Saturday, October 11, 2014

A bird with a broken wing

As a child, I remember bringing a bird with a broken wing to my mother. With tear filled eyes, I'd gently scooped him up and carried him tenderly inside hoping for the best. As I laid the tiny creature on a soft, folded towel inside an empty shoe box, my mother showed me how to care for it. She reminded me that even though I'd brought this wounded bird inside, that he was still a wild creature at heart. He was not tame and would never be. She reminded me not to expect miracles but it was okay to pray for them. I listened carefully as she told me that God cared about this little animal, afterall, it was one of His creatures. Had He seen it fall from the nest, high in the tree...yes, He had. Did He know I would find it and take it to safety? Indeed, He did. I learned to love the wounded and broken, and to this day, my heart still aches for them.

I find myself feeling wounded and broken lately. It feels as if I'm falling. I am the wounded bird with the broken wing and I wonder, will I ever fly again? I see myself struggling on the cold, hard, ground...flapping around in circles, beating my one good wing as hard and as fast as I can, but going nowhere. I long to be scooped up and carried to safety, laid gently upon a soft place where it's quiet and peaceful so I can heal. Time ticks away, day by day, and I wait. My brokenness is painful. I feel alone and out of place. I wonder, did that little bird feel the same way when I took it from the ground where the air was fresh? Did its little heart beat faster as I carried it inside? Was it terrified as I lowered the top of the box casting it into total darkness?

There in the dark, the little bird rested. It was quiet and calm and peaceful. There was no stress. The broken wing could mend. Daily, I checked on him, offering water and food but without any luck. And then one day, I heard a scratching noise coming from inside the box...movement. Slowly lifting the lid, I saw the bird struggling for freedom, but the time had not come...the wing was still mending.

Many days passed by. I was afraid the little bird would die for lack of food, but he did not. The movement inside the box increased. Soon my mother said it was time to set him free. "But will he fly again?" I said. "We'll have to watch and wait and see," said my mother, and so we did. I carried the box outside, into the front yard, and as I lifted the lid to the box, the bird flew to his freedom. He never looked back in thanks, he just keep moving...soaring overhead as he knew to do. I watched silently from the ground below with a thankful heart.

I am like that little bird in so many ways. Through circumstances beyond my control, I've become broken and bruised...damaged. It is in my nature to want to be whole again, to be healed and well. On Wednesday, I'll finish radiation treatments. My body will need time to recover from the burns. I'll need to rest and let my cells rejuvenate. I'll need a quiet, restful place. It will take time and I must be patient. I long to fly but it's not time just yet. Will I fly again? Will I be okay? I want to think I will. I'm praying for strength to get through this and I know God hears my prayers. I know He wants me to be whole again...He wants to see me restored, but I'll be changed. I won't be the same again...I'll be different.

Does God have a heart for the broken and wounded too? I know He does. He holds them close to His heart and loves them into wholeness. I may not feel like I'll fly again today, but there will come a day when I will fly again...in fact, I'll not only fly; I'll soar. I just have to give myself time.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18