A fall leaves you shaken. Failure is no fun. Frankly, who wants to fall and as a dancer, I did everything possible not to, to the point of hurting my dancing. So in the end, in not wanting to fall, taking every precaution possible not to, I failed.
If managed properly, failures are where we find our future. We rise from falls with greater wisdom. And bottom line, there is always something bigger than us going on.
A mist hovered over the bushes like a satin veil had descended over the baby bird sitting alone so starkly against the cement.
It was hard to see at first if it was a small adult or a youngster, but then I noticed the baby feathers mussed up on its head.
The wings seemed to work but not enough to give her flight. I stared into the tiny darting eye, and her head twitched to attention.
Bird songs darted like arrows from above and around me like chatter being overheard. Surely her mama was watching.
Like an intruder, I scattered seed at her tiny feet to encourage rescue.
I left her alone then, but returned within the hour and found she had moved beneath the bush.
Just then a Black Capped Chickadee landed on a branch, flapping its wings and chattering bird talk to the baby.
The youngster chirped back and I slowly exited.
Don’t mess with Mother Nature, my husband said. To offer her food from a dropper would not help.
Can we trust the Maker’s design for the Chickadees and for our own lives, in spite of seemingly impossible surroundings? Can we keep our vision for the bigger picture unfolding?
I feel His watchful eye and twitch to attention. Like a bird helpless and out of place on stark cement, wobbly with my head feathers mussed up, sometimes I feel. Do you?
The satin veil of safety might go unnoticed. Yet, seemingly alone, I must believe we are profoundly protected and then get on with the work. Because the good work needs to get done and we are just the ones to do it–even mussed up and wobbly.
As I continue to work on a budget which seems impossible to balance, I stretch out my shaky wings, look to the vision and say, show me the way.
If God’s eye is on the sparrow, if He knows the number of hairs on my head, He certainly knows the numbers on the spreadsheet and what needs to go where, what needs to come in and what needs to go out. (And why would I think that I care for the baby Chickadee more than He?) Why would I think He’s not involved in the work he has given us?
I’ll never look at a Chickadee the same way again. When I got home late from work tonight, Todd told me he bought us a Chickadee feeder from Amazon. Who knew they even made Chickadee feeders…?