I'm like a small child whose toy was taken away. A toy I was enjoying and no one else should ever have needed or wanted. It was mine. I was appreciative. I wasn't even taking this toy/gift/blessing for granted. I had a good attitude of sharing. I held open hands to God. I was playing well, getting along with others.
What happened? Where did I go wrong? These are the questions we ask God when he takes something from us. We don't get to "blessed be the name of the Lord" right away. If we are real about it we are sometimes gobsmacked and heartbroken with the taking.
Broken and homeless, shattered and lonely...we hobble to a bench in the park. The same lovely, shaded, and green wooded trail that was filled with peace and serenity, grace and victory becomes a place of golden memories and emptiness. It is too glaringly still beautiful. The sky stays blue and cloudless, the flower pots keep blooming vibrant colors, but the sights fill you with dread and anger. How dare the flowers keep on blooming? How can the sky stay blue?
A bird took up residence in the birdhouse on my front porch. Just a little chickadee. Harmless I know, but I have a bird phobia. They flutter, fly at you, and have sharp little beaks. I will literally run from beaks. However, I felt strongly I needed to give this mother bird a place to rest and call home. Instead of moving the birdhouse and messing with her nesting instincts, I left her alone.
I watched her flutter in and out with pieces of string, bits of grass, and whatever else birds use to line their nests. For a couple weeks I wasn't sure she was still living there except for the occasional sightings while watering the gardens around the front of the house. When I heard her babies, newly hatched, making their baby sounds inside the birdhouse I knew I had made the right decision.
In my loss and brokenness, I understood the care of my Father in heaven for a little chickadee. How much more does He care for me? I needed to trust that. I needed to give the bird a home because I understood loss. I understood the heart of a mother protecting and sheltering her young and the care of a Father holding our pain and suffering, giving us a place to call home.
In loss, I learn about trust and worship. No platitudes or pretty words. What I think would fix and heal my broken heart and my losses, I give to Jesus. That leads me to worship Him. Because I cannot trust wholly in Him unless I lean heavily on Him and lift my hands in praise and more trust.