When He Brings Us Out.

“The time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.”  ~Anais Nun

I had some moments last week to actually sit on the couch and I grew wistful at the sight of the branches batting each other in the hot breeze while the lizards tried to hang on, the grass on the sandy soil trying desperately to take root.  A prayer came out of me so clear it must have been caught for quite some time, “Jesus bring me out.”  I am aware that death and rebirth are constant themes in our lives.  There are always parts of me that are somewhere along in the process.  I often cannot name them until I can look back and see the molted skin.  I wish it were not so.

I sat for as long as my children were quiet and even after they were not.  It was one of those times where I marveled at where I was in relation to where I’ve been and where I thought I’d be. Nothing of what I imagined yet strangely enough underneath it all, everything I’d hoped.  I often don’t know how to reconcile the two except to say with relief that my life is not my own.  In those moments I was taken back and  I was a little girl again laying on the golden carpet in my mother’s room, feeling the sun beams lay across my arms while watching butterflies out the window.  “I want to fly like that someday you know Jesus, all free and beautiful,” I breathed. 

I was amazed again that He has not changed. He’s still here.

A little boy with an indian headdress flung himself on my lap, breaking my memory. I was grown again, this mother of three with geography lessons to teach, a diaper to change and dinner to decide upon. Again.  “Mama, our caterpillar is still in his cocoon!  Do you think he died inside?  Will he really turn into a butterfly?” cried Anders.  

 “Just wait; he is not dead.  He’ll come out when he is transformed and feels that the cocoon is too tight.  He will not be able to bear it any longer. Something is happening in there.”  

“He will have to be very brave Mama because he won’t be sure what it is like to be a butterfly. He won’t understand what happened to him, but we will and we’ll be glad he now can fly with beautiful wings.”

I grabbed my little Anders and kissed his boy cheek.  God works his transforming grace in the cramped quarters of our souls and in the rush of our external days. Beauty emerges when He finally brings us out. 

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