Parented by God – EAST WILLOW PLACE

One of my favorite short animated films is “Piper”, from Pixar Films. It tells the story of a sandpiper chick urged by its mother to leave its safe warm sandy nest and begin digging for clams with the rest of the flock down by the shore.

At first, the reluctant chick assumes its mother will still feed it. When the mother instead shows the chick to search for clams in the wet sand, the chick looks askance, but hesitatingly tries – without success.

Completely oblivious to its surroundings, the chick suddenly realizes that the rest of the flock have retreated… and by itself, is knocked over by a wave of cold seawater.

Shivering, sodden, scared, the chick huddles back in its nest, when the mother gently encourages it to come out and try again. Its growling belly shows the growing need to find food.

This time, almost incapacitated by fear and dread, the chick cowers higher on the shore – when it meets a little hermit crab stolidly making its way down to the water.

Following, curious but still cautious, the chick watches as the crab spies a wave coming. Instead of running, it simply burrows down to create a safe nook to hide from the sweep of the water. Unable to escape in time from the wave, the chick quickly copies the crab’s methods, digging itself down into the wet sand just as the wave rushes over the pair, engulfing them both.

The chick hunkers underwater, eyes closed tight, trying to survive till the water recedes. Unexpectedly, the crab taps on the sandpiper’s beak. The chick opens its eyes and to the piper’s astonished gaze, the sandy floor under the water is rich with many clams, each having risen to the surface. As the wave washes back out, the clams begin to retreat below the surface again, digging down deeper, hidden once more.

This little underwater glimpse is electrifying to the sandpiper chick – and the change is extraordinary!

Gone is the little cowering, shivering, fearful chick who hides in the safety and warmth of its nest and is fed by someone else. Suddenly, the chick is energized, knowing where to find the largest clams! Running and piping with delight, it even brings an enormous clam to its mother, so large that several other sandpipers join the feast.

The little piper is still soaking wet. It is still being hit by incessant, cold waves. But now the piper is joyful, revitalized, and is no longer hungry. Instead of avoiding the waves, it realizes that they are rich opportunities for nourishment.

I can relate so well to that little sandpiper. I too often long to stay in the safety and comfort of a warm, sunny nest. I am perfectly content to avoid the cold of suffering and challenges – even while I grow hungry.

Yet when God, like a loving mama sandpiper, nudges me out of my comfort zone and I somewhat uncertainly (and often reluctantly) follow Him down to the shore, I still often expect to be completely coddled, expecting warmth, ease, and safety…

Then when frustrations, disappointments, and difficulties smack me down like chilling salt waves, I too want to give up and run far, far away, back to the shelter of the dry nest and comfortably starve.

Yet, God keeps encouraging me to start living as I was meant to be, growing in maturity and wisdom, learning how to find and consume what is most nourishing to my soul – and it’s down by the water’s edge, not up in the barren nest.

Then, in a time of apparent hardship or difficulty, completely certain that I am unable to breathe or survive in the suffocating cold flooding my senses, He also gently helps me to open my eyes in the middle of it… and reveals a feast of strength and plenty that wouldn’t otherwise be accessible to me unless I was there under the water.

In the time of hard there is nourishment. In the experiences of difficulty there is fulfillment, and in the times of loss God provides for your heart. He knows what is best for us, and He knows what we need. In His care, “even the hard pathways overflow with abundance.” (Psalm 65:11, NLT)

In our experiences that knock us over and threaten to overwhelm, if we open our eyes to Him in trust instead of fear, we will discover an entirely new strength – and even though we might still be outwardly wet, cold, bedraggled, and look a little crazy, we will have deep joy and full hearts, with plenty to share for others.

A person who is full refuses honey, but even bitter food tastes sweet to the hungry.
Proverbs 27:7, NLT

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Today my heart feels broken.

A friend I love is facing an agony of loss. In joining her in her grief, my own heart is heavy and sorrowful. There have been many prayers and many, many more tears.

And as I think of this friend in her particular pain, more loved ones come to mind who are grappling with their own unique weight of sorrow, loss, or grief.

Each precious person carries such a heavy load – unable to be measured adequately or fully comprehended except by the bearer. I feel so helpless and unable to lighten their weight, even as I take some of their sorrow to carry in my heart alongside them.

So what do we do to find hope in the dark? How do we find strength when the pain and anguish seem like the only real things and the world spins on, heedless and indifferent? What perspective should we hold to enable us to move forward?

Years ago, I read a strange and beautiful short story which I have never forgotten, and which I share an adapted excerpt from here, in the hope that it will help answer the above question.

As a brief introduction, a young wife has just delivered her first baby, who is unexpectedly stillborn. This is a great loss to both herself and her husband, who had both been eagerly anticipating the birth of their son.

In this scene, the wife has been lying in bed, grieving and weeping over her baby, and thinking a great deal. She then unexpectedly prays the following prayer to God:

“O God, if you will not let me be a mother, I have one refuge: I will go back and be a child: I will be your child more than ever. My mother-heart will find relief in childhood towards its Father.

“For is it not the same nature that makes the true mother and the true child? Is it not the same thought blossoming upward and blossoming downward? So there is God the Father and God the Son.

“You will keep my little son for me. He has gone home to be nurtured for me. And when I grow well, I will be more simple, and truthful, and joyful in your sight.

“And now you are taking away my child, my delight from me. But I think how pleased I should be, if I had a daughter, and she loved me so well that she only smiled when I took her plaything from her.

“Oh! I will not disappoint you – you shall have your joy. Here I am, do with me what you will; I will only smile.”*

This woman’s prayer is no bitter spurt of cynicism or anger.

She is not being weak in her acceptance of her loss, nor does she minimize the pain or depth of it. With courage she chooses an unusual perspective, but one in which she senses the thrum of a Truth far greater than herself:

She knows herself to be a dearly loved little girl who is under the care of a wise and trustworthy Parent, One in Whom she can trust even when she doesn’t understand why she is experiencing loss or pain.

This kind of trust is terrible and terrifying to us who have become adults and enjoy the [seeming] security of independence and self-reliance. But implicitly loving, joyful trust is natural to a young child, especially one who has utter confidence in the kindness and ultimately good purpose of their parent.

When they experience pain or sadness, a little child finds comfort in the shelter of their parent’s arms – even if the pain is not ended or the sadness is not stopped. It is enough to rest there, knowing they are held and loved.

In our grief, in our feelings of lonely sorrow, we can find solace knowing that our Father not only understands, He is able to relate well: “He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.” (Isaiah 53:3, NLT)

Our part then, is to humble ourselves as little children. Choosing to place ourselves, our lives, and even our loved ones under His care, we are called to the courageous place of behaving as a little son or daughter should to their loving Mommy or Daddy. (Matthew 18:1-4)

Without negating any of the anguish we feel, and truthfully acknowledging our loss and sorrow, we can look up at Him through our tears and, with open hands, offer up what was a gift from Him in the first place.

And each step, each breath, each moment afterward, we can walk in our journey through our grief knowing that He is right there holding us up, walking with us, tenderly caring about us and the hurts we carry in our broken hearts.

“ God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NLT

Are you carrying a grief in this season? I would be honored if you share it with me by replying below. I read every response, and I will pray for you.

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*Adapted exerpt from Birth, Dreaming, Death – The Schoolmaster’s Story from The Gray Wolf and Other Stories, by George MacDonald. Emphases mine.

Tag: Parented by God

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