I once kept a bottle-shaped cocoon of an emperor moth for nearly one year. The cocoon was very strange in ti's construction. The neck of the "bottle" had a narrow opening through which the mature insects forces it way. Therefore the abandoned cocoon is as perfect as one still inhabited, with no tearing of the interwoven fibers having taken place. The great disparity between the size of the opening and the size of the imprisoned insect makes a person wonder how the moth ever exits at all. Of course, it is never accomplished without great labor and difficulty. It is believed the pressureto which the moth's bodyis subjected when passing through such a narrow opening is nature's way of forcing fluid into the wings, since they are less developed at the time of emerging from the cocoon than in other insects. I happened to witness the first efforts of my imprisoned moth to escape from its ling confinement. All morning I watched it patiently striving and struggling to be free. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted. The confining fibers were probably drier and less elastic than if the cocoon had been left all winter in its native habitat, as nature meant it to be. In any case, I thought I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, so I resolved to give it a helping hand. With the point of my scissors, I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just a little easier. Immediately and with perfect ease, my moth crawled out, dragging a huge swollen body and little shriveled wings! I watched in vain to see the marvelous process of expansion in which these wings would silently and swiftly develop before my eyes. As I examined the delicately beautiful spots and markings of various colors that wree all there in miniature, I longed to see them assume their ultimate size. I looked for my moth, one fot he loveliest of its kind, to appear in all its perfect beauty. But I looked in vain. My misplaced tenderness had proved to be its ruin. The moth suffered an aborted life, crawling painfully thorugh its brief existence instead of flying through the air on rainbow wings. I have thought of my moth often, especially when watching with tearful eyes those who were struggling with sorrow, suffering, and distress. My tendency would be to quickly alleviate the discipline and bring deliverance. O shortsighted person that I am! How do I know that one of these pains or groans shoudl be relieved? The farsighted, perfect love that seeks the perfection of its object does not weakly shrink away from present, momentary suffering. Our Father's love is too steadfast to be weak. Because He loves His childrean, He "diciplines us...that we may share in his holiness" (Heb. 12:10). With this glorious purpose in sight, He does not relieve our crying. Made perfect through suffering, as our Elder Brother was, we children of God are disciplined to make us obedient, and brought to glory through much tribulation. from a tract.
Cowan, L.B. Streams in the Desert. Michigan: Zondervan Publishing House. 1925.