Free Bird Fly

Let creation cry to its Maker

of His glorious works and majestic splendor, knowing

that it exists because He loves.

Let the willow weep its tired song,

as it sways to the rhythm of its winds,

a dance so perfectly perfected. Let praise abound.

Let the waves escape from the water, to quench

the thirsty sands of the shore.   Let the moon

and the tide tug and pull in their daily struggle.

Let the rocks lay, their purpose fulfilled. 

Let the sun set before its faithful rise.  Let the

budded rose bloom.  Let praise abound.

To the blood orange hue of the rising sun, to the

crops that supply, to the crashing rain that sounds

let praise abound.

Let it come from the North, West,

East and South.  Whether breath filled

or lifeless, let praise abound.

Don’t look now

There are wings on your back

Waiting to flutter and flitter and flap

They’re very well hidden

By your deeps fears and shame

They’re weak and about to wither away

It’s obvious that you’ve

Forgotten they’re there

For they’ve been poorly managed, given no care

Or perhaps no one told you

Of the wings on your back

Instead they just mocked, mimicked and laughed

Your wings are enormous

Named Believe and Free

They’re ready to fly you anywhere you would dream

The setting: Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.  Crowded. 

The cast of characters: myself, husband D’Andre, my mom and my dad.

The four of us were walking along, weaving through the sea of bodies at the amusement park on an overcast, Saturday afternoon.  D’Andre and I, while not paying attention, were several paces ahead of my parents, who had stopped to purchase tickets for the rides.  I clearly heard a familiar whistle which prompted an immediate response to turn around.  I had gone too far.  We quickly spotted my parents and walked back toward them. 

As we approached them, I noticed my mom laughing.  She commented with a smile, “just like when you were little.”  I immediately knew she was referring to my dad’s whistle noise and it too made me smile.

There was something inside of me that was able to recognize, despite hundreds of sounds around me, the distinct pitch of my dad’s “call”.  Like an instinct, I knew how to react.

Jesus said, “my sheep know my voice, I know them, and they follow me.”  I don’t always feel that I hear God’s voice as clearly as I heard my dad’s this afternoon.  However, I desire that when I do, my reaction would be the same.  Instant.  Without hesitation.  Ultimately, full of trust.  Trusting that my dad knows when I’ve gone too far, He’s got his eye on me and He’s calling me back.