Ronald Meredith, in his book Hurryin’ Big for Little Reasons, tells of a spring night when a quiet moment was suddenly shattered by the honking of wild geese flying across the moon. He ran outside, breathless with awe. And honestly, who wouldn’t be? There’s something about seeing creatures living in the fullness of who they were made to be.
But here’s the kicker. On the same pond were Meredith’s tame mallards, happily paddling along, paddling… paddling. They heard the wild call they had once known. The honking struck little arrows of instinct deep into their feathered hearts. The urge to soar…the kind of soaring God built into them…flared alive. Their wings twitched. Their necks craned. But… they didn’t take off.
Why not? The corn. The barnyard life. Comfort had won. The thing that could have lifted them into the sky had become a nuisance. Desire without action had become painful because the capacity to act had been sold for comfort.
It’s a little like us, isn’t it? God gives us dreams, instincts, and desires. They are wild calls that echo the way He made us. And sometimes we hear them. We feel that little tug toward something bigger, something freer, something higher. But instead of responding, we settle for what’s safe. We stay in the pond. We nibble the corn. We scroll endlessly, binge another series, or convince ourselves that “later” is soon enough.
The temptation of ease, comfort, and distraction is always seductive. But there’s a cost. It steals our capacity to fly.
So here’s the challenge: When you hear the wild call, whether it’s to step into a purpose, take a risk of faith, forgive someone you’d rather not, or speak truth in love…don’t just admire it from the pond. Don’t let the barnyard win. Flap your wings. Take off. Even if your flight feels clumsy at first. God built you for the sky.
Yours in faith,
Roy
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