The awkward little white earbuds struggled to stay more in my ears than out as I walked. And my attention was clinging to them, listening to words from a woman I’ve never met, will probably never know, feeling that she was also more in my head than out.
To be honest, I couldn’t give you any idea of what she said after the first 10 minutes of her 57 minute talk. I held onto the incidental story she told before she even got to her topic, and reran it visually in my head as I walked the trail.
She spoke of sitting in her sunroom with the windows open one morning, enjoying the early coolness. A while later, as she was leaving, she made her way window to window, closing each one as if sacramentally ending her liturgy of morning quiet, and she found that there was a dragonfly caught between one of the windows and the screen. While lovely, displayed in first morning light, the poor creature was in a precarious spot. If the woman raised the window, she would tear the delicate wing. If she closed it, she would completely crush her. So she made the only decision one could - she did nothing, and left the little one to her privacy, and her indefinite pause from flight.
You can’t help but wonder what the dragonfly was doing there. Of all the places to light, how did she get in such a tight spot? What image from inside the sunroom might have drawn her in for a closer look? And where was the rip in the screen, allowing her access to the in-between?
Imagining her quivering slightly, maintaining her dignity and thoughtfulness, I felt a deep sisterhood with her. I was in a season of pause from flight, and felt the pressures from the outside and the inside, and I had forgotten where the rip was that I entered through. I wondered why God allowed me to be so carelessly stuck in such a potentially dangerous place. Why was I where He could not raise, or lower my window without wounding me? Until the fat tear rolled under my chin, I didn’t even know I was weeping. Man, I better just pull myself together here, I’m crying over a bug.
When she came home that afternoon, the woman discovered the dragonfly was gone. It seems that she had a breeze blow over her, familiar enough to remind her she was made to fly. Her wings ached for the sky, and she inevitably found her way out the rip she came in by, and resumed her rightful place on the air.
And I got it. She wasn’t so much in a precarious place, as a safe place to rest, waiting for a familiar breeze to come her way. I felt a little bit of air move over my soul, and that day, I went home and made notes for something I was writing, and then went into my studio to open paint and touch canvas. My wings had been brushed, and I recognized the feeling, and I started to find my way out the rip I came in by.
See the Lord couldn’t simply raise or lower the window, because escape wasn’t the point. Knowing my calling for that season, or being reminded of it again, was.
What tight place are you in? Have you been so concerned with rescue, that you have missed a familiar breeze? Is there a safe in-between where you could sit for a while, and wait? The breeze will come. He will send it, at the right time, on the right day, over the edge of the perfect sunlight. You were made for something, and it looks like something, and it feels like something, and He’ll remind you, if you wait.