First of all, allow me to apologize for not posting in ages--particularly, every week. Much has happened in the past two weeks, and I really don't know here to start!
Two weeks ago, a pretty intense rain shower passed through our town (and hasn't left yet, by the way). Somehow, it washed out a bird's nest on our porch on the inside at the top of a column (confusing, I know. I don't know what to call it). I had spent the whole day with my roommate shopping-*cough*- supporting local businesses, and when I came back home after she left, I found a baby bird, staring right at me. I thought it was dead. I inched closer to it, and it was still silent. I shooed away our mammoth of a dog, Ginger, and immediately dialed for my Nana. Following her instructions, I took the poor baby bird in a shoe box with soft rags, and waited for my Papa to get home. (He's a lot taller than I am, so he was able to return the baby bird to the remains of his nest without falling off the porch!) While I was alone with Broski the Baby Bird, I really bonded with him. He even sang with me. (Okay, okay. He just "peeped" every now and then.) He was an awkwardly adorable creature, with some fluff, some feathers, and the cutest tiny body I fell in adoration of this precious little bird. But playing "nest" had to come to an end. I obviously can't care for an animal as fragile as a baby bird... When Papa came home, he returned Broski to perch on the column, where one of his birdy brothers were. At the bottom of the column, we noticed feathers, sticks, and the bones of about three younger baby birds. But the entire encounter with Broski triggered a few thoughts of mine...
1. I have two weeks until I move into my dorm at Troy for Rush...which means I'm about to be on my own. I've always thought that I would be ready for this, but quite frankly, I'm not sure! I know I will be, eventually. But I know that for now, I have to play the role of that same little awkward bird. Now that I'm getting "washed out of my nest", what will happen? Will I be strong enough to fly? Or will I have to be helped back into my nest? I truly hope it's not the latter, with no offense to my family. It's just..it seems I've waited so long for this. But am I ready...?
2. Becoming attached to Broski the Baby Bird just happened to remind me of a classic, Breakfast at Tiffany's, when Doc attempted to take Holly Golightly/Lula Mae back home..
But the problem is, I do love every single member of my family. And while my strength is gathering so I can experience life on my own, I will remember every hand that has lifted me when I tried to fly, and my family members who have been so supportive of me every step of the way.
While I'm wondering about life after the jump, praying for no broken wings, I'm keeping the joy I've mentioned I my last post. I know God will deliver me, as long as I take this jump from the nest into a life of my own. I wonder, who will He send to be my much needed helping hands? And whose helping hand will He send me to be?
I wonder, whose helping hand will you be?
With love,
-Your Brown Eyed Gal
6/30/2013
This week was our church's Vacation Bible School. For those who are unfamiliar with this wild adventure, boy, you are missing out. This year, I took a break from rounding up kids, and instead found myself on the other side; that is the other side of the camera lens. This is the second time that I was the makeshift photographer/videographer, but only this year did I realize what a blessing it was.
We take so many things for granted, and one of those main things is the happiness of others--especially young children. I, as a volunteer camp counselor and experienced babysitter, understand how frustrating it can be when a child--or a whole cabin of them, won't calm down at 3 in the morning. Or how four little girls tugging at your shirt, calling dibs on the seat beside you at lunch, can kill your mood until your next cup of coffee.
But we could still learn a lesson from them.
This may not necessarily mean we should be frustrating. In fact, they aren't truly frustrating... we control what we get frustrated over. Yes, a million tiny little voices screaming at you all at once can make you feel like you're about to explode into verbal chunks of "be quiet!", "hush!" or dreadful "shut up!", but what good will it do? Nothing. They will either A.) laugh and get louder...or B.) shrink back in awful terror..then go back to the mini beasts they were just a few minutes before.
Now, whenever I speak to any child, I remember, and mirror that joy, no matter what frustration is knocking on my nerves' door. And guess what? It works so much better... The answer is always obvious, isn't it?
So, I wonder...what could our daily lives be like if we set aside our frustration and lack of coffee, and embrace a child-like
-Your Brown Eyed Gal
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