"How did he get there?"
"I'm sure he jumped over from the neighbor's deck."
I've seen actual flying squirrels, tiny little things that leap with abandon from tree to tree, arms and legs spread wide, extra web-like skin forming a hairy rodent parasail. Last year I saw what must have been hundreds of flying fish during a Caribbean cruise with friends. From the balcony of our cabin, we would watch them gain lift from the wake thrown off by the cruise ship and soar just above the water ten, twenty, thirty feet.
And then there's Rocky.
I switched the food in my backyard birdfeeder to a nut and fruit mix that the bluejays love. They've shown up, along with a chickadee and titmouse. The sparrows prefer the tiny seeds in the front yard feeder. But Sunday I turned from the sink to see an unexpected visitor. I missed seeing him arrive and leave that day. (I was upstairs heading for my camera when he got spooked by my mom and brother standing inches away through the glass, laughing at him, and scampered away.) I caught him the following day and scared him off. Tuesday, we had a battle of the wills--the poor squirrel didn't have a chance; I come from a long line of infamously strong-willed individuals. He hasn't been back since.
OK, so the picture is just so cute I had to post it, but I really have been waiting for a way to connect it with something of higher meaning. And then last night, I was glancing back over some notes I took while reading Luci Shaw's The Crime of Living Cautiously, and saw this one:
"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." - T.S. Eliot
So, may you and I, like my uncautiously leaping squirrel friend, find just how far we can go, relying on the updrafts of God's grace, the sure footing of His truth, and the promised rewards that await us on the other side of Glory.