I Know Why The Caged Bird Still Can't Leave.

There is a poem by Maya Angelou that I love. It is called "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings."The final lines go like this,"The caged bird singswith a fearful trillof things unknownbut longed for stilland his tune is heardon the distant hillfor the caged birdsings of freedom.”I love the imagery of this bird, with its clipped wings and tied feet, refusing to be silent. I love the way Angelou captured the heart of those who were facing injustice, those facing the pain of living life inside invisible bars made by other people. I love that in the face of everything, the bird keeps singing.We still have cages—too many cages. And I think we live in a world where most people think that all the doors are open, that if the bird refuses to leave, then it's only by their own choice. But that’s just not how it works. I almost think this poem needs a part two. One called something like: “I Know Why The Caged Bird Still Can’t Leave.”I will never know the kind of cage that Maya Angelou and countless others were shut in—and are still shut in today. I will not try to speak to that. I only know the way it has felt to be in my own cages. They're lesser ones for sure, but they're still surrounded by bars. I can remember the day the door opened. I can remember the way everyone watched, waiting for me to finally take flight. I remember their confusion and disappointment when I couldn’t seem to step outside. I remember staring at the open door in silence thinking it had to be too good to be true.When you’ve been in a cage, any kind of cage, for any amount of time, sure, you’re singing for freedom; sure, you’re waiting expectantly for the day you’ll be released—but nothing actually prepares you for it, for the fear that comes over you of what lies on the other side. I think of Israel when they were finally delivered out of the hands of Egypt. They had only known a life of slavery, and the freedom and trust that was now required of them upon their release was enough to make them want to go back.I think we have to learn from the way God loved them. We have to see the way that God was patient with His people. He understood. He knew where they had been, the life they had lived, and didn’t leave them when their uncertainty hit. He saw the way the cage had been their home and walked with them as they learned what it meant to step into the whole new world that they never knew would actually exist.I have stood in the cage, staring at the open door, and wondered if it was really safe to leave, wondered if the people I met on the other side would be kind, supportive, and continue to let me be free. I remember thinking maybe it was enough to just know it was open, maybe actually walking through it was too much. But our God is one who delivers nations from slavery, is the one who made prison walls shake and set the captives free. He didn’t leave me. He extended a hand to me both when I was singing and when I went silent, until the day I stepped out and started to live the life He had always wanted for me. He not only opened the door but walked me out of the cage.We have to be those hands for the singing and silent birds in this world. There is so much oppression, so much injustice. My heart is heavy over it every single day. And more and more I see that it isn’t just the singing birds anymore—though they exist, I hope and pray that those of us who walk around with freedom will keep listening for their cries and be people who go and do something about them. That we would be people who demand not only that the door be opened, but also are willing to stick around with love and compassion to help them actually see that it is safe to come out.There are far, far too many sitting in cages with open doors because they fear what lies on the other side because the world they are walking into is still so full of fear and unknowns. And we as the people of God have to take responsibility for the ways we keep people in cages, even ones with open doors, and commit ourselves to creating a world that people actually want to take flight in, one that actually allows them to soar.words by Jacqueline Winstead and photo by Sara Beth Pritchard