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.