One of the joys of my life arrives every morning when I feed the birds.
I am praying my new place will include a small back yard where I can pour out the seed, call to the birds and watch these amazing creatures float toward me.
But last week, we had a surprise visitor. A huge hawk swooped down, rapidly chose his prey and killed one of my sparrows. With sharp talons, he easily lifted his breakfast from my deck, then disappeared in the early morning fog.
Most of the time, we don’t pay attention to sparrows. We are attracted to the flashy cardinals, the sweet chickadees and even the raucous blue jays with their blue and silver details.
Sparrows are just the extra birds that fly near us, their plain brown feathers almost an invisible blend on weathered decks. Perhaps an afterthought in the creator’s mind, the bird with which to compare all the others.
Sparrows don’t seem to matter much. Unless you’re one of them.
During this transition time, I empathize with the sparrow. I feel as if the flashy authors of the world have passed me by, and I am trying to catch up.
Other ministers and writers have spent years honing their careers while I stayed in the background, worked in administrative roles, quietly pointed the mouse and clicked on Excel charts.
Others developed speaking ministries, world-wide podcasts and reams of manuscripts while I worked three jobs to raise my son and try to survive.
“Bless me, too, my Father,” is often the cry of my heart.
Now…during this time of the unknowns, I feel even more sparrow-ish than before. My own drab browning pales in comparison with those who seem to have it so easy.
Yes, I know this sounds like whining. But I struggle between authenticity, the brutal honesty of the heart and a complaining spirit. I wish I knew the difference.
I want to see my own dreams come to pass even as I know the desires of my heart may not necessarily sync with the whispers of the divine.
Predators of discouragement and fear stalk me. So quickly, they sharpen their talons and wait for my most vulnerable moments to swoop in and destroy hope.
Yet some days – praise God – more days than not – I remember how God cares for even the sparrow.
Not one of us falls without his knowledge and empathic tears. Each of us, though feeling drab, are still painted with his art – each feather delicate in his design.
I replay a favorite hymn, grateful for the internet and the YouTube software that makes it easily accessible.
His eye indeed on this sparrow. My heart secure in the knowing that he cares for me.
Sparrows of the past are still mourned. Each one a creation missed, a relationship betrayed, an opportunity denied.
Yet the One who created them in the first place still exists and promises an even better life to come.
Here’s to all of us sparrows in the world. We occupy important spaces in the universe, each of us here for a purpose – for a time.
May we embrace our lives for what they represent, a glorious praise for the presence of each day and a supreme hope for a better tomorrow.
©2016 RJ Thesman – Author of the Reverend G books http://amzn.to/1rXlCyh
RJThesman.net 