Yesterday, we finished up a long week of ministry with Vacation Bible School and this afternoon I’m resting on the porch. A little bird hops into view beyond my wrought iron gate. A few more hops and it awkwardly perches between two of the beams, fluttering its wings around a decorative curl. It cheeps, then hops down on the near side. He hops along the brick sidewalk, making attempts to fly a few feet. He continues to cheep. He reaches the porch and I begin to wonder, “Just how far will you come?” He hops along the porch, right next to my chair and flutters up to a plant stand, long legs clutching at a thin rod to hold his balance. He looks me in the eye and asks, “Are you my mother?”
I am tempted to reply, “No, I am not your mother. You are a bird. I am a human.” But I don’t want him to go away yet. He strains his neck forward and flies up onto the book I just put down on the low table. He hardly has any tail feathers, but his wings are formed and his body is nearly the size of a full grown bird. Around his maturing feathers is still plenty of fuzzy down. He’s a fledgling.
He flies to the armrest of my chair and then lands on the back of my hand. “You aren’t supposed to talk to strangers, you know?” Then, alights and lands of my shoulder, still cheeping. I want so badly to cuddle or nuzzle him. With lots of exuberant flapping, he’s now on the porch rail. His parents (gray catbirds if my research is correct) come into view, responding to his call from a safe distance and giving me dirty looks. Then, he takes off in a herculean effort and lands on the closest tree branch about three yards away. He cheeps from this spot a while as the wind sways the branches back and forth and a few tears roll down my cheek.
As I said, it’s been a long week so I am a little more emotional than usual. But is there anything so helpless as a baby bird, new and innocent and needy? And yet, not one of them falls to the ground without His notice, and we are of much more value than the birds. (Matthew 10)
Several minutes later, he’s back on the gate, but his mother meets him with something to eat which he readily receives. He hides in the hostas a while and when I walk by, for the first time, he stops cheeping. “Growing up and getting street smart so quickly?” He’ll be ok. As long as he doesn’t eat the little praying mantis who lives in the hydrangea, he can stay as long as he wants.
Photo by Andy Holmes on Unsplash. (Because I couldn’t look at him and take pictures at the same time)
Welcome To The Carriage House 