The Birds, Jesus and I

Ever since I was a child I wanted to be a bird. My adolescent eyes would gaze up at the sky to see their wide open range and feel envious. I had this deep, internal craving for freedom. So elegant and pure and peaceful, the entire world seeming so weightless, like nothing ever serious could really hurt them. 

I used to draw birds. So many, actually, that it was the only thing I knew how to draw well. I would sit out in my back yard with this little book, called “The Rocky Mountain Trail Guide” that had all the different types of birds in it. I would wait for the birds and observe them, trying to look up their species, then I’d draw them. I can still remember my eagerness in my discovery of a new bird sighting, where that little envy in me would sting and I would look up longingly at the sky.  

(Said bird drawings^)

I never truly understood my childhood obsession with birds until I met Jesus. 

Skip ahead a few years to 19 year old Elina at the AIM campus. Some time has passed between the tomboy girl who used to draw birds, to the adult woman who committed the next 9 months of her future to the only thing she really understood, Jesus. Throughout the years I had grown a lot, gone through a lot, the wear and tear of life taking on its’ normal symptoms.

One thing stayed the same between that little girl and my present, eager self: that deep, little but intense desire for freedom. 

Contrary to what I expected, I graduated from my high school years to a season of life with even more rules, boundaries and limitations that I had came from. Covid-19 had posed an interesting battle in my life, it challenged me in the one way that I was not equipped to handle, it challenged my freedom. 

Those three months of my life at the AIM campus presented this trial of constantly running from everything in my life in attempt to grasp this false concept of freedom in my life. 

We had long days in the secluded forest of North Georgia, hand-washing clothing, learning, writing, reading a lot, with abundant amounts of free time and a small proximity of where I could roam. My entire purpose for the past three months was introspection and stillness. This dilemma cornered me in my lifestyle of running and forced me to take a good long, hard look at myself in all its rawness. 

My frustration at my inescapable obsession with freedom found me on a lazy tuesday day at the AIM campus. We had been spending the morning learning about different expectations of community and worshipping, everyone around me seemed so pleased and content in the slowness of life. They thought of our little home as a safe haven, and I thought of it as a cage. They found our abundance of free time a gift to rest while I found the overwhelming free time a curse to allow my anxiety to consume my soul. I was frustrated, frustrated that I couldn’t just be content and not run away, frustrated that my struggle with freedom felt like something that I could never shake, something that was bigger than me, and ultimately, I felt incredibly defeated. 

Anxiety started to seep into my day to day life, I would be reminded of my inability to run freely and my heartbeat would go up rapidly and that lump in my throat would start to grow as the only thoughts that revolved my head was how to run, run as fast as I could. 

I would think of the birds, and I would cry. Why was I like this?

So one day I ran, I ran out into the woods, to the tiny pond at the edge of our property. The harder I ran and the hotter my tears got, I still didn’t feel free. I got to an open space and laid in the field in defeat and disappointment of myself. As I looked up at the light purple, gradient sky I cried out to God. 

…

Man, was I struck that day. When I finally decided to look my maker in the face and cry out to him about my hurt. He met me with grace, he didn’t strike me down for my ignorance nor did he let the silence destroy me. He waited until I was ready, wiped my tears, held my hand and said with divine gentleness, “Child, you are running on a treadmill, look up, you’ve always been free, I’m right here. Rest and dance in your freedom.”

I am almost brought to tears writing this because I am always struck by my ignorance that was then met with his gentleness. As I’m writing this I don’t want to avoid the complexity of these inner battles, however we must realize that our Father makes them incredibly simplistic, because he finished it. 

There is a line of this song that wrecks me every time. It reads, “I still act like an orphan when you call me your child”. 

I think we all act like orphans sometimes. 

Through the love of Jesus, I am eternally set free. The very, deepest desire of my soul is granted, with love. 

Now when I look up at the birds above, sailing carelessly, my heart doesn’t sting with envy but instead I get all warm and fuzzy inside because I am reminded of the perfect peace that Jesus gives me, and I am free.