Some mornings, insecurity shakes her from her slumber before the sun hoists itself up into the day.
She sees it out the window: that glowing orb, round with the promise of fresh starts, clean slates and a light to guide the path. The sun bakes the cold right out of the day, and it makes shorter shadows of every living thing as it rises higher, higher still.
Today is a new day, but she stands here in a still-dim room, a quiet corner. She’s afraid she might just blow it.
She remembers what her husband said through the phone. She could hear his combine rumbling over fields in the background when he spoke. He said to keep calm and remember: “You’re not called to figure out the impact of everything you do; you’re only called to be obedient to the call. There’s a difference.”
That farmer — culling a so-small harvest from his drought-stricken fields — said it again, another way, so the truth would burn into the folds of her soul: “God’s job is impact. He’ll decide what grows. So you don’t have to worry about that any more. God’s got it.”
His words float around her all day long, landing right in her heart as the sun begins its descent. Shadows grow long again. And she steps outside the front door to witness another end.
Facing west now, she watches the sunlight skitter away, with its promise to come back soon. A daughter holds a dandelion globe in her hand. And with a single burst of air, she blows it all.
She blows it all, in one exquisite breath.
With one small act, a child propels beauty straight into the sky – and it all drifts and floats and sways on air like angel feathers suspended by invisible strings. Who knows where they will land? The girl has not a care about the landing, but only about the exquisite flight of tiny miracles on air. Her eyes are widened with wonder; she is smitten with the thrill of a singular, glorious moment.
And the mother could see it there: how the greatest joy of an obedient life can happen in those delicate moments when you know you might blow it, but you take that one deep breath anyway.
And you let it all go …
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It Begins With The Leap by Michelle DeRusha
Holding the Story