Monday Motivation: Mourning Dove

Friends

Have you had one of “those“ mornings recently? You know the kind I mean. I am talking about the kind of morning when your mind is racing with anxiety. It’s the kind of morning when you feel quite sure that you could just jump out of your own skin. Well, I had one of “those” mornings the other day, and it turned out to be a story worth sharing.

+++

““Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Matthew 11:28 – NIV

Only a slender slice of golden light marks the horizon. The tree tops in the distance remain cast in shadow. There is a beautiful quiet in the air, no cars on the street to disturb me. There is a rhythm to this quiet, the gentle hum of cicadas providing a steady measure of musical notes, a song of promise, a song of tranquility.

It is quiet. It is peaceful. I am not.

I am rocking, and my mind is racing. My glider is gracefully sliding back-and-forth, but my thoughts are swirling.

I am troubled. I am worried. My mind bounces from one concern to another, flitting back-and-forth, rarely allowing the completion of a single thought. Too many on my care list are struggling. Too many worries pound my mind, like a hammer that will not be stilled.

My to-do list is too long. I am retired. Why is that list always so long?

“Why can’t I stop thinking? Why can’t I just sit in this glider and enjoy the sunrise. Why can’t I let it all go?”

Then I hear it. Then the call comes, soft, quiet, keeping in rhythm with the hum of the early morning.

The sound is so different. It stands out from the other chirps and squawks. It floats on the heavy air, a cooing, a wooing.

The sound reaches my ears, and my mind stops. My lips part, a smile starts. I feel my scrunched shoulders sag in relief, my body letting go of the terrible tension that pricks every nerve ending. The mourning dove calls, and I release my breath to the morning air.

The mourning dove calls, and I respond.

I am a doer. I am a fixer. I think most nurses are. I spent a lifetime solving problems. Give me a list of symptoms, and my mind begins to race through the possible scenarios, accepting and rejecting options, developing an action plan. It’s what i do. It’s how I think.

On those days long ago, when my white nurse’s shoes pounded down the hospital corridors, I was good at solving problems. I had a knack for figuring things out, for finding solutions, for making things better, for healing those in my charge. My plan of care didn’t always work, but I adapted easily and tried another approach.

But the problems on my mind today aren’t so easily fixed. They fall out of the span of my control. I can fret over them, but I don’t have the skills or the power to fix them. I can plan, but all my planning won’t make my worries go away.

Dressed in my whites’, pushing that med cart down the patient hallway, I felt in control. I don’t anymore. I realize now that my sense of control was simply an illusion, perhaps a lie I told myself so I could keep slogging through the endless stream of tasks before me. Now I don’t lie to myself anymore. Now I know I cannot fix it all. I know it, and I don’t like it one bit.

Then the call comes. Then the tender sound reaches my ears. It calls, then pauses, then comes again. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the next coo, waiting to be wooed into that place of rest.

The words come to me, words committed to heart so long ago that I cannot recall just when. “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, NKJV). Those words reach me with such clarity, punctuated by the sweet, peaceful call of the mourning dove. It’s as if that tiny bird has been sent as a messenger, reminding me of the truth that can set me free.

the words linger in my mind, “Come to me.” Jesus is calling me to come, calling me to lay down my burdens, to trust it all to Him. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to fret. Jesus knows every concern on my heart, and He goes before me. He will work it all for good, even when I can’t see how. He has it under control, even when my nerve endings are squealing in panic.

The cooing call floats upon the sticky air, whispering familiar words of grace, “Come to me. I will give you rest.”

The rise and fall of my chest starts to slow and deepen. The churning thoughts in my brain begin to fade as my mind focuses on a different tune. The notes come softly, gliding on the gentle breeze. My ears strain to hear the familiar lyrics, a timeless lullaby, long whispered on the wind. “Rest, I will give you rest. Rest for your weary soul. Relief from your burdens. Come to me, and I will give you rest.”.

The mourning dove calls, and I release a deep sigh of relief.

+++

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

John 14:27 – NIV

PRAYER

O Lord Jesus, Come to me. Come and bring Your rest. Release us from our heavy burdens. Help us place our trust fully and completely in Your loving hands. For Lord, we know that You are good, and Your steadfast love endures forever.

In Your Most Holy and Gracious Name, we pray,

Amen

Blessings,

Anita

-APS 8/14/2023