The other day, I watched crumbs of seed fall from the feeder and even though I saw no bird from my viewpoint, this spray of leftovers told me one feathered creature ate its fill. I nodded, knowing if I looked below a scattering of hulls would litter the ground.
The next morning, I stood at my picture window and smiled at the beauty of snow birds eating from the feeder. Suddenly, a flit of wings and a deep brown sparrow crept along the ground toward the feeder where it hung up high. But the sparrow didn't fly, even after the snow bird left. What it did was to eat the flakes that fell from the others' beaks.
Spiritually speaking, that sparrow is me.
Even before 2010 begins, I want to meet the Lord with whatever challenge he gives. No matter how difficult, I need to learn to count it all joy to suffer shame for his name (The Acts 5: 41b). For I am no longer satisfied to eat the leftovers of fear and dismay. I can fight off the flashbacks of our son's suicide with the spiritual armor God provides.
It's so simple how God can use snow birds and sparrows to bring me to this place.
There is something to a new year, as a new beginning. I'm "letting go" of things that hinder what God has planned for my life. I am even letting go of Joshua. Not the beautiful memories or the joy of having known him, but the wasted years. For how can a writer share their triumphs along with the sorrows, if too often all they remember is harsh and cruel and no hope.
If you've read my past posts, you'll remember the box that holds Joshua's journals. It still sits next to my writing desk, but I can imagine lifting off the lid and beginning the task of reading his words.
Now, I believe I can write Joshua's story with freedom. But, don't think for a moment I can one hundred percent of the time write it without tears (I say this to myself, not you). As time continues on, I will march and try my best to show what great things God has done.
Until next time . . .
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