In the front courtyard of a vacant home for sale in Fountain Hills, Arizona, a bird has made her nest in a God’s flowing hair.

She, quietly, doesn’t move as I peek through windows into sad, empty rooms where someone used to live.

By the time this house is sold, her eggs will be hatched, her babies will try their wings and fly away to start their own families and build their own nests.

God’s, some believe, write our scripts and they write them with miscues, forgotten lines, improbable entrances and exits, all at the Great Director’s discretion.

I am wondering,filming this family, which script this God is writing for us today?

I would prefer a long boring script, instead of a short intense one, but God’s have a method of their own and I’ll be given what I need instead of what I want.

If I could fly, I’d nest in this God’s gentle locks too.

 

 

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