I started out putting down words about chickens.
We have six of them and I’m in love with these babies (though not so much with the smell that accompanies them).
But I find myself wrestling with writing about chickens; though a worthy thing to write on, it seems empty and shallow and like I’m just grasping for words to fill a white void instead.
Mother’s Day, Tony took our four little ones to church and sent me out to a local coffee shop and told me to just be and I took my journal and I put pen to paper and I began to put down words that seemed jumbled and tangled that in the end left a rabbit trail that had an ending that made sense. It felt then that my soul could breathe…it was good.
This space feels the same way.
There are so many things that I want to write on, but I don’t know if I should. We’ve been in ministry now for almost 2 years but now that we are here, immersed in the culture and differences of inner city life, it feels more real. Not that it wasn’t before…but I am trying to find my footing again. So what can I write on, what do I write on? What is allowed and what should just remain in my heart?
I don’t know.
Pigeons line this huge roof above me and I can hear them coo.
There is a lady who walks by our house every day pulling a wagon – she always waves but rarely talks, unless it’s to frighten the children who play in our yard. I can’t help but smile at her way of reaching out, at the mischief that must twinkle in her eyes at she walks by a hiding place and cackles out, Can I play too?, only to have everyone run away yelling.
I get it.
Sometimes we are so desperate to reach out that our reaching out, though brave, comes across as too much.
Talking about chickens seems so much easier.
Two months ago I threw away a 15 year old shame, was bathed in grace and forgiveness and mercy by people who didn’t have to extend it and I’m lost. I don’t know how to move forward in this freedom…
I should have this all together, right?
I want to be brave, but that fear creeps in:
You don’t have a right to walk free. Don’t you see how you are going to stumble?
And my mama-heart…she’s never played in a league, let alone with children who are gifted in the sport. I stand and watch her run the field by herself, dribbling the ball and I can see it. She wants to stretch her wings – those feathers of confidence are coming in and I don’t want to clip them. I don’t want her to see my fear, or my struggle to push her out just a little bit further.
I don’t want to see her hurt…
She begins this Monday.
And she is going to fall,
There is the falling and the struggle to let go. The fear of walking in obedience and letting the Holy Spirit move.
I am going to make mistakes.
Many of them.
There are going to be the impossible places pointed out and the call to walk.
And that will take faith.
Whether it’s letting a fear-filled child stretch her wings and grow stronger,
And God who is holy and glorious, He comes near and in intimate ways and as I sit and watch my 6 new babies, He reminds me that even here He can speak through Fiona’s wing…
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