In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.

They sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).

Almost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.

And this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard.

<strong>Long-Distance Love</strong>

Absolutely helpless to stop
the coming catastrophe
I can’t alter one iota
or offer any solace
that makes any sense
to the life of one I love
going down without a trace.

I can see his face
in the long-distance line,
hear the terror from entrapment,
all escape routes closed.

I knew this was coming
before it even began –
a risk he had to make
in adult-sized plans
with gambler’s odds against him
that I had to let happen
so he could learn that life isn’t fair,
especially for the foolish,
but failure isn’t final,
though it feels that way.

I have to let him sink without rescue
and let his hopes die,
trusting God to take care of him
when I can’t.