Before the Wings: The Prologue to NINE

How Nine Monarch Caterpillars Taught Us That Faith Comes Before Wings

 

By Lisa Loucks-Christenson
Lisa Loucks-Christenson Publishing | Faith & Devotionals
August 10, 2026

Editor’s note: The following is adapted from the prologue of Lisa Loucks-Christenson’s forthcoming documentary and book, NINE: My Mistakes, His Grace. The story remains in progress as nine monarch caterpillars continue their journey toward transformation.

Prologue: I Wasn’t Going to Do This Again

I was not going to do this again.

Last year’s monarch project felt like the perfect ending. After Dolly’s journey, I continued photographing the milkweed plant where she had lived until the plant finally folded into winter’s dance. I collected what remained and placed it in my field journal.

It was more than a milkweed stem. I had pressed some of the leaves and saved the chew marks left behind by the caterpillars. Those damaged leaves became a badge of honor—a reminder that something sacred had lived there and could still be revisited.

Then a new milkweed plant appeared inches from the original.

There were no visible seeds or pods. I could not explain how it had grown in the same place. To me, its arrival felt like a miracle.

Then I saw the first egg.

After that, I saw more.

Over twelve days, more than twenty monarch eggs appeared. I could not prove they all came from one monarch, although I did meet one female. She fluttered above my head in little looping highs and lows over the milkweed plant I had just checked.

Each morning, I searched the plant like a farmer checking chicken eggs. I turned over every leaf, looking for an ivory-colored egg no larger than two millimeters. Some were on the surface of a leaf. Others rested along the stem, on baby leaves, or beneath the foliage.

Sometimes an egg had just hatched.

I would tell myself, I’ll leave the rest for now. But by the next inspection, they were gone—eaten, pecked out, or simply missing. Tiny bite marks remained in the leaves, reminders that something had been there, alive and trying to survive.

The plant grew beside a pool and pond in a high-traffic area visited by turkeys, raccoons, opossums, and woodchucks. There were the usual predators, too. At one point, I wondered whether cannibalism might have played a role when eggs disappeared and one caterpillar appeared larger than expected.

I never found every answer. I found only fragments: an empty place where an egg had been, a damaged leaf, a white spider passing through, and the knowledge that survival in the wild is never guaranteed.

I knew another monarch project would require time and attention. I already had dragonflies, outdoor documentaries, daily fieldwork, photographs, and stories to complete. So I stopped and prayed.

Your decision. Yours. Decide now.

They might not be there in the morning.

I told myself that if the eggs were still there during my end-of-day closeout, I would decide then.

I completed my closeout and signed off:

“I’m Lisa Loucks-Christenson, signing out. And you know me—until the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, I’ll be out here somewhere, photographing, filming, and writing stories I want to share with you.”

But my mind kept returning to the eggs.

Should I tear away only the part of the leaf where they were attached? Should I take the entire leaf? I never expected to bring them inside. Part of me did not want to replace Dolly or believe that another monarch could inspire me in the same way.

The next morning, new eggs had appeared in their place.

I began bringing them inside whenever I could rescue them from spiders, insects, and the elements. Even indoors, not all of them survived. Some collapsed after emerging. Others disappeared from containers so small that I searched every millimeter and still could not find them.

I added another enclosure, then another container around the container.

Each empty enclosure became a test of faith.

Galaxy was the exception to my indoor plan. I initially left Galaxy outside as my “outer orbit” caterpillar because I wanted to document a natural outdoor journey. That experiment lasted two days. Every caterpillar except Galaxy was eaten.

Galaxy came inside on July 11, after the presumed sibling and the egg beside them disappeared. I did not want Galaxy to perish, so I brought them inside to join Venus, Mars, Earth, Jupiter, and the rest of the solar-system-themed group.

The outdoor documentary ended, but another story began.

Nine caterpillars survived.

Galaxy, Noodle, and the others continued growing. Some reached stages where I could find and safely move them more easily. But they remained fragile. One careless movement—a fingernail, a shirt sleeve, a sudden reach—could injure or kill a tiny caterpillar.

The chrysalis is the gold crown.

If a caterpillar reaches that stage, you have helped it accomplish something extraordinary.

Because of my interstitial lung disease, I keep my home cool, and the caterpillars mature slowly. Their journey from egg to chrysalis may take nearly thirty days, followed by another two weeks or more before wings appear.

Allie, my starling, has been trained not to eat my subjects. She watches from nearby and sometimes perches on my shoulder while I photograph them. After her umpteenth bath of the day, she may settle beneath the same light that seems to shine grace on all of us.

The caterpillars do not know what they have changed in me—or perhaps they do.

Now, as Galaxy approaches the chrysalis stage, I remain here. I feed them, water them, protect them, and trust the process.

None of the nine has reached wings yet.

Still, I am claiming victory before I can see the outcome. Not because I know exactly what will happen, but because unseen faith is already in action.

This story became NINE: My Mistakes, His Grace.

How Nine Monarch Caterpillars Taught Us That Faith Comes Before Wings.

The book is the third monarch title in my collection, following TRIO OF MONARCHS and Dolly: The Caterpillar I Knew Inside the Butterfly. A related fourth title, Valentine & Allie: Tending Monarchs, will be a children’s environmental-awareness book through Story Antics® AU and Story Antics™ USA.

For now, this story belongs to the nine.

They are not merely caterpillars. They are teachers of God’s grace and reminders that transformation begins before it becomes visible.

May you find your own wingful of faith. May it carry you through your storms, your waiting, and your unseen seasons—from wherever you are now toward the blue skies ahead.

Fly on, friend.

—Lisa Loucks-Christenson

 

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Author bio

Lisa Loucks-Christenson is an investigative journalist, author, illustrator, documentary filmmaker, and environmental storyteller. Through writing, photography, field documentaries, and personal observation, she explores wildlife, faith, survival, and the fragile connections between people and the natural world.

She is the creator of the monarch collection TRIO OF MONARCHS, Dolly: The Caterpillar I Knew Inside the Butterfly, and NINE: My Mistakes, His Grace. Her related children’s environmental-awareness title, Valentine & Allie: Tending Monarchs, is being developed through Story Antics® AU and Story Antics™ USA.