giovanna

Recently, I found out that my family kept a secret from me.  My son had endured a difficult couple of weeks (praise God all was resolved fairly quickly), and he and my husband did not want to worry me.  Secrets that do not involve a gift or surprise party rarely turn out well.  When the plan fell apart and the secret was revealed, I was not altogether happy.

Their intention was good, no doubt.  I love the men in my life who want to protect me, and I appreciate their desire to spare me what they think is needless worry.  But, by sparing me the worry, they robbed me of one of the most wonderful blessings of being a mom.

Moms worry.  We worry through feverish nights.  We worry about bullies on the playground.  We worry about growth charts and doctor visits and report cards and athletic competitions and class presentations.  And oh, my goodness, we worry about everything that involves a car—from studying for the permit to the driver’s test to the first solo drive to every time our children get behind the wheel or in the passenger seat, no matter their age.  Then there’s college and worry takes on a whole new depth.  We worry when their voices don’t sound just right in a phone conversation.  We worry when their hearts hurt.  Are they happy?  Are they getting enough to eat?  Are they warm at night?  Are they staying out of trouble?  They graduate, and we worry about them getting a good job and then whether they feel satisfaction in the job they do get?  They marry, and because we love the spouse, we have a whole new person to worry about.  Oh, yes.  Moms worry.

But, there is blessing that comes from seeing worry through to its holy conclusion.  In that sweet, most vulnerable of moments, when our hearts are splayed open, there is nothing left in us but to lift our precious babies to our Father, our Abba, their Abba—that moment where we truly know and believe that God loves our babies more than we do (I can’t even wrap my mind around it), that they belong to Him, that He has a plan and that His plan is good . . . no matter what it looks like or even if we understand it this side of heaven.  In that moment, we know the Truth, and the Truth takes our babies in His arms and straight to His heart . . . and all the worry, too. 

And, that’s the blessing—the lifting of the worry, the “handing over” to One so much better equipped, the peace in merely “knowing” and trusting Who we know.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:6-7

She spent hours building her home, putting together just the right combination of lawn clippings, tender twigs and even some runaway pink Easter basket grass. A masterful work of art, the nest precariously rested in the eave of our front porch. I kept tabs on the project from my perch on the stairs in my foyer, a perfect view of the building site through the transom window above my front door—a front row seat, so to speak.

Soon, the dove traded home construction for motherhood. One stormy night, I raced to the stairs to check on my feathered friend. There she stoically sat on her eggs, cloaked in maternal defiance at the roaring thunder and violent lightning. I don’t mess with storms, so I was impressed. I admired her. In between claps of thunder, I meekly opened the front door and told her so—“You are a good mother”—and then slammed the door shut. She didn’t flinch. I was relieved that no one saw me speaking encouragement to a bird. But . . . after all, we were both mothers. I understood.

Before long, eggs hatched, and I watched as wide-open beaks, attached to little fuzzy heads, poked up out of the nest. The feeding frenzy began. I know what it’s like to feed a bottomless pit. The trips to Kroger. The bloated food budget. Most of my day spent in the kitchen. One meal barely eaten, only to hear, “Mom, do we have anything to eat?” It’s what we mothers do, feathered or not. And what a blessing!

Spring definitely sprung, and the nest looked full . . . so full that the babies tentatively ventured to the edge of the nest . . . then stood on the edge. Mama Bird was out of human sight but never far away as she called “Whoo-oo, hoo, hoo, hoo” from the branch of a nearby tree. I have to think that she was preparing them for the world they would soon enter, teaching them all she knew, coaxing them to fly with precision and purpose. Perhaps she felt a bit desperate at the short time she had to spend with them when there was so much they needed to know. I know that feeling.
And then, one day, the nest sat empty.

I felt sad. I’d grown attached. I felt sorry for the Mama Bird—all that attention, care, work, and then her babies just flew away.
And then, my epiphany! The nest was EMPTY! The babies flew away and so did the mama! She didn’t hang around to mourn the empty nest. She spread her wings and took flight.

Funny how God works! He sent me the Bird Family in the spring before my baby flew off to college, and I was working hard to make sure he was prepared for take-off and that he would land safely and joyously on his feet. But, the Mama Bird taught me an excellent lesson. I should not mourn the empty nest for long. I, too, should stretch my feathers, flap my wings, and soar in whatever direction God chose to send the wind.
So here I am, writing a blog!