I saw it first, feathered out on the hot pavement of the parking lot. It was instinct to put my body between him and it. It never occurred to me that he, a four year old boy, may find a headless bird endlessly fascinating.
It takes a lot of work to keep my little world spinning. I want to keep them safe and happy and well. I want dots to connect and kids to feel secure and bows to be tied up. But sometimes the dots look more like squares, the kids feel insecure for no reason and you can’t even find any string, much less a bow.
When things feel big, I crave small.
And it makes me want to do something radical like pray without ceasing, like breathe in Jesus and breathe out belief. When I do that, I’m pulled into this moment, feet heavy upon only the ground where I stand. Not the hot pavement of tomorrow or the dry earth of yesterday. Just this day, this one. And nothing changes except everything. Because when I do this, God whispers into the depths of my invisible, I am the only big there is. I AM. Like magic tetris blocks, perspective drops into place. I have to choose smallness and when I do, I feel free.