Friday is folding up, closing tight against a darkening sky.  Because I have kids, I’ve been out all day.  A college appointment (hard to believe), gymnastics instruction, a birthday party.  But now I’m home and it’s a good place to be.

This is our place.  I head down the bend in the road and I see it all right here–the new flower box (love!), the soccer ball in the yard, the chalk art in the driveway.  Several years ago, I groaned at the constant messes until a friend of mine gently reminded me that these were the “signs of life.”

Yes, there’s a lot of life going on here.  And it shows up when I least expect it.  Robins have built a nest in the lilac by the deck–a picture in miniature of what I’m supposed to do.  Build a nest, nurture a family and then teach my little ones how to leave.  (Oh my heart!)

It’s a risky move and a necessary action.  I see the robins perched like sentinels on the post of the swingset.  They watch, they protect, they feed.  But there comes a day when the nest is too small and the launch begins.  Those babies are made for sky.

I sense this season of transition–Lord, grant the risky grace of “release” and grant joy while the nest is still full.