Thursday, January 6, 2011
I'm Like a Bird...
This past month has been a whirlwind of chaos in every way possible. From holidays to havens, I've been in and out of chaos-driven surroundings for over 30 days now. So now it's time to rest and abstractly blog about the things I could not imagine processing... or something like that. Here's the artistic rendition of my past month in thought-light format.
I've always claimed if I were to be a bird, I would most certainly be the hummingbird. Why, you ask? I'll explain. A hummingbird is not a caged bird, rather, it is a type of animal that is free to roam and yet still is much obliged to stop and share it's song with the beautiful passerby. It is not a selfish bird, yet it is independent and free; a bird who loves to spend it's time being an artist amidst the flowers and clouds.
This past month has been a windy one, and the gusts make it hard to travel in a single direction because it feels as though the wind is always changing it's course of action. How I long for a single east or west pattern, a direction that flows with longevity. Whenever my wings feel they have adjusted to the direction, the winds change... it is time for a new season, a new person, a new mark, a new scar. A new something. Consistency is not in the earth's vocabulary sometimes I guess.
I am a free bird--independent, and yet so dependent on my surroundings. I am a free-bird, and yet I am continually held back by the force of those things which I need to fly at full-capacity. I am a free-bird, certified adult with her fully-formed wings, yet I am still learning, still loving, still trying, and still suffering growing pains in the muscular area of my passionate pleas and longings.
I am a free bird, flying alongside my Savior and learning how to let Him take the lead so we can take flight with the least amount of resistance. The changing winds have never felt exciting until this bird was humming her song in any direction that would take her. I don't mind stopping at the feeding area long enough to let the passerby hear my song; perhaps he shall be encouraged at the blatant and yet sly display of artistry held in the passionate vocal chords of freedom in captivity.
Perhaps the changing winds are conducive to the growth I long for in the area of my heart's desire for longevity. Yes, perhaps.
Posted by Rachel Storment at 11:53 PM