A mother bird sits high in a tree. She’s gathered all she needs to make her nest warm and safe. She incubates her eggs, watching and keeping them warm. Some eggs hatch, while others don’t survive. Head down, she continues to love, protect, and provide for her chicks, helping them grow.

I wonder if sometimes she sits in her nest and looks out at the view, thinking of all she’s been through to get here — to this nest she built, with these little ones who need her everything.

Remembering when she used to fly.

She used to fly whenever she wanted, soaring to new heights, exploring the world, dreaming and imagining without the constant squawk of hungry beaks to fill. Yet just as her mind starts to wander, another squawk calls her back to the present, and she returns to the endless tasks of caring for her nest.

God showed me this mother bird in her nest — head down, focused on the busy work right in front of her. That’s how I’ve felt for the past couple of years. Life has been full, intense, and sometimes just about survival. My capacity has been small, and my ability to look up and take on more has felt incredibly limited.

Yet now, I’m starting to look out.

I’m thankful for the nest and these beautiful children I am raising. They certainly squawk to have their beaks filled! But I’m beginning to feel like I can breathe again, like I can take a moment to lift my head and remember there’s a whole world outside this nest — a world I might be ready to step into once more.

It’s exciting to look out, to remember all I’ve done before. The other day, I caught myself thinking, “I’ve always just fallen into jobs.” But almost immediately, I felt a check in my spirit — a reminder that I haven’t simply fallen into roles. I’ve been very intentionally led by God into places I never would have chosen or even imagined for myself.

I certainly wasn’t a little girl dreaming, “One day, I’ll work inside prisons.” Yet, for six years, I loved that work and all I learned through it. I always said I’d never work for a church, having grown up seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly of ministry life. But then God led me to lead one — and again, I loved it and grew so much.

Even during this season in my nest, God has continued to surprise me. He’s led me to become a carer, and, unexpectedly, a chess coach! I never would have pictured myself standing in front of classrooms in grammar schools, teaching children how to play chess — but there I was, and I loved it.

This nest hasn’t been a stagnant place. I’ve learned so much here: navigating parenting, complex additional needs, EHCPs, school systems, hospital appointments, assessments, support groups — all while developing admin skills I never asked for, thanks to endless forms and broken systems that demand constant advocacy.

And there have been moments of joy and creativity, too. Helping set up and lead a women’s conference. Joining a friend’s business to support new mums with small events. But through it all, the focus has remained the nest — the priority of keeping my head down and doing what needs to be done.

Now, I wonder if it’s time to start looking up.

My family will always come first. But maybe now, they don’t need every ounce of my capacity. Maybe I have space for more. There’s excitement in lifting my head, in wondering what’s next. But if I’m honest, there’s also apprehension.

We all have times like this — moments when you sense you’re on the brink of something new. Your nest might not look like mine, but you know what your “normal” feels like. And then, something stirs. Something starts to lift your head.

It might be a house move, a decision to start dating, a new job, or an unexpected change in circumstances.

“Trust me.”

That’s the whisper I keep hearing.

What a shame it would be for that beautiful bird to sit high in her nest, anxious about the world beyond the branches. She was made to fly. Made to enjoy new places and discover all that the skies hold for her.

I want to lean into it like that.

I want to stay open — prayerfully open. Grateful for this nest, thankful for all it’s taught me, yet eager with expectation for what lies ahead.

Trusting Him, so that when He calls,

I’ll be ready to fly.