Linking up with Ann Voskamp on the theme of “Letting Go” at Walk with Him Wednesdays….

Just yesterday, we watch the little bird bounce through the air. The little creature flies right in front of us, bobbing up and down. His eyes get big, and he laughs, full of seven-year-old wonder.

I stop, watch and marvel at the sight. The bird. The boy. Flight. Miracles. Life.

I choke to think it’s a moment I may have lost, had I not stopped.

I’ve already lost so many, by meaningless, grown-up busyness, by words: “Not right now… Just a minute… Later… Don’t bother me….”

I choke. Hearts break. Including my own.

These little ones bring their little stuff to me, and I have said… it’s not big enough for me.

But that is not what my God does. He has never said to me, “Come back to me tomorrow, dear child. I have bigger stuff on my plate today.”

The planet spins, lives are lost, nations fight, neighbors argue, friends disagree, families crack. Each day is full of the stuff I need Him for. Each painful but glorious day of life.

How many times do I go to Him with my aching heart? I can’t even count it.

How many times do I go to Him full of wonder? Finitely countable.

And I know I can depend on Him to always be there, to incline His ear to me when I cry out, like a mother listening for  her infant’s cry. He does not cast me aside.

In all of my wanderings, lostness, confusion, in the midst of my mess, He lovingly beckons me, saying, “Bring it all to Me, my child, bring it all to Me. Lay it all down. Let it go– right here– see– My hands? Just drop it here. In my lap. I’ve got control of it all. Why are you downcast? Look, I keep a bottle of tears for each one of My own. Here’s yours. I know. I know it all. Just rest your head, here, in my lap.”

Dropping it all into His lap– why is it so hard? Why do I struggle so? I’m continuously discovering new things to let go, things I should have let go, but haven’t. And I’m only fighting against myself.

When will I learn that each part of a broken heart I give to Him is yet another piece for Him to put back together again? Letting it go means I’m letting Him in. Giving it up means I have to trust Him… in the most difficult of ways, of circumstances. I’m holding on… to myself… and who in her right mind holds onto dust, which can fly away? “Lay it here,” He says, “and hold My hands.” And I know that His hands are real, and what I’ve been holding onto– my self–  is not what I need, is not what will rescue me, is not what gives me life, abundant life.


I stop to search for a picture of the little bird. I discover it is most probably a chickadee.

The chickadee’s little voice was the trumpet of spring. The chickadee’s bouncy flight delighted the eyes of a young child, who is just beginning to learn to let go of his mama’s hand and fly… and delighted the eyes of someone else, who is learning to fly to her Father’s arms.