Tiny House
I’ve learned the “momentary-ness” of the bluebird is in itself a message, there will be chances again, encounters with happy bird.
I think of my cousin; she sits on her porch and thinks of life and loss and love and our Lord.
I remember the bluebird resting on her lantern, she told me so.
It meant something to her in that very moment, did me too.
We’d waited to walk until after the rain, the labrador’s paws searching for shallow puddle and hoping for pond.
I remembered the nest I found and I wondered if this is where the sparrow came from, the one who rustled the bushes, startled by my search for tennis ball.
I thought of the sparrow all week, strangely contemplating the words of Jesus.
“Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:31
Because, most days I’m in the middle, more or less assured.
I believe the middle must be me, must be that place of humility that doesn’t look like insecurity.
Days little things flit by like a bluebird. Little truths I must hold fast, must chronicle somehow.
My daughter, my guide, my wise gauge saying “too much, Lisa” or “Let, that go.” when I complained of lack of a thank you for a painting.
Then she countered it with “your angel ministry has impacted so many people…”
She’d never called my art my “ministry”.
Oh.
I’d thought she thought that too much me.
Like blue or red bird unprepared to see, those are words I cherish.
My son encouraging me to “give it time”, this first real commitment to my health, the healthy way. He sees me sweaty.
He sees me trying, won’t let me be weak.
Like mental bullet lists, this momentary really only “secondary” stuff is making me brave.
Making me believe I’m worth more than I believe.
So, we ventured down towards the pond, Colt’s leash taut with the pull of high grass and cool water.
The frogs were singing, the thickness of humidity making their song deep down and hollow.
The lab tilts his head, meanders towards the sound, two, three times, comes from the water then goes again, a lazy dip.
I don’t worry with sticks or retrieving, just let him dip down, then walk my way then go back to cool again, again.
The hill back up feels steeper. Did we choose a different angle back home?
Slowly, we reach the pavement and again, a thought.
So significant, I wondered if others have such thoughts.
Thoughts so true and clear and with no one around, just you and the wide open whatever and wherever that all of sudden,
You utter, “Ohhh.” as your thought becomes voice and makes a sound.
A sound that starts up high like an excited revelation but, then drops to a sauntered fade of realization that says but, what if, not possible or “Oh, well.”
These are the moments, I believe, that
God says, “I know, child. I know.”
I’d seen a tiny truck on the interstate, driving too slow, I passed and glanced over longing to see a handsome frame like my daddy’s; but, not so.
This, I remembered walking Colt back home.
The thought of my father became a sound and it validated my longing.
I touched it, not for long and I could let it go, acceptance again.
It was beautiful in its comfort.
Oh.
Confirmation like feather then, grace resting in His understanding of me.
“I know it’s hard, hard for you to know,
To believe you’re worth more than the sparrow.
Let me show you.
You are. Fear not the voices inside that shout out to turn back from where I’m leading you.
Utter “Oh” but, never “Oh, well.”
Look at the sparrow, Lisa Anne; consider the lily.
Remember the writer, her message last week. “You were MADE for this.”
Remember these truths more,
Your fears, less.
Happy Father’s Day in heaven daddy.
Linking up with The Mom Gene to share my Sunday Thoughts, a new group for me. Happy to find it. 
Lisa Anne Tindal 