When You are Tired of Worrying

The child at the orphanage, she grabs hold of my Mama’s hand like might she blow away.

Like you could be carried straight away into the unknown.

And she pulls Mama down, right down to the earth, forces Mama to sit and she starts pulling strands of Mama’s chiffon hair out like she’s white cotton candy in the wind.










“Looks like you’ve exploded.” I’m chuckling, kneeling down beside mama and right up against this lovely livewire who is “fixing” Mama’s hair.

“A genteel Albert Einstein with your thumb stuck in a light socket.”

“Why thank you!” Mama half chuckless, nods her head like she’s been crowned.

The girl’s hands are just flying, unplaiting Mama’s white, then twisting these strands with those, and undoing and updoing, and we’re just sitting in the sun on the porch of an orphanage, communicating only with this undoing of locks and I feel free.

How long will I have Mama and are we supposed to live our lives here or up and move there and how do you best pour out your one wild life and couldn’t we make room for just one more child and what if I’ve missed the boat and what if we bury children, mess them up, get sick on them and the dreams all blow away like papery ash and what if my heart gets shattered and what if that is what makes me whole and how do you make your singular life work best?

What if not fearing was the giant secret of really living?

All those hairs on Mama’s head are numbered.


An orphan girl is undoing Mama’s hair in the wind and every single one of those hairs is numbered by a Father who can be counted on. We’re never abandoned. I don’t have to have it all figured out. I don’t have to know where I’m going. I don’t have to know what’s up ahead. My Father numbers my hairs and I can count on Him.

No one knows what the next minute holds — but you let ourselves be moved into it anyways. Because somewhere inside of you, you know Someone holds it.

Because you trust Someone more than you realize. Because having faith in a carrying God is part of your DNA whether you realize it or not.

Mama’s locks lift into the wind, spin free in the wind.

It could be like this: I could go with the wind. I can accept not knowing where I am going because I’m accepted.

Embrace the unknown, because I am embraced.

The days could look like this: I can practice just loving the unknown simply because I am known.

Because only when you are blown to the unknown heights, do you unfurl your wings and begin your flight.

It’s not the knowing where you’re headed that matters — but that you are known and He has your hand. You don’t have to know where you are flying to — only Who you are flying into.

The miracle that matters is the unfurling of wings.

You may not know the way through the storm, but if you just open wide your wings to the wind —- there is always grace enough to carry you Home. What are you afraid of?

The miracle that matters is the unfurling of your wings. 

There is nothing to be afraid of.

Mama’s hair cascades everywhere. The little girl cups Mama’s face in her warm palms. The surest way to find out if you can trust God? Is just trust Him. The freefall of faith is what makes you free.

The child turns toward me and I clap and Mama howls at the ridiculous wonder of it.

I can’t stop watching Mama’s hair blowing wild, and her loveliest, miracle unfolding, unfettered, unafraid.