The Gift of a Fox

fox

I live in the middle of Toronto. It’s a lovely neighbourhood but it’s definitely ‘in the city’. Last Sunday morning as I was heading out to walk to church, there was a large fox strolling down my street. I’ve seen fox in the ravines nearby, but never walking down my street like he owned the world!fox in teh city

This past week I’d begun to meditate on the scripture where Jesus says that bird’s have nests and foxes have holes, but he has no place to call home. Hmmm…. Why have I been sent this fox?

This past week my Lenten discipline of purging our home has gone even deeper. I’ve pulled out boxes upon boxes of ‘family treasures’ – the letters, artwork and photos going back several generations. As we continue to consider a move, we’re letting go of things we’ve held on to for years, memorabilia from our parents, grandparents, aunts and cousins as well as our own children.

clutterAs I do the sorting, I’m very aware of the home I have all around me. When we moved in eighteen years ago, many of the cupboards were empty. None of them are empty now. How did all these things creep in? Did they come while I slept?

Maybe they did come while I slept, while I lived on auto-pilot, not aware of what was coming into my home. It feels like some things have crept into my life. Like that fox on the street, I’m looking at them and saying, ‘Just what are you doing here?”. I’m more sure now of who I am and that helps me be more sure of what to keep and what to release. What belongs and what is out of place. What I’ve had long enough and what still brings joy.decluttering

I have loved this home, yet something in me is releasing it too. I have no secure home to move into, so this week I’m holding the thought of being homeless with Jesus. I like knowing. I like knowing where I’ll sleep. I like having a fridge and food close by. Yet I hear in this reflection an invitation to consider homelessness, an experience of spiritual poverty.  To live with less. Travelling Light – Dwelling Deep.

Somewhere that fox I saw last Sunday has a home. Somewhere there is a new home for my husband and me, but in the meantime, I’m to experience releasing, letting go, having less, living with uncertainty and instability. …. Pray for me, for us that we can trust in the slow work of God.

How can I fuss, when my problem is too much, and others have so little and no home at all?

What has been your experience of accumulation and releasing, of being secure or being homeless?

If this is interesting to you, please show support by sharing it with a friend. Let’s broaden the contemplative pathway.

For Lent, I’ll be posting Lenten Reflections through www.contemplativefire.ca. Sign up there to receive them.

Love and prayers

Anne+

Mystic in Motion

Contemplative Fire, Community Leader Canada

 

 

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6 thoughts on “The Gift of a Fox

  1. One of the scariest places for me is not knowing where God is taking me; trying to let go of all my preconceived thoughts of figuring it out.

    I seem to take comfort in thinking I KNOW what He’s doing. But the truth is, I don’t always know.

    I see that fear can grip me at times and I am painfully aware of how little I trust in Jesus. But I see something else…a new place of resting in the unknown, a trust that goes deeper, not so superficial.

    Reading your writing this am reminds me I am not alone in my struggles. It is good to be downright honest at times about where we are as we strengthen one another in our walk.
    Thanks Anne

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    • thank you Bernadette. yes, i could feel the fear this morning as i sat in prayer. it doesn’t grip me or strangle me, but it hovers, lurking around. Oh to TRUST more deeply. Oh, that fear might move out! Maybe part of being human is to carry fear and grow to not being trapped by it. i spoke with someone last week and i could feel waves of fear coming from him. i’m not afraid thinks Anne and then i sit quietly and observe that, i carry fear too. humbling. healthy. human. thanks for walking with me. we walk together.

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    • hmmm the slowness of a sunrise, the crest of the sun at noon, and sinking into darkness… the patient, relentless, trustworthy movement that embraces each of our days…. thank you God.

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