I'm pregnant!

Today I looked into the wren’s nest to see what I could see. Nudity! That’s what I saw. No eggshells, no feathers. Naked birds. Huge eyes, ridiculous beaks, and naked bodies. But we know how quickly this innocent fledgling freshness dissipates.
Today I’m thinking about familiar but miraculous things. Miraculously familiar? So familiar that even metaphor is cliché. So miraculous that they deserve fresh metaphor, fresh eyes and heart, fresh poetry to remind us that the miraculous is so familiar that we completely miss it. We’re out looking for a statue to cry, or a face to appear on a potato while right before our eyes, miracles are so abundant that they are familiar. No wonder no one believes. And every miracle a metaphor.
Familiar? Yes. Fresh? If we’ll experience it for what it is.
When I looked into the nest this afternoon, sure that momma would be absent from the 100 degree garage, I wasn’t even thinking about my Peterson reading from this morning. But the more I contemplated those five naked babies all swaddled in pine straw in a plastic orange pumpkin - this feeding trough for greedy, begging, sweet-toothed children - the more I felt the metaphor.
This morning, Peterson was telling me about witnessing the birth of his grandchild. I, too, remember that of every beautiful thing I’ve seen, every beautiful experience, nothing in my life compares to that. And THREE times! Who could ever get used to that? Each time the reality of the miracle touches deeper, each time, the joyful tears flow more readily and soak more deeply, each time the metaphor fresh and new. New life. The creator still creates. There is something infinitely more here than Allison and me, something greater than a zygote.
And I, Rod, so present in metaphor, have worn out tons of them on this very subject. Spring, New Moon, dawn, flowers, eggs, butterflies and Phoenix. Redemption, new life, fresh start. I remembered just a couple days ago talking about Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus. How to get into the kingdom? You’ve got to be born into it. And no one has been born into it – save the first born of all creation. So Jesus, in his seemingly humorous metaphor, causes Nicodemus to ask how a man can go back into his mother’s womb and be born a second time. Jesus says, that’s not what I’m talking about. The wind blows where it will, but you can’t see where it comes from or where it goes, so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit. Born of the Spirit? I can do that? Isn’t that how he was born? That’s more miraculous still.
I wonder if I could do a miracle as well. Or rather, be a miracle. I got Allison pregnant! But I didn't grow the children. Could I become pregnant and give birth to new life? Paul said that he experienced labor pains. Could new life grow in me until it is born and I share it? I think I may be as blessed as Mary, and certainly no less has been asked of me. I’m pondering these things in my heart.