We’re only arrows, unable to do anything in our own strength.
I don’t know much about arrows but I think if you fire one badly it kind of wobbles as it flies through the air, and loses momentum. But if it is shot straight, with power and a good aim, it flies fast.
Sometimes it is held with the rest of the others, at other times it’s chosen to take aim at a target. I would imagine that as the arrow flies through the air, it feels a sense of liberation and direction, knowing that it was made for that very moment. It probably feels as though it is totally free. In being used, it realises what its true identity and purpose is. Then it gets gathered back again, by the one who is pleased with the arrow He knows.
Wait and fly, wait and fly. The life of a little arrow.