Can Feather's be Used by God?
Have you ever thought about the beauty of a feather? The simplicity of its value, the wonder of its story?
Hang in here with me and let me clarify. :)
My enchantment with feathers began shortly after we moved to Kenya in 2013; its beginnings were a part of my grieving process. When we moved to Kenya I knew, without a shimmer of a doubt, we were doing exactly what God called us to do. Obedience was my goal, and although it was intensely hard, it was exactly right. And so, we “let go of” or “laid down” a lot of things that were dear to us. When we let go of or lay down things (people, places, environments, objects) that are dear to us, there is a sharp loss felt in our hearts.
That type of loss is like a close cousin to the grief felt when someone we love passes away in death. When someone dies, everyone knows grief comes heavily on those closest to the deceased. But when someone moves to another country… willingly… by choice… it is much harder to recognize the grief they are enduring. And it was in the midst of this very private period of grief in my life that God began to comfort me with feathers found lying on the ground.
Pause for a minute and see if you can make the correlation between grief over losing something dear, and a feather lying on the ground.
Far from home and all that was familiar, I found myself still breathing — breathing in the midst of all that was so unfamiliar. The sun rose and set, rains fell and sun dried, people and babies laughed and cried, flowers bloomed and birds flew — but my eyes saw it all differently in this place so far from home. I ached for remembered places and familiar faces. I would close my eyes and let myself imagine driving down familiar roads; every curve, stop sign, building and bridge. It was torturous and comforting all together. I had learned enough to know that grief stunted or ignored simply becomes protracted sorrow and heaviness. When something is authentically “sad” in our hearts, it is very important to face it, sort it, sit with it. Only then are we able to lay it down. God designed us this way. And so, for good or bad, unpleasant as it was, I allowed myself to fully grieve — so that I could fully serve where I was now breathing.
It was in this season I found my first lovely colorful feather laying on the ground. Kenya has so much beauty to see, from the people to the landscapes, laced with acacia trees and wildlife. But no matter all the beauty around me, my heart was looking up for help from the Father and then looking down in sorrow — it is simply astounding how HE comforted me through feathers.
As my eyes and heart ached to see “home”, I would more often than ever “look up”. For in truth, viewing life on the horizontal only reminded me of how far from home I was. So while I loved the people where I was, my heart was grieving still — and so I would “look up”. The sky looked wonderfully familiar. The sky still looked like the sky above the place I could no longer call home. Looking into that sky, I began to notice the flecks of color and sweet birdsongs that would cross my line of vision and invite me into their world. The birds of Kenya are beautiful and brave. Their colors are astounding and their bravery is enchanting. Most everything around a bird in Kenya is dangerous to it. But those little flecks of color flitter and fly and sing, sing, sing. Nothing keeps them from singing. That was my first invitation from God to step out of grief and try and be like them. The birds.
Then came the day I found my first colorful feather laying in the dirt. Like a star in the dark night sky, this yellow feather shined so sweetly in the muram mud surrounding it. I froze as I stared at it. My eyes began to water as I picked it up. I had always been told that birds can too often have disease or parasitic passengers — but in that moment in time… I didn’t care one dither. I picked up the fallen feather and I felt akin to it.
This singular feather had known what it was to fly in the blue sky between Heaven and earth. It had known how it felt to fly “above” all the struggles and troubles of this world. That little feather had flown from flower to limb to mountain and stream in less time than it took me to make my morning cup of coffee… and yet now, it lay, in mud, never to feel wind flow under its wing again.
My grief had an image that could portray it — and the imagery was not black and dark, it was delicate and colorful. So much began to change inside my heart that day.
I knew that my Father in Heaven had found a way to reach out to me and “speak” in the silence of a yellow feather that had lost so much.
Now I know that feathers can not actually think, feel, or speak. But if they could… if a fallen feather could speak… what might it say? Can you put any words to its possible expressions of loss?
How about:
“What happened? How did I get here?”
“Why did I have to fall from flight?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Why does my “life” look so different than all the other feathers still flying on the wing?”
“How can I get back to where I have always been?”
“This place where I’ve landed is sooooo HARD.”
“If I had held on more tightly, I bet I wouldn’t have fallen.”
“This is my fault.”
“Does my bird even remember me?”
“How can I be anything of value now?”
“A feather on the ground is of no value at all.”
In a flood that lasted no longer than 3 seconds, my heart felt my Father gush His understanding over me; His care, His comfort, His heart.
And I felt seen and fully understood, cared for and intimately held. Held by arms that no one could see and nothing could stop. I was soaked through and through with the realization that I was exactly where He wanted me to be and He understood my heart.
And so it began. My eagerness to look up and think of HOME in Heaven, coupled with my eagerness to look down and see treasures lying lost and alone in the dirt of this world. I still look ahead of me and around me, but I am not fed on the horizontal in my soul, this world is so astoundingly temporary and what glitters in it will fade.
Looking up my soul is refocused... and looking down my heart is moved.
So from that day until today, I gather those sweet feathers (the ones that have singularly fallen in mid flight). They remind me each and every time. Life changes, we might be flying one day and landlocked the next. What is hard will pass. What is easy will pass. But who we are can be seen in the Heavenlies, and whose we are is needed, even on the dirt of this earth — our color should not fade, our value has not changed. For we were created by One who sees us and knows us and will use us wherever we land…
Where we are, be it blue skies or muddy dirt is not actually what matters most… Being HIS is what makes all the difference. The feather in the sky loses none of its color if it lays on the ground.
It's this the sweet essence of
“Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in Heaven.”
