Excerpt from a guest post I wrote for KindredMom.com.
Golden light hung over the country fields around me on a glorious Sunday evening. My tennis shoes hit the pavement in tempo with the music dancing through my earbuds. This mama hen had flown the coop for a few quiet moments away from her chicks. I needed some space to think and breathe and settle my frayed edges.
As I inhaled the fresh, country air, my eyes skittered across all the pretty scenery around me. A couple of farms off in the distance. Rows of corn and soybeans stretching in all directions around me. A few stands of friendly-looking trees. Suddenly, my eyes stopped and took a second glance: There, in the middle of the soybean field—a lone corn stalk pushing its way toward the sky.
How did that get there? I wondered, looking at the lonely plant standing awkward and gangly amidst the perfect rows of soybeans. Maybe some seed leftover from last year’s plantings? Or maybe the wind blew corn seeds over from neighboring fields during spring planting?
I had no answers to satisfy my curiosity, so I shrugged and kept walking toward the old, red barn that would mark my turn-around point. The image of the corn stalk wouldn’t leave my mind, though. A part of me wanted to walk right into that field and sit down beside it, because in that lonely plant—so different from everything around it—my heart recognized a piece of myself.
I know how it feels to stand amidst the rows and wonder why I can’t quite seem to fit in.
To read the full post I wrote for Kindred Mom, click here.