It’s been a mild winter and cool spring in Virginia, so it seems like the geese in our area took their time departing and returning. Geese in Colorado do not have that luxury. My friend Margo caught the geese as they departed McIntosh Lake in Longmont. All winter and spring I have been contemplating this image. You might expect I am tired of it by now. Instead, my sense of wonder has increased over time. Each of these geese is caught in a different wing position. They are all leaving together in formation, all going to the same place, yet each is not quite the same. As I pondered this image, I thought back to my work over the years. The assignments I cherish most involved teams like these geese. Each of us contributed what we knew best, all working together toward the same goal. We were not in mindless lockstep, all doing the same thing at the same time. Each of our contributions was unique. We respected the expertise of others, precisely because their work was amazing to us. They offered what we could not do, often what we would never be able to do. The result was far greater than the sum of the parts.
Yet there is another similarity to how these geese work together. The geese do not have a set position in the formation. The goose on point is not always the same goose. They take turns leading as one needs a break or perhaps knows a better way. Migrating geese stop at the same places along their journey, just as we chose a place to stop for the night on a long trip. I imagine an older goose taking the lead to find a choice spot for the night, a sheltered and safe place that offers a decent meal and sound sleep. I recall the best leaders invited the experts to take the lead in difficult situations. I particularly recall one general who would walk around the conference room and look each of us in the eye, asking if we were good with the result, asking if we had anything to add.
I have traded conference rooms for a home nestled in a forest. I have gone from being an engineer working on large teams to spending the majority of my time at home alone, praying over the view from my windows, praying over images that stop me in my tracks. Prayer is about this sense of wonder, amazement at the surprising and unexpected ways God finds us. Sometimes there are words, but often words cannot express what our heart pours out in prayer. The most difficult prayers for me involve letting go of what I can do, letting go of my answer, making room for God’s grace and mercy.
Make time today to simply open your eyes and ears to what God places before you .Allow your analytical mind to rest. Let wonder and awe take the point. Let go of whatever overwhelms you to make room for God’s answer. And always remember let go of expectations to make room for hope and faith.
Text by Connie Chintall ©2023, All Rights Reserved
Photo entitled ‘Morning Sunrise at McIntosh Lake’, taken in Longmont, CO by Margot Anthony©2022, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved.
It has been many years since I have lived on the edge. As a young airman working on the flight line in 1978, I was living on the edge in more ways than one. I was one of only two women repairing electronics on fighter aircraft. My pay was so low I couldn’t afford a car. I rode a bicycle to work for over two years. I was taking college courses and working crazy hours because we were on alert from the Iran hostage crisis. That edge wasn’t a cliff or a wall. That edge shifted and snuck up on you, like ocean waves along the shore. So this peaceful photo of my friend Timmy and his son on the beach at Lewes draws me back to times on the edge. Most important of all, it brings me back to other memories of that stage in my life. I recall riding horses in the desert with my friend Rose, the other woman who worked with me. I recall spectacular sunrises over the hills almost every morning. I recall barbequed quail for breakfast after shifts that lasted way too long. It was a time of extremes, a time of strain and struggle, but also a time of intense friendships and great beauty. My military service formed me in ways I still do not fully understand or appreciate. I know the edge when it arrives. I know how to orient myself and push forward when others crumble and fall. Most of all, I know how important it is to take time to walk on the beach and allow the beauty to seep into your soul. Pause to enjoy what life has to offer you here and now, and share that moment of awe and beauty with those you cherish and love. Make a memory that will sustain you the next time you face that edge. Text by Connie Chintall ©2017, photo entitled ‘Boys on the Edge’ of Timothy and Sid Miller by Ingrid Miller©2017, used with her permission, All Rights Reserved.
Seek the Sacred Amidst the Ordinary 