It was so exciting to see the little
chicks poke their egg tooth through the shell, cracking just a bit at a
time. It was hard work for them and the
process of getting that shell to crack all the way around and then pushing
their bodies out took a huge amount of effort and energy. Sometimes it would get near the end of one of
the eggs cracking open and the little chick inside would seem to be running out
of steam; desperately pulling on our heart strings as we watched it
struggle. But as those of you with
experience in chicken hatching know, in most cases, you will do more harm than
good in assisting a chick to hatch.
Unless you are very experienced and have a complete understanding of
what is actually going on inside that shell on a physiological level, your
decision to “help” will most likely have a disastrous effect.
I think for the last few months,
that same “I-just-want-to-help-you-break-free-of-that-egg-shell” feeling of
the chicken-hatching-process, pretty much sums up what I have been experiencing.
In March, our family stepped out
into a new role with the ZOE Transitional Program. For every one of these young adults in the
program, their journey of leaving ZOE and beginning a new stage of their life,
has reminded me so much of that overwhelming sense of wanting to “do more" - the
same as when I pressed my face up against the side of the incubator and watched
helplessly as those determined, strong, precious chicks fought and struggled
their way out of their shells and into the world.
Sure. Many times we get to offer
advice, we give counsel, we provide help and transport and care and gently redirect
and correct but really… there have also
been a lot of times when, honestly, I’ve just wanted to sit their job interview
for them, follow them to work and sort out their concerns or give up my
spectator’s seat and say, “I’ll take it from here.”
Let me just crack through that last bit of
shell for you and pull you out!
When our daughter was recently in
hospital awaiting surgery for a broken arm, her relentless, uncontrollable
sobbing weakened me to a blubbering mess. Every time they had to find a vein, take
blood, x-ray, move her, touch this, prod that, pull that… my tears started
falling. By the time they wheeled her
away {screaming} to the operating theatre, I was completely beside myself.
Each time, in those first few days,
that I stared into her big blue eyes filled with tears, I would’ve done
anything to take her pain away and have it myself.
“You’re so brave” I kept telling
her, “I just think you’re so brave.”
I love the work ZOE does. Rescuing children, saving them, giving them a
chance at a life they were meant to have. We know that their ‘time’ at ZOE is
just so vital and important to their healing and their growth.
What Dave and I are so privileged
to be a part of is really the tail-end of so many years of hard work and
love and time invested by the parents at ZOE that prepares each child for the
chance to be free, to break out and to see life through new eyes.
Parts of this transition process
are so beautiful. But parts of this transition
process are also awkward and hard. And while
lots of times, we are tempted to say, “You know what, we’ll just do that for
you. We’ll fix that problem. We’ll sort that out,” we know that victory
and growth and ‘life’ is sometimes birthed
through the struggle.
I know that it is through so many
of my own challenges that I have grown stronger and more able to stand firm when
the next difficulty came my way.
All I could do last night, as we
sat around listening to one of the girls as she bravely shared her feelings of
inadequacy and uncertainty, was to remind myself that whilst I cannot break the
egg shell open for her. And I cannot
take away her pain and her insecurities.
I can stand beside her,
cheering her on. I can let her know that
she is precious, valuable, worthy and loved.
And I can keep directing her to the source, where words were written down,
even before she was born, by the One who created her and already knew the
magnificent plan He had for her life.
A few days ago, as I was brushing
my daughter’s hair for her, she said to me, “Mummy. When I was in the hospital, you said
something to me that really helped me. I
just wanted to say thank you”.
Immediately I paused and looked at
her. “Thank you for telling me that I was brave” she said, “I didn’t feel brave
but because you said it, it really helped me.”
Her words struck me.
“Because you said it.”
Yep! I’m going to have to keep
trying hard to speak life and truth to the people that God places in my circle
of influence this week.
Andie!
Special Sunday breakfast buffet at the Transitional Home.
