Eagles can be found on every continent of the world except Antarctica. And the eagle is not only the symbol of America, but was, in czarist days, the symbol of Russia. In Bible times, it was the symbol of the Roman Empire.

The African eagle, with which the children of Israel would have been familiar, makes its home in the Middle East and has a wingspan of up to ten feet.

Once a year, the female eagle lays an egg in a nest high over a bluff or ravine, inaccessible to predators. For the six weeks following its hatching, the eaglet has it made in the shade. He can see lots of things from his vantage point. He’s fed hourly by his mother. And he grows fat and plump.

By week five, he has grown quite large. And then something begins to happen. Unbeknownst to him, his mother designed the nest in such a way that sticks point inward. So as he gets fatter, the sticks begin to poke him. And no doubt Ernie Eaglet wonders why his parents didn’t make a more comfortable nest - never realizing that its design was all part of the plan to get him to do something he never would have done otherwise: to fly.

The same thing can happen to you and me. We’re comfy. We’re cozy. We’re chubby. But all of a sudden, something begins to happen that agitates us, that pokes at us. “My boss shouldn’t treat me this way,” we squawk. “My friend shouldn’t ignore me that way,” we screech.

Wait a minute. It’s all part of a divine design, a grand plan. Therefore, wise is the man or woman who doesn’t blame the sticks, but realizes they’re part of the Father’s plan.

At about this time, Mom returns to the nest one day and, with her five-foot wings, stirs it and bumps it. And Ernie is thrown out, causing him to fall hundreds of feet toward the ravine below. Feathers fly. Ernie squawks. The ground gets closer, the rocks bigger - when Mama swoops underneath Ernie and carries him on her back to the nest once again.

"Whew!" Ernie thinks, "That was close! I hope Mom learned a lesson about being clumsy." But a few days later, Mama stirs the nest once again, sending Ernie screeching and tumbling once more. And once again, she swoops underneath him at seemingly the last minute, returning him to the nest at last.

The same process is repeated over and over again. But somewhere after the sixth or seventh time, Ernie catches air. No longer sore at his mother, he soars with her. And he can’t believe it. He didn’t have any idea that he could fly - until he was dumped out of the nest.

“What are You doing, God?” we cry. “If I’m Your inheritance, if You keep me as the apple of Your eye, then why am I headed for the rocks?” But right before we crash - maybe only a moment or so before we’re crushed - He swoops in, bears us on His back, and returns us to the nest. Then, days later, He stirs the nest and begins the process all over again.

You see, God loves you and me too much to allow us to settle into the comfort of mediocrity. So He makes our nest uncomfortable as He gets us ready to do something new. He’s not going to let us settle for a perch on a cliff when He knows we could soar in the Heavenlies.