I felt the coolness of the air hitting my face – my hands were cold, but not cold enough that I was uncomfortable yet. I could hear the crunching of the leaves under my feet as I walked, and I looked up to see the changing colors of the trees. The sunshine sneaked its way through the openings, and I couldn’t help but to stop, look up at the light, and close my eyes while I felt the sun warm my face, and my lungs fill with the crisp, fall air.
Fall and winter are my favorite times to walk through the woods with my dog, Jackson.
It’s cold, and quiet – and always a sensory experience.
I can hear the river as it flows – the water is nearly clear, and flowing fast – the rocks are scattered as if to have been placed strategically by a master artist in a piece of art. Then I remember, I believe they have – I thank God for His beauty and continue on.
My walk is peaceful – quiet – only the sounds of nature surround me, and the quick pitter patter of Jackson’s feet, as he runs back to greet me from time to time. I find myself smiling, as I watch him burst through the woods, down the trail, into the water and back again. He looks so joyous, and free and I’m reminded of how beautiful it is when we are doing exactly what God has created us to do.
I continue my walk, and for the first time in years I begin to pray out loud in a real way. Not in a fleeting, anxious, one word, two sentence kind of way – I begin to enter conversation with God in a way that I have not been willing to do in at least two years – with vulnerability, humility, and a sense of desperation.
In my withdrawal, I know that God has been with me the entire time. I start to get a visual, knowing He’s walked behind me when I tried to run away – He’s stayed in sight when I entered dark places, that I knew were not meant for me – He’s walked next to me when I have cried out for comfort, and in that moment on the trail, I imagined that He began to walk in front of me, as I asked Him to guide my way again.
It’s a funny thing – trying to find balance. Times where I set goals, and I would nearly kill myself to reach them. Times where I became passive, waiting for things to happen. Both, on opposing sides of the spectrum. And here I stand, recognizing the process of setting goals, going after them, but also the art of allowing things to unfold, with acceptance that I am limited, and that I still believe in my need for guidance from my creator.
I can’t help but wonder how often I have tried to define something, reducing it down to a label or characterization.
I think of how sometimes, we miss the boat – we decide what an experience or a relationship is supposed to be, when maybe the only thing we should feel confidence in, is that at that appointed time, it had to happen.
Sometimes to teach us.
Sometimes to reveal things.
Sometimes for healing.
Sometimes for growth.
Sometimes, it’s just a necessary step along the way.
As I go through life, I’m convinced that the only thing of any substance is the development of character. Every single experience, encounter, relationship – it’s all about holding the mirror up, giving us the chance to become more of the person who we were meant to be.
It’s all process.
And like the leaves, there are seasons.
Like the river, it continues to move forward.
As I prayed personal, honest truths, posed questions, and asked for answers and guidance, I looked down and saw a bird perfectly intact, laying on the trail.
I stopped, leaned down, and looked closer.
I picked up the twig next to it, and poked lightly, hoping it would get up and hop away. It laid there – still – it’s body soft, revealing that it must have just died.
I squatted over this bird and I wept.
I wept,
And I wept.
In the background of my conscious mind, I thought “this reaction may be a little much.”
Not caring, I allowed myself to weep, and I began stroking the bird’s feathers with the twig softly whispering “Come back. Please come back.”
After several minutes, I pushed the bird off to the side of the trail slowly into the leaves, and I began to pray again.
I resumed my walk, and got curious. I googled “symbolism of finding a dead bird” and this is what I found : “It may actually be a good sign, showing you that an end to turmoil or pain is coming. A dead bird doesn’t necessarily portend physical death, but metaphorical death. This dead bird marks the end to your search and struggle. A new beginning is just around the corner.”
I stopped.
I let that meaning resonate.
C.S Lewis once said, “Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
I thought about where I am in life – the decisions I’ve made this year – the decisions before me – the losses I’ve experienced – the personal insights, and the self-reflection. I thought about how so much has been revealed to me this year, and how even though that’s a gift, it can also be unsettling at times. When we encounter revelation, we then have a responsibility to do something with it.
My encounter with this bird, was not a mistake.
That bird had metaphorical meaning in ways that are so deeply personal to me.
And my response…well, that also held metaphors that are deeply personal to me.
…my need to mourn…
….my desire to hold on….
….my request to “come back”
…the recognition that I didn’t have the power to change what was happening….
…the process of acceptance.
For me, this was the Serenity Prayer come to life.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”
While there were personal takeaway’s, there are also universal takeaway’s.
Be present – pay attention – seek answers – remain open…
In doing so, we connect with something greater than ourselves, whatever that means to the individual. After all, we never know how the universe may just show up in our time of need, speaking to us, guiding us, and directing our paths.
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