“As I write these words, I am looking at three different arrows lying on top of my desk. They differ from one another because of their function and intended use. Any good archer could readily see the differences at a glance. Yet in other ways they are remarkably similar.
I’m turning one of them in my hand right now. Feeling the heft and balance of its shaft. Looking down its length to the round edges of its blunt head. It’s a target arrow, and a good one. I wouldn’t waste my time with anything less. It has plastic vanes instead of feathers–the kind of arrow you would want for shooting in rainy western Oregon. This second one now…yes, it has a good feel to it too. A hunting arrow. Smooth shaft. Well balanced. A slightly heavier head, and crafted to a literal razor’s edge. It’s a “broadhead.” Plastic-vaned and intended for wet country hunting. The third one is the kind I carry east of the mountains, over on the dry side of the state It’s basically a twin of the second arrow, but it sports neat black and grey feathers instead of plastic vanes.
They’re different, these arrows of mine. Each intended for a different impact. Each designed for a different sort of target. They’re also very similar; each has been fashioned and crafted, molded and balanced. They’re all intended for flight. They’re all intended for a target. They’re all intended for maximum impact on that target.
They’re good arrows. But then again, they’re not much better than the archer who notches them on the bow. They’re not much better than the fullness of his draw. They’re not better than the smoothness of his release. No matter how finely crafted those arrows might be, you couldn’t pull a guy off the street and expect him to let loose with a seventy-pound bow and nail a target with one of them. Accuracy demands a trained, full draw and a disciplined release.
As I write these words, I’m looking at a picture on my desk.
It’s a picture of my three sons–Kent, Blake, and Ryan. They’re different, these sons of mine. Unbelievably different. But they’re also similar.
Each was crafted by the Lord God in the secret place of his mother’s womb. And each was fashioned, balanced, and readied for flight within the four walls of our home.
My three arrows were all designed to leap from the bow and split the air. I enjoy hunting, and I intend to use these arrows–whether on a cedar bale target or on a bull elk stamping on some back-country ridge on a frosty morning. These arrows aren’t for show. They were never intended to stay in the quiver. The quiver is just a vehicle that carries them until they are ready for release. You might say those arrows were made to be released. They were made to play. They were made to pierce a target.
So it is with my three sons. They were never intended to stay bunched in the four walls of their childhood home. Yes, the home is a vehicle to fashion and straighten and true and balance those boys. But when the moment comes…young men–and young women–were made to experience flight.”
When it comes time to release your own children out into the world, rest and be comforted with the knowledge and belief that God’s intended purpose for your offspring can only be fully realized after they have left the rearing grounds of your own home.
Blessings and Encouragement to You……………….