Six Geese a Laying

 Six Geese A Laying

New Life Can Come From Empty Places

 “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19 (NLT)

      After a short reprieve of five golden rings we come back to birds.  I have to wonder what the fascination was with birds.  Six geese a-laying isn’t the most glamorous Christmas gift.  To be quite honest I would be disappointed if my true love gave me geese.  Geese are not my favorite creatures.  They can be a little cranky and after living near a pond for three years I can say that they are a terribly messy bird.  This gift does have any sparkle. No melody. No gold.  Just ordinary, everyday birds doing ordinary, everyday work: laying eggs.  And yet, this is one of the most profound symbols in the entire song—especially for a grieving heart.  Because eggs represent new beginnings.  Fragile beginnings.  Hidden beginnings.  Beginnings that form in silence before they ever show signs of life.

      Sometimes the hardest part of grief isn’t what you lost—it’s what now has to begin.   And I stress the term HAS. There is a strange pain in starting something new.  Not because you want it.  Not because you’re ready.  Not because it feels fair.  But because life doesn’t pause.  One of the hardest realities for me was that despite my grief and the desire to come to a screeching halt, I knew that life had to go forward.  I couldn't hit the rewind button and stay in the past, though I was tempted too.  I also could hit the pause button and stay in the present though I was tempted to do that too.  Instead I was left with the voice of the Lord calling out to me to press forward, baby steps if I had to.

      In most stations of life we like things that are new.  We like new clothes, new car, new home, new job, etc.  But grief demands new things too, and they aren't always easy, especially at first.  There are new routines, new rhythms, new identities, new responsibilities, new traditions, and even new questions.  And maybe the most painful part: A “new life” without someone you desperately wanted in your future.  Even the phrase “new beginning” can feel like betrayal—like moving forward means leaving someone behind.  Your heart might even be ready to press forward, but other people will examine your life from the outside and feel like you are moving on, instead of pressing forward.  But in Scripture, a new beginning is never a replacement.  It’s restoration.  It’s redemption.  It’s God bringing life from places that look hopeless.  That's what God does.  He brings life back to the valley of dry bones, He restores the years that the locust have stolen, and He rebuilds in ruination.

      An egg doesn't look very impressive.  It looks small, breakable, and uneventful.  But inside it is everything needed for life.  That’s how God’s healing works.  It rarely starts with fireworks.  It rarely comes in a huge emotional breakthroughs .  It rarely looks like dramatic transformation.  I think many of us that are grieving struggle because we are looking for the big miracle, the quick one.  I call it the 'McMiracle."  We want the fast food miracle right now, not caring about the quality of the miracle.  But God doesn't often work that way.  He doesn't do things based on our whims.  Instead, healing often begins with something small:

• one moment of relief
• one good night of rest
• one unexpected laugh
• one honest prayer
• one meaningful conversation
• one day where the heaviness loosens just a little

      These might not seem like they are very big breakthroughs, but God doesn't always do the big things.  God doesn't have to part every Red Sea to get the glory.  Sometimes God's best miracles are the small daily graces that He provides.  These are not “nothing.”  These are spiritual eggs—signs of God quietly forming newness within you.  Even if you don’t see growth yet, even if you don’t feel different, even if you don’t believe new life is possible, even if you doubt that God will provide something good again.  God is already doing something beneath the surface.

      The geese remind us that life grows in ordinary places—mud, straw, cold ground.  In the same way, God can grow hope in places of:

• exhaustion
• loneliness
• heartbreak
• regret
• confusion
• despair

      There is no place so empty that God cannot bring life from it.  He specializes in gardens growing from graves (John 20:15).  He brings beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3).  He makes the desert bloom (Isaiah 35:1).  If He can bring resurrection from a tomb, He can certainly bring healing from your pain.

      I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that new beginnings mean old love is forgotten.  Healing is not forgetting.  New life is not betrayal.  Peace does not replace love.  God is not asking you to stop missing your loved one.  He is inviting you to live in a way that honors them.  Every small step forward is a tribute to the love you shared.  The life you live moving forward becomes part of their legacy too.  It took me a long time to process that.

      God didn’t say, “Do you understand the new thing I’m doing?”  He said, “Do you perceive it?”  Perceiving is not seeing.  Perceiving is not understanding.  Perceiving is simply sensing that something is stirring… even faintly.  It's hard because we as people want to see what's around the next bend in the road, but instead God sometimes allows us just to see enough to take steps of faith.  Maybe all you can say right now is:  “I don’t feel good. But I don’t feel as bad as I did.”  “I don’t want to move forward. But I also don’t want to stay stuck.”  “I don’t know where God is taking me. But I don’t think He’s gone.”  God is asking you to simply trust, with today's grace, that He is doing something new, even if you can't see it right away.

Reflection Questions

1. What small signs of healing or strength have you noticed lately—however tiny?
2. Where do you feel “empty” right now? How might God begin new life in that place?
3. What new beginning feels the most frightening for you? Why?

Prayer

Father, I confess that new beginnings feel overwhelming and unwanted sometimes. Help me see the small signs of life You are forming in me. Give me patience to wait while You work beneath the surface. Remind me that healing is not forgetting, and new life is not a betrayal of what I’ve lost. Bring beauty from the empty places in my heart, and let me trust You with every fragile step forward. Amen.