Trying to avoid the uncomfortable can lead to facing the undeniable.

A recent visit from my niece and her fiancé reminded me of this truth. The activity of the day was biking. Happy to see them enjoy the adventure, I opted for a wooden bench warmed by the sun. Sipping water made the heat more bearable until second thoughts crept in.

Maybe I should have joined my family.

Surely, riding a bike would also mean catching a constant breeze. To take my mind off the sun’s intensity, I chatted with the man sitting next to me. His family, his church and his love of hymns filled his conversation.

I followed his lead. By the time I scrolled through my mental rolodex of songs, a butterfly landed. To my surprise, as I took its picture, it didn’t fly away.

It obviously flew in on assignment to interrupt my impromptu solo. As the butterfly rested on a boulder, his slowly flapping wings took center stage.

The hymn lover said, “He’s probably injured or about to die. He would’ve flown away by now.” He saw the butterfly’s imminent demise. I saw the enduring beauty of purpose.

Mesmerized by the insect’s obvious struggle to get airborne, my mind drew parallels with my struggles with flight.

Not the airline kind.

The destiny kind.

Our purpose is powerful, allowing us to function by God’s design. And yet, it can leave us feeling vulnerable.

God’s providence placed a compassionate perimeter around the persistent creature. Under a force field of grace, the butterfly followed its God-given instinct.

Whether this was some unique phase in its journey or its final effort, the butterfly kept preparing for flight. He knew he was destined to go higher than his current circumstances.

You and I are too.

But when it comes to living out purpose, sometimes life gets harder before we can go higher.

That’s where discomfort and a dilemma comes in. What do we do by instinct when we have to work harder, wait longer or believe God to do what looks impossible?

My answer reveals if my faith collapses or if it carries me to another level of trusting God. I’m not an entomologist, but the butterfly clung to the rock like it was the only source of its strength.

I know that cling.

I need that cling because God’s purpose for us endures whether we’re at the height of an experience or it feels like we’re getting nowhere.

Do not tremble; do not be afraid.
Did I not proclaim my purposes for you long ago? You are my witnesses—is there any other God? No! There is no other Rock—not one!” – Isaiah 44:8 NLT

When we’re hurting or afraid we may seek relief in many places; but there is only one Rock.

His purpose is for us to know Him and make Him known. His love and forgiveness in Christ makes it possible. His grace and mercy makes it beautiful.

Even as the butterfly struggled, his God-given design was fully on display. Multicolored specks brilliantly contrasted against the midnight canvas of his wings.

Because even when days are dark, God’s truth still shines.

Staring at the butterfly, I looked in the mirror of my own metamorphosis. I sensed persistence rising in me. I began to draw strength from the Rock — knowing that harder often comes before higher.

I’m glad the winged wonder completed its assignment.

Instead of speeding down steep hills or straining to get up an incline, I had a different kind of adventure than the bikers. When my family returned, the butterfly was still flapping his wings and clinging to the rock.

I am too.

I’d like to think those wings took him to a higher plane or encouraged the next person who took my seat. However, one thing is for sure: They provided a purposeful lesson in hope for the heart and joy to the soul.