Earlier this evening, I swung in my friend Ana’s hammock, staring at the sky. It was cloudlessly blue and the breeze was strong. And as I looked up into the sky, trying to see God, I noticed a bird perched high on a fir branch. I watched the wind pushing the branch back and forth, and for a moment, I felt fear for the bird — so high, so buffeted, so out of control. And I realized that the bird could come down from that windy, frightening place, but then he would miss out on the view. And what kind of life would that be for a bird?
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