“Go, stand in the temple courts,” he said, “and tell the people the full message of this new life.” Acts 5:20
Friday afternoon Ellie and Harper caught a small frog in the backyard.
He had made his way onto the trampoline which I found completely hilarious–our little baby frog who needed help jumping that day. He was born to jump, but on Friday he needed a little extra push.
That evening we went out to dinner then spent an hour at a local park. The girls chased each other, getting sweaty and dirty in the unseasonably warm May heat. We followed a mama duck and her eight little ducklings around the creek. Chris and I people watched.
It was a good, quiet evening.
When we got home, I told Ellie she couldn’t keep the frog in the container overnight. He needed to be set free.
This destroyed her. My tender-hearted, animal-loving, nine-year-old daughter wants every animal she meets as a pet. She begs for birds, turtles, fish, kitties, and snakes in her room. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up. She would sleep in a bed of animals if it were possible.
But we had to let the frog go. The small food container with a few jagged holes poked in the top was not the best living environment for him, and I explained there was a good chance he’d die if we kept him overnight.
Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.
Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.
Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.
She finally let the frog go. She used my phone to take pictures of him as he hopped away. She made a shaky, unfocused video with quiet sobbing and sniffles in the background.
We said goodbye to the frog.
She cried herself to sleep Friday night.
I can’t stop thinking about that frog. I can’t stop thinking about the home she wanted to force him to live in. I can’t stop thinking about the life that would have killed him.
And I can’t stop thinking about all of us who are doing the exact same thing: living in small containers with a few hastily-cut holes for breathing. How so many people I love choose to live in ways they weren’t intended, not even realizing it is killing them. Not even realizing they will soon die from the space they’ve chosen to reside in.
I can recall with vivid clarity the times I have been living a small-food-container life slowly dying from lack of fresh air and room to move while completely unaware of how much control I really had to get myself out.
I can recall with crystal clear memory the moments I felt like I was suffocating when, in hindsight, all I had to do was take the lid off the tiny life I was choosing to find freedom and deep, deep breaths.
You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust.
You were born with ideals and dreams.
You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly.
-Rumi
Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.
How many of us are not going to live long because we were not made to live like this? With stress and worry and anxiety. With conflict and anger and resentment. With uncertainty and chaos and hostility.
Take the lid off, friends. There is fresh air and new life for you and me. For all of us.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17
I don’t pretend to know about the fresh air because I read it in a book. I don’t pretend to know about the freedom to move because someone told me. I don’t pretend to know about the wideness of life from a family tradition passed down that I blindly follow.
I know about fresh air and freedom and breathing, because I was once stuck in the food container and someone took the lid off. I know about the wide open spaces and room to move, because I lived for a very long time stuck in a plastic bowl and then one day, it went away and I stretched my body out in a way I had never, ever done before.
I know about Jesus and redemption and life-giving breath not because it makes perfect sense and I don’t have questions. I know because I experienced every single promise and comfort and peace and love He said was available to me–and you–even when I wasn’t sure how it would happen.
“Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.” Isaiah 58: 8-9
Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.
I was dying. Chris was dying. Our family was dying.
Taking that lid off–it was the most painful experience of my life. I fought the lid. I fought being removed from the small life container. I fought everyone and everything.
Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.
“They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him…For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.” Lamentations 3: 23-26, 31-33
We are living in small containers with a few hastily-cut holes for breathing. We are choosing to live in ways we weren’t intended, not even realizing it is killing us. Not even realizing we will soon die from the space we’ve chosen to reside in.
On Friday afternoon a small frog climbed onto our trampoline for a little help jumping. What a silly little frog–unaware of how much beauty his tiny legs would have let him enjoy if he would have just paid attention.
Jump, friends. Jump all in.
“Go, stand in the temple courts,” he said, “and tell the people the full message of this new life.” Acts 5:20
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Thank you for this beautiful encouragement!
Hannah Beth, thank you!!