the author of two, award-winning books and have recorded five music albums in studios in Chicago, Nashville and Cleveland.

Licensed with the Federal Communications Commission for broadcast work, and a retired member of the State Teacher’s Union in Ohio, I now operate my own independent publishing LLC, along with a studio for mixing and mastering audio.

For better or worse, these are my credentials. I know what it is to succeed greatly. I know what is to fail greatly. I know what it is to desperately need a miracle.

Before starting, however, it should be noted that there are some burn and trauma victims who do not experience the miracle of transformation. There are some – especially among those left disabled, disfigured or both – who remain embittered, self-isolating, self-limiting people. Caught in what John Bunyon described as “The Slough of Despond,” their bodies have healed but their mind and spirit never did. They are not whole. In the progression from victim to survivor to miracle, they seem stuck in the middle.

Perhaps, that’s because they imagine the Miracle of Transformation is passive; that they need only lay back, shut their eyes and say, “LAY IT ON ME! Make my life what it was.”

But, for severely burned or physically damaged people, the Miracle of Transformation is not passive. Struggle is essential to the miracle. If you try to help an emerging butterfly by carefully cutting open the chrysalis, it will fall to the forest floor and die. The struggle releases a chemical that enables them to spread their wings, take on their color and delight the world.

As my first of three pieces of evidence, I suggest that, in spite of losses, scars or limitations, transformed people are grateful people. An “attitude of gratitude,” when observers see no reason for it in our lives, is one piece of evidence for a Miracle of Transformation.

If I were called on to create a prioritized list of “Things for Which I am Grateful,” it would have to begin with the following:

• I am grateful that I have ears to hear and eyes to see the instructions. Some people do not.
• I am grateful that my mind can comprehend a “prioritized list.” Many unfortunates cannot.
• I am grateful that I have pencil, paper or keyboard to create a list. Many impoverished do not.
• I am grateful that, in spite of everything, I can hold a pencil. Many cannot.

Lessons learned in the crucible cause transformed people to be grateful for the smallest of things. 

A teen-age girl, known for her beautiful, long hair was diagnosed with cancer and, inevitable to her treatment, her lovely hair began to disappear. Waking one morning to find only 8, long hairs remaining on her head, she looked at herself in the mirror, smiled and said, “I think I’ll weave my hair into two braids, go out and enjoy the day.” And so, she did, grateful for the day.

The next morning, she awoke to discover only 4 hairs. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled and said, “I think I’ll put my hair up into a pony-tail, go out and enjoy the day.” And so, she did, grateful for the day.

The next morning, she awoke to discover only one hair remaining on what had been her glorious crown of youth. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled and said, “I think I’ll just wear my hair down, go out and enjoy the day.” And so, she did, grateful for the day.

In his children’s classic, Winnie the Pooh, author A.A. Milne wrote, “Piglet discovered that even though he had a very small heart, it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude.”

Transformed people are grateful people and their lives provide evidence.

In addition to gratitude, I suggest that the second piece of evidence for a Miracle of Transformation is the presence of hopefulness.  

Twin boys were separated at birth as part of a nurture or nature social experiment. One was raised by extremely wealthy aristocrats and the other by a “hard-scrabble, dirt-poor” farmer and his wife.

The boys were brought together when they turned eight years old. The privileged twin was placed in a large, well-lit room filled with the most extravagant toys from around the world. The impoverished twin was placed in an old barn filled with a 20-foot-deep pile of manure and old bedding from the cattle pens.

When the executors entered the room with the privileged child, they found him sitting in a corner, sullen. “I have better at home and these would all just break, anyway,” he complained.

When they approached the old barn, they heard loud laughter and exuberant yelling. Entering the barn, they saw the other 8-year-old boy on top of the dung and straw heap, excitedly throwing handfuls of barnyard refuse up in the air.

“Why are you so happy?” they asked.

“Mister, I know there’s a pony in here somewhere,” he yelled back.

Sometimes, life offers no other solution than to keep digging through the dung. Adversity either breaks us or it teaches us to be hopeful, rather than fearful, about the irresistible future.

But Hope has one serious, limitation: Hope is dependent upon options. When the surgeon approaches the waiting family with the terrible news, one of the first questions asked is, “What are our options?” When none remain, when hope has broken its final thread, that’s when faith kicks in. Hopefully. Faith holds on when the options are all gone. That is the instant when unimaginable anguish becomes the birthplace of Miracles.

At some point in the lives of many burn survivors someone has said of you, “He’s a miracle. She’s a miracle,” and you’ve proven yourself a unique source of encouragement to discouraged people.

But, if severely burned and physically-broken people are actually “blessed,” – encouraged, uplifted, inspired – by our lives, it’s not because of the horror stories we can recite or the fact that we can identify with their worst pain. If the burning of our lives is a coincidental benefit to anyone it’s because we’ve forgotten about it; because we’ve chosen the high places where the sun is sure to break through and live as though none of the horrors ever happened.

That is the longed-for miracle by those currently “in the burning:” to find themselves in a moment when they suddenly realize they haven’t thought about their pain, terror or sorrow for a long, long time.

That is the miracle. In spite of everything you’ve been through you remain grateful for the day, hopeful for the future and, my third piece of evidence, forgetful of the dark. And the transformation is complete: from victim to survivor to miracle.

When the Monarchs leave their sanctuary; when the survivors stretch their wings by the hundreds of millions – spiraling, darting – the kaleidoscope creates a whisper in the wind. You can hear them. It’s one of those experiences that will leave fingerprints on your soul.

But butterflies know nothing of fingerprints, souls or inspiring broken people. They are just being butterflies. The Monarchs rising from the mountains of Mexico in early Spring do not comprehend why they are there, why they are leaving or where they are going. They are just being butterflies.

They have no memory of a cocoon, the struggle involved to be free or their transformation from survivor to a miracle of nature. They are just being butterflies. They are just living their lives, following the impulses that drive them.

“I think I’ll go out and enjoy the day.” And so, they do.

I can acknowledge that it’s beyond difficult to be optimistic when the skin has been burned from your body; when you need help with the most basic, toiletry issues; when you’re heart-broken every time you accidently see yourself in a mirror. I get it. That’s why, if the Miracle of Transformation had a motto it would have to be, “Making the Best of Things.” Either that or, “What accident?”

Transformed from victim to survivor to miracle; grateful for the day, hopeful for the future and forgetful of the dark. Our kaleidoscope of miracles remains, in process.

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