I was just reflecting on how a friend of mine is graduating from high school, soon college-bound to a new city. Of course the typical baby-bird-from-the-nest image comes to mind. But the thing about fledglings is that they don’t leave the nest already knowing how to fly. They simply fall out, completely unprepared. Then they work their way up from the ground, clinging to branches and brush. What a humbling experience—start out by crashing to the ground.
And then I heard the whisper: The Race is my own baby-bird experience. It’s the beginning of my flying lessons. I’ve spent a year preparing, here in my comfortable Sacramento-nest (complete with birdie-parents). And in 68 short days, I’ll be falling. Thump. I’ll hit the ground somewhere in Albania.
And then I get to take flying lessons from the one who created my wings. Feathers will fly, squawking in protest. I’ll come face to face with my biggest struggles: the desire to control, and pride. Yikes. That sounds like a lot of fun. But I’m not going on the Race to have fun. This isn’t a vacation.
Then what is the point? Why am I leaving? I ask myself often.
I’m sowing. Galations chapter 6 reminds me that sowing to my own flesh will mean reaping corruption. But when I sow to the Spirit, so I will reap from the Spirit. I have a hard time wrapping my head around reaping eternal life, or imagining the blessings that will come. But I’d like to try sowing, regardless of the outcome.
I just can’t stay. Serving locally doesn’t stretch me the way I crave. I’m too outgoing, too willing to be uncomfortable, and too restless to stay.
And I need to be in a place of dependence on Him. I want to experience His provision for me. I want to live on His agenda, not mine.
Yea, it means leaving.
And soaring.
