Yoking the Wild
is impossible
This morning, I watch light fall on the greening limbs of the maple outside my window. An invisible hand rustles the branches and stirs the grasses beneath. The world is full of mystery and I still fight against the need to understand, to name, to know. No matter how hard I stare into the stuff of life I will never understand why some things happen the way they do. I’m trying to make peace with that.
If my calculations are correct, we will soon have a few more blue jays flying around the back yard. The nestlings in our middle red maple are crowding each other in the nest and their activity is restless. This morning before I sat down to write I took my binoculars out back to check on them. I can see at least two chicks—the head of one, the tail of another— but it’s hard to tell how many are snuggled together in there. All About Birds tells me there could be from 2-7 in a brood. It looks like a tangle of feathers and crests when spy on them. The nest was completed before we left on vacation on May 1st so, depending on when the eggs were laid, these babies will likely fledge some time next week. Though we have always had plentiful blue jays in our yard, I’ve never had the chance to observe a nest so closely and I must admit, it’s made my heart more tender toward these boisterous birds. I have been surprised at how quietly they go about tending their little family. Sibley tells me, “All [jays] are noisy and bold, but can be very inconspicuous when nesting.” I have found this to be true, and especially as I watch my younger neighbors celebrate the high school graduations of their children, it makes my mama heart marvel at the bravery of parenting.
To listen to this post:
Last night I dreamed that a mountain lion was loose in our house and for its own well-being, we tried to return it out-of-doors, free of confinement. But for some reason, I wanted to give it a bath before returning it to its natural habitat. Makes sense, right? One must be made presentable for a homecoming, no? To keep from being torn apart by the cat’s sharp claws, I put it in the washing machine. It emerged like an overgrown kitten, all fluffed out and soft. When we opened the door and let it outside, the animal was confused. It stayed by the door for long moments, unsure.
I have been trying to tame something wild. I’ve been trying to yoke with words a thing that is not mine. To simply name this thing would be enough, but it is not mine to name. I want to know the answers, be assured of a safe and clean outcome.
On Sunday, Jeff mowed the grass and he must have passed too closely to the raised bed where the mama rabbit made her den. I have been impatiently waiting for the kits to grow enough to abandon the nest so I can finally plant my garden. But when Jeff passed by their secret sleeping spot, three little rabbits sprang out of their leafy hideaway and scrambled out into the yard. They were sooo tiny. I watched from the window as two of them hopped along the roots of the lilac bush and I worried for their safety. They seemed so joyous, feeling their legs for the first time, bouncing about like little springs released from a tight coiling. We decided to clean out the remains of the nest before mama had another brood (you know what they say about rabbits). But when I gently swept up the compressed leaves and soft fur lining the bowl of the den, one tiny rabbit was still there. I quickly covered him back up and retreated, watching from the window, fretting about the whole big mess of the matter.
Why did one little one stay behind when three others sprang free, feeling the new strength of their legs and relishing sunlight spilling down through leaves? We may never know why one child bounces with the resilience of a trampoline and another holds back, cautious, tender, bruised by sunlight. Our job is to love them where they are.
Jesus tells Nicodemus, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”
All of my life I have been content to let the wind blow me where it will, to trust in God and the Spirit to guide with invisible hands. Am I brave enough to believe the Wind that cups the ones I love will carry them to happy places too? When I cannot see where we are going, will I trust? Even when the gale blusters and turns us topsy-turvy, steering away from the course I had planned? When it roars like a lion and threatens to leave its sharp marks all over us?
When life hands me sorrows and I do not understand why … I am reminded that the Hebrew word for know often used in the Old Testament is the word yada‘. It’s the word used in Genesis 4 to describe how Adam knew Eve when Cain was conceived. But it is also the word used in Psalm 139, “Oh, Lord, you have searched me, and have known me ... Search me, oh, God, and know my heart: try me and know my thoughts.”
Yada‘ refers to a deeper kind of knowing that goes far beyond the factual, far beyond the physical. It’s an experiential knowing, knowing in the heart. I may never know the why of things, but I must believe there is One who does.
Even though I don’t know the answers to all the journeys the people I love will go through in this life, I know in my heart that God holds them. So I am gently letting go of the yoke, opening the door to the wild creature and letting it step into the destiny that awaits.
*this post contains affiliate links, which, when you use them is another small way to support my writing.
That was quite the dream, Laura. I think you interpreting it as "letting go of the yoke, opening to the door to the wild creature" in you - being willing to take risks you couldn't take when younger - is a good reading.