I’m not sure what draws a hummingbird into a big red building. Maybe it’s the color of the tin or some brilliant sparkle inside. Maybe it’s by accident or because it didn’t see it coming. Or maybe… providence?
However the bird ended up there I don’t know, but it did. And this tiniest of creatures had my husband climbing higher, net in hand, trying to free it from the shop prison. I watched from below as it darted and danced, flying this way and that, constantly bumping into the ceiling.
It didn’t get it, the danger of remaining in a place with no food or water where the temperature climbs in the hot afternoon sun. Tiny wings beating so fast you can hear the hum. Bang, bang, banging it’s head on the white insulation. Trying with all its might to stay away from the net.
There are areas of my life I’m much like him. Finding myself in a place that leaves me banging my head against the ceiling. It makes sense to fly away from the thing attempting to save me. Because when all that is in you screams get out, staying under the pressure, surrendering to the net just doesn’t feel right.
My human nature yearns to be free from the things causing pain or stress. I’m a fix it girl. Aren’t problems for fixing? So I too dart and dash, flying with all my might to obtain the freedom I desperately desire. Surely I have the strength or intelligence to make it right. I mean God gave me a brain for a reason. He expects me to use it, doesn’t He?
I keep flying. I keep banging my head.
My husband finally netted the little bird. As I gently untangled it from the net, it sat heaving, wings still, needle of a beak propped on my finger. I worried the struggle was too much as I walked into the open field. I watched and waited hoping all was not lost.
“He’s exhausted,” my husband said. “Give it a minute, let it rest, you’ll see.”
We stood together there in the grass. Me holding the beautiful creature as it rested and regrouped. In a moment, as quick as a wink, off he flew.
I’ve had moments like this. When my way and struggle are only giving me a sore head and complete exhaustion. Doesn’t God get tired of my crazy? Isn’t He ready to throw in the towel? These words are my biggest enemy, and hold no truth. They’re a remnant of the place I used to live, the Land of Not Enough.
We stand, the Father and I, in the green field. I give up the struggle. Heaving, heart pounding, weary. Unfolding enough is complete surrender to the net of God’s timing, His will and way. Will I ever get this right? When will I give up the struggle and rest in the work He’s doing in me?
The Spirit’s gentle wind whispers my husband’s words.
Give it a minute.
Let it rest.
Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,
Nor have entered into the heart of man
The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.–1Cor 2:9