“Bullfrogs and Butterflies, both been born again.” As a kid, I remember listening to my Agapeland records and singing along with this silly little song. The song itself is quite goofy. To this day, I don’t know the verses, but the chorus was catchy. Tadpoles and caterpillars drastically change and are “born again” to become bullfrogs and butterflies. Christians are “born again” when we become believers. Cute, right?
This song meshed together in my brain with the rest of my repertoire of Christian children’s songs. I had them all down. I remember doing elementary school plays of “Psalty the Songbook,” a giant blue hymnal that encouraged kids to do right along with Charity the Churchmouse. Then there was the Music Machine. You drop something in it and a song comes out. Brilliant.
But my all time favorite was Nathaniel the Grublet, a story about honesty. My sister April and I used to love sitting next to the record player with our illustrated storybook flipping through the pictures as we listened to the story and sang along with the songs. Good times. Yes, very good times.
But even Nathaniel the Grublet went through a time when he was alone and scared in the “Direwoods.” And if we are going to be entirely honest, I’m going to bet that bullfrogs and butterflies, while both “born again,” probably don’t always get along every moment of every day. Bullfrogs may even try to eat a butterfly once in a while.
Joey and I found this to be true about the time our junior year of high school came to an end. The church we had grown up in - the one with Mrs. Huber’s Sunday school class, junior high discipleship groups, youth choir and all our amazing “let’s hang out after church” friends - this church... well, it kind of exploded, but not the good kind of explosion. Not at all.
Genuine Jesus-loving born again bullfrogs couldn’t get along with genuine Jesus-loving born again butterflies. Within a one week time period, all three of our great pastors resigned. While Joey and I didn’t exactly know all of the details, we saw and heard enough. Most of our friends left the church. There were times both Joey and I secretly wished our families would pick up and leave too. Things were just too ugly. Not to mention lonely. But at least we still had each other.
Joey’s dad was on a mission trip in Romania during the early part of that summer when the church explosion happened. Aftershocks were felt throughout the summer. Then one day in August, there was a knock on our door. It was Joey’s dad. He’d come to talk to my dad. Joey came with him. Something didn’t seem right.
I sat in the hallway listening to their conversation long enough to hear the news. Joey’s family would be leaving the church also. They were not leaving on bad terms or trying to drag others with them, just moving on. Joey came with his dad to break the news to me because he knew I wouldn’t take this well.
I didn’t.
I ran back into my bathroom, locked the door, sat in the sink and cried my eyes out. Joey waited outside the bathroom door, wishing he could console me. He couldn’t that day. I was positive nothing would ever be the same between us.
