For nearly a year I kept the flask-shaped cocoon of an emperor moth. The cocoon is very peculiar
in its construction. A narrow opening is left in the neck of the flask, through which the
transformed insect forces its way. The empty cocoon is as entire as when it was occupied, with
no rupture of the interlacing fibers occurring during exit of the moth. The great disproportion
between the exit diameter and the size of the emerging moth makes one wonder how the exit is
ever accomplished at all; it never is without great labor and difficulty. It is supposed that the
pressure to which the moth’s body is subjected in passing through the narrow opening is a
provision of the Creator for forcing the juices into vessels of the wings, these being less developed
at the time of emergence from the chrysalis than they are in other insects.

I happened to witness the first efforts of my imprisoned moth to escape from its long confinement.
Nearly an entire morning, from time to time, I watched it patiently striving and struggling to get
out. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted.
Acting as though I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, I resolved to give it a
helping hand. With the points of my scissors, I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just
a very little easier. Immediately, and with perfect ease, out came my moth, dragging a shrunken
body and little shriveled wings. But in vain did I watch to see that marvelous progress of
expansion in which the wings silently and swiftly develop before one’s eyes. I longed to see the
exquisite spots and various colors which were all there in miniature assume their proper size. I
desired to see this creature_in truth one of the loveliest of its kind_appear in all its beauty.

But I looked in vain. My false tenderness had proved its ruin. It was never anything but a stunted
abortion, crawling painfully through that brief life which it should have spent flying through the
air on rainbow wings.

I have often recalled the lesson I learned that day. It has helped me to understand what the
Germans call "the hardness of God’s love." I have thought of it often when watching, with pitiful
eyes, those who were struggling with sorrows, suffering, or distress. It has seemed to me that I
was more merciful than God. If left up to me, I would have eagerly cut short the discipline and
given deliverance. Short-sighted fool! How do I know whether one of these pains and groans can
be spared? The far-sighted, perfect love of God, which seeks the perfection of its object, does not
weakly shrink from present transient suffering. Our Father’s love is too true to be weak. Because
He loves His children, He chastens them, that they may be "partakers of His holiness" (Heb.
12:10). As Christ Himself was "made perfect through sufferings" (Heb. 2:10), the sons of God
are trained up to obedience, and must be brought to glory "through much tribulation" (Acts
14:22).

(Shortened from the tract, "The Burden Bearer," available from Moments With The Book, Box
322, Bedford, PA 15522.)