Yesterday a curious thing happened. I heard a thlunk coming from the back of the house. After investigation, I found that a bird kept flying into our upper window in our family room. Eventually I noticed his coloring–a red bird, a cardinal.
Then I noticed something else curious–another cardinal flying nearby, sometimes hovering, while the other pelted the window. Eventually, they flew away together.
This seemed to be an odd curiosity to me until I ran today and spied two cardinals in the park. I remembered this post I wrote about two red birds and marriage.
And then I thought of our marriage and the windows we’ve flown into.
As we recovered from France, I hovered while I watched my husband flying into windows, processing and reprocessing the pain. Eventually he healed, and we flew together.
As I have walked this publishing journey this past year, I’ve flown into windows, places that seemed beckoning, transparent, only to smack my head (and heart) on the invisible pane of my dreams. And Patrick hovered, waited, prayed. And eventually (recently), I stopped banging my head against the window. And we flew together.
I believe there’s a lesson there for all of us, whether we’re married or walking alongside a friend. Every single one of us has times in our lives when we feel we’re going nowhere, or our pursuits hurt. We need a steady friend hovering nearby, waiting for us, beckoning us to fly. And when our friend or spouse experiences the same conundrum, flying into windows, we must hover, wait, and encourage.
When have you flown into windows? When have you hovered and waited to fly with someone after they’ve flown into windows?