Bravely the little bird clung there out in the storm;
torn by each blast that was flung there,
chirped to keep himself warm;
ruffled his feathers and clung there,
till frozen and stiff it hung there,
spring came and still it swung there,
all that was left of the storm.
by Ruth Graham Bell's Collected Poems
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I do not like this poem because it is so sad. It is not a pretty picture. On a normal day I would turn the page in search of a happier place but today it is exactly the words I needed to hear.
I am that bird. I clung to my little perch. I chirped. I ruffled my feathers. That storm did not care. It took me out. It does not matter if the storm was wrong or petty. It does not matter if the storm is full of it's own power. It does not matter if the storm is controlling. It does not matter if the storm is all-consuming. I am little. Storm is big. Blasted, frozen, dead stiff are all consequences for thinking this was a silly little matter.
To ultimately honor my Heavenly Father I must honor and obey my boss no matter even if she says not to sneeze. If I cannot honor her in the littlest of matters, how can I honor her in the big matters. How can God give me a job that I would love much better if I cannot do my currant mundane job with God-given JoY. {sign}
I still do not like this poem but I will carry it in my heart as I go back to work tomorrow a bit more wiser, a bit more quiet, a bit more focused on my Heavenly Father. Spring is to be full of new life not death. I need to make it to Spring. I choose life not death.....
I must be the bird under His Wing not the frozen bird in a winter storm.
I must be the bird under His Wing not the frozen bird in a winter storm.
