At His feet

Nineteen.  Skin grew tight–walls closed in.  She stepped up to the edge and fluttered her wings.  Watching from the nest, all I could see was the fall.

I laid it at His feet.

Young love like rushing water.

I laid it at His feet.

A midnight text.  Shattered glass and screeching tires.  Metal peeled and buckled.

I laid it at His feet.  And I waited urgent, but He was only quiet.  Be still and know.

There was an unlikely audition she said she’d never do.  Said she couldn’t.

I laid it at His feet.

He gave me just a glimpse.  A knowing nod.

From up close all you can see is the second hand ticking and it rings in your ears and you close your eyes–tense–because you know what comes next.

But it doesn’t come at all.  Instead there is just the quiet chirp–a sparrow finding her way.  And you step back and fall to your knees in awe–glory–because it’s suddenly so clear you wonder how you might have missed it all along.

Next month I’ll take her to the place she always dreamed of to do the thing she always dreamed about.  And when it’s time for me to go–to leave her behind–she’ll flutter her wings and

I’ll lay it at His feet.