The Wounded Bird

Last night was one of those poignant moments in my life. I've been praying to let go of a former love and I've been praying to have the hope that I will be alright and be happy again. I thought maybe there was a reason my heart was dwelling on a certain someone even after I thought I had moved on.
Another thing I've been praying for in efforts to get my life on track is someone new in my life. I've been delving into the pools of sinners while looking for love and it has only turned bitter and unsuccessful. I've been praying for someone with thoughts and morals and a love of God. Someone who is not a wolf in sheep's clothing. A Christian man and a gentleman with good, decent intentions, not another sleazy southern boy that wants between my thighs and will put on a lengthy act to do so. I was half convinced that chivalry was dead and that good men were not interested in me. There's still a part of me that thinks good guys are just not interested in a girl who is not ignorant to the ways of the world. But I am good at heart. I don't hurt people. I love God. I love my family and friends. I'm nurturing and kind. I'm congenial and respectful. I know how to behave myself. I wouldn't consider myself a bad person by any means. I just make mistakes. I'm simply a sinner and I stopped caring for a while. I vowed that this would change and I would not return from my mission trip as the same person I was before. For my own sake, I can't let the Spirit die inside of me.
So I might be seeing a prayer answered before my eyes. I don't want to call it too soon or jinx it, but this whole thing seems far too amazing to be some random coincidence. I'm hoping that a holy hand has reached down from heaven to align the stars and align lives. It makes me want to cry in joy at the beauty of this life. In a world so full of sin and evil, there still manages to be moments that shine with His glory. I just can't fathom how well planned we are. God must exist. Whom else could I trust my entire life to?
An analogy came to mind as my thoughts were reeling on Savannah Highway last night. I feel a bit like a wounded bird these days. At one point in my life, I was able to fly. My heart soared above the trees and the wind lifted me off my feet. Life was beautiful and glorious. Then something happened and those wings were no longer able to carry my weight like they used to. Somehow I became wounded and was no longer able to fly. I sincerely doubted if the wings would support me again. But, as with all wounds, time mends them. My injuries deplete a little more, day by day and I feel a little bit stronger. Suddenly, I have hope again. I have hope that I will fly. I have hope that the next time I feel a burst of strength and am ready to take a leap of faith, my wings will support me. And I'll fly again.