Tonight I was scrolling through social media, mindlessly searching for something beautiful or hopeful in the wake of 72 hours of grief. And I found it. A dear friend had posted a picture of a mud swallow’s nest built right up against the eaves of her house with 4 brand new baby birds inside. I was instantly taken back to being 8 years old and having to run from the detached garage and into our house because Mama mud swallow would try and dive bomb us to protect her babies. Babies that were snuggled safely inside a nest of mud and sticks, built lovingly and instinctively just to the right of our front door. “Why?” I asked my heart. “Why did you hold on to that memory?” And the answer was so simple. We always remember the introduction of new life.
If you are anything like me, you are demoralized and angry over violence, polarization of peoples, fear, and hatred. And you are enraged over both what is being done and over the crippling fear that nothing can be done. I had a full on meltdown in my closet today while my husband tried to understand what I was grappling with. And after I had used up all my words I went to the mirror and saw a fury in my eyes that both terrified and excited me. My friends, we don’t get anywhere without passion, and passion doesn’t even come close to the explosion going on within. But my trouble was with the really big question of “what can I do”. What can a tiny, white, suburban, stay-at-home mom do? Until tonight I had no answer.
An emotional run and the image of 4 baby birds in a nest gave me my answer. Because when we are desperate to hear, we will. Create and Love. That’s it. It’s so simple. Oh dear hearts, it’s so simple. We create beauty and truth and life. And we love deeply and purely and well. That’s it. We extend those things to our children and our neighbors and we ask what we can do for others as our creative energy spills over. We serve one another and place value on life that is not just our own. That is going to look different for you as you live it out than it will for me. And thank God for that, because your talents are unique and different from my own. And you have them. Talents, I mean. You have them. Don’t you dare buy in to the lie that you don’t. That’s where I was, hurt and broken just hours earlier, believing the lie that I wasn’t enough and couldn’t do anything about the world’s brokenness. My offering may not be very big, but I will offer it.
Hey, Kelly? Thanks for sharing your birds.