Long-Legged Cranes and Turning Seasons

I spotted it, all the way across the yard, standing guard, looking out toward the deeper water. It was a good two feet tall, with grey on its upper body, and legs that reminded me of myself when I was about 10 years old. How did they support the bird's upper body? It stood there with its back to me, tolerating my presence as long as I didn't come too close.

I wanted to see more, so I crept closer, eventually invading the waterbird's personal space. It lifted off the deck of the boathouse, spread out its wings and flew off, perching on another dock, two spaces down the lake. There it took up its position at the edge, again looking out over the water. I was not of interest. Lunch was.

I watched it awhile, struck by the solitariness of its life. How beautiful it looked with the open, grey water as a backdrop. Only its head moved, side to side, as it stood guard. Living in Pennsylvania, where water abounds, we've been blessed to see waterbirds fly over our home, or cross over the highway we're traveling. That odd little crook in the wings confirms it's indeed one of those ancient looking members of the waterbird group. There's something so magnificent about them, in spite of the fact that, really, they're sort of funny looking. We spot them high overhead, but rarely up close.

I gazed at it for awhile, then I hurried off to tell DH, excitedly, that we'll have cranes right in our back yard, if you can call a lake a yard. It struck me that there will be many new wonders where we're moving to, new experiences, exciting and scary and wonderful and funny. I turned around one last time to look at the tall, beautiful, skinny-legged bird, and felt God telling me very distinctly - 'Bev, you get to have these in your backyard, but you're going to have to open up your hand and let go of what's already there now'.

'There now' is our daughter and her family which happens to include a fat-cheeked little two year old. 'There now' is familiarity, a church we've attended for over twelve years, a solid group of friends who call me and invite me to join them, 'there now' is going to the grocery store and almost always running into someone I know by name. A part of me wanted to cry out, "God, I can't choose this over that. Over her, my daughter and her family. I don't want the new that badly." I realized, standing there watching the bird, it's not one over the other, but rather recognizing that our lives are made up of seasons, seasons that come and go. I can't enjoy the beauty of turning leaves each fall if I won't let go of summer's juicy watermelon...

Most older people eventually have arthritis in their hands, making it difficult to clinch a fist. The older we get, the more we're nudged to open our hands and let go, whether it's letting that child climb on the school bus, or move into their college dorm, or walk down that church aisle, or go off to war, or maybe it's letting go of living independently, or the dignity afforded us by taking care of our personal needs. I love how tightly a newborn baby will grab my finger when I place it in the middle of their little fist. They hold on for dear life. Apparently it's going to take me a lifetime to learn to open my hands, turn loose of what's already there, then hold them open, waiting for the next gift He hands me, even when it's a tall, funny-looking, bird with skinny legs.