“Have a good day!” I told my 13-year-old as she jumped out of the car. I’d already dropped off my other three at elementary school. By 8:00 A.M. I’d had a typical fall morning: breakfast, lunches packed, kids off. Now it was time to go home and tackle chores as usual.
When I walked back in the house the dogs wagged their tails and jumped up on my legs. “I know, I know.” Time to go out. They’d play in the backyard for half an hour and then want to be fed. I’d do a couple loads of laundry. In a heartbeat, it would be time to pick up the kids for an afternoon of snacks, homework and sports. Followed by our nightly routine: dinner, baths and bedtime. Sometimes it seemed like one day blurred into another. Raising a family had felt like an exciting adventure when my husband and I first married, but now life just felt comfortable. Rewarding, but routine.
I glanced over at the cozy desk in my sunroom where I did my writing. I wrote almost every day, in small spurts when I could find the time—little things, like devotionals and the odd short story. Nothing professional. But it was the one thing I did these days that was just for me.
Recently I’d had an idea for a novel, but I couldn’t imagine actually going through with it. There was no room in my schedule for writing anything of significant length. Much less trying to get it published! What an adventure, though, I thought. I hesitated in the doorway, captivated by the idea. One of my favorite authors, Paulo Coelho, asked God for a sign when he was just starting out. A white feather, he decided, would serve as a sign that he should take his writing seriously. When he saw a white feather in a shop window that same afternoon, Coelho went home and immediately got to work.
I looked at the Willow Tree Angel that sat on my desk, and caught a whiff of the dried lavender I kept beside her. Maybe my guardian angel was nudging me to ask God for a sign myself. Why not? A white feather will mean that I should just go for it. There, I’d done it! I’d asked for a sign.
The rest of that day, a Friday, went on as predicted, but I was alert with expectation, waiting for my feather.
“Let’s do something different today,” my husband suggested when we got up Saturday morning. “Like go for a walk in the fall woods.”
“You read my mind,” I told him. Something different was just what I needed. We rounded up the kids and drove to the Haw Creek Park, 85 acres of forest with lots of pretty trails to explore.
As we piled out of the car, I had an inspiration. “We have a special assignment,” I announced. “Keep your eyes peeled for a white feather. I’m hoping God will send me one.” The kids cheered as we set out on our divine treasure hunt.
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The forest was alive with color. Gusty winds coaxed the last leaves from the trees. I reached out and caught a big pointy oak leaf midair. I twirled the stem between my fingers, marveling at the green, golden-yellow and crimson-red masterpiece. It wasn’t a white feather, but I put it in my pocket as a keepsake.
Farther along the trail, eight-year-old Brandon came running up to me. “I found something, Mom!” He put a smooth, round, beige stone in my palm. “It’s kind of white,” he said with a shrug. The other kids pointed out feathery palmetto leaves and golden grasses. Their dad claimed that a clump of wispy weeds waved in the breeze like angel wings.
“That’s cheating, guys,” I said. “Only a white feather will do today.” We all laughed.
Toward the end of our walk we came to a creek and crossed over a wooden bridge. A fluttering movement caught my attention. A blue heron took off from the bank, its magnificent blue feathers sparkling like a jewel in the sunlight.
“Well, I think we’ve seen every color in God’s rainbow today,” I said. “Who needs a white feather.” Besides, hadn’t God already given me a sign? By putting a dream in my heart? I could carve out time to work on a novel. It might be slow-going, but it would be fun.
By the time we got home the sun was setting. I wandered over to my writing desk. Some cobwebs glistened atop the curtains, so I grabbed my orange feather duster to wipe them away. As I cleaned, I saw something flutter to the ground and land near my feet. A white feather! I examined the duster, where no white feathers hid. Then I noticed a dream catcher that had gotten stuck behind the curtains. I’d hung it on the rod ages ago. A sure sign that God wanted me to trust the dreams he’d put in my heart and go for it.
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