Let Go

The fall has brought changes in our home.  These changes have brought challenges.  These challenges have brought learning.  And I am so very thankful for the learning.

But amidst the insights and holy glimpses, certain days have dragged on the ground, picking up pieces of discouragement, self-pity, and confusion along the way.

On one such day, I was driving along feeling oh-so-down, when something on the windshield caught my eye.  I looked down to see a moth clinging for dear life to the glass.  My initial reaction was, "I feel ya, buddy.  I'm right there."

You see, in motion, windshields are quite, um... windy.  And this little creature was trying his darndest  to HOLD ON, only to be swept around the surface of the glass, over and over.  He would be blown to one side, and somehow catch hold for a bit, only to be swept to the other side, time and again.

As I watched this maddening process, I began to tear up.  Never before have I felt so connected to an insect.  I felt his frustration at the strong gusts and persistent changing of the wind; I felt his despair and hopelessness at the relentless battle.

It's you and me, little guy.  

And then, like that, he was blown away.

The fight in him proved insufficient.  Suddenly, I felt that this must be the case for me, too.  Discouragement swept across my heart, like the gales across my windshield.  And I gave in to the self-pity.

But, you see, a little distance gave me perspective.  Later that day, I was reminded of the scene that played out before me.  Suddenly the end of the scene didn't seem so tragic.  Earlier in the day, the gust that finally upended my little friend was the victor, and his fate seemed doomed.  But as the scenario was brought back to mind, I suddenly found clarity.

Perhaps the moth had not been blown away to his doom; perhaps he had finally learned to LET GO.  At once, it occurred to me that finally giving up the battle, stopping the endless struggle for control, and letting go was exactly what he needed to survive.  To fly away.  To thrive.  Perhaps in the letting go, he realized, remembered, that his purpose was to fly, not strive for control.  And that while the wind seemed scary, it would serve a purpose when he finally let go.  It would get him back up in the air, so he could continue on his path.

 In the letting go, he was free.



(I might be taking some liberties with the mental capacities of the moth, or perhaps making assumptions about his revelation, but it serves a purpose in this analogy, so please grant me grace)