Mama Bird faith

“But Christ is faithful as a son over God’s house. And we are his house, if we hold on to our courage and the hope of which we boast.” Hebrews 3:6

Anyone reading my recent posts would probably say I was a nature nut.

And granted, a lot of my writings lately have centered around birds. But interestingly enough, I’m not really a “bird” person. I don’t dislike them or anything, but I would much rather prefer the company of a dog to that of a bird.

But because God knows me and knows how to gain my attention, He often uses His examples in nature to teach me some of my most valuable lessons.

Who says God doesn’t speak?

So yes, this is a bird story, but stay with me.                                                                                           You may learn something too.

The other day I observed a bird’s nest on my porch.

It wasn’t the most beautiful thing to look at, and yet it caught my attention. It was made up of small tree twigs, leaves and dried grass. I even saw small strands of a multicolored string woven through it. The builder of this nest was a very resourceful little creature indeed.

But it was what I saw inside the nest that most held me captive.

Nestled inside were three small eggs.

They were the color of the sky on a perfect summer day. So perfect in their oval shape, they reminded me of those eggs you find in children’s easter baskets. It was hard looking at them to imagine tiny baby birds growing inside of them.

A little while later, I happened to look out and there sat Mama Robin snuggled in her nest keeping her baby eggs nice and warm.   Where was a camera when you needed it? Talk about a kodak moment!

But as I watched her, I noticed how her small beady eyes seemed to be taking in everything around her. Not much was going to sneak up on this little mama bird.

And I wondered then why did she have her nest so low to the ground? Surely she had to know she was at risk to falling prey to the neighborhood cats or even other bigger birds? And it struck me odd that she would have built her nest is such an open space on  my porch.

But the longer I watched her, I realized she knew something instinctively that most of us humans have to learn.

She had the courage to be moved by her faith.

She didn’t let her fear speak for her, she let her faith do that.

Whether in a tree or on the ground she already knew she’d be prey to something no matter where she built her nest. So instead she chose a nice comfy spot, and called it home.

Having courage doesn’t mean we’re not afraid, that little mama bird stayed very watchful. But rather having courage means we put good use to our faith in spite of our fears. 

Because God is faithful to us, we can have the courage to walk in faith as well.

Thats something to be encouraged by.

Everyday.

A New Song

 A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.                                   -Maya Angela

This morning I was awakened by a chorus of chatty little birds outside my window.

Although the sun had not yet put in an appearance, it didn’t seem to matter to these talkative little creatures. I lay there listening as they called to each other and chirped among themselves. It was almost as if they were having a family reunion of sorts with everyone greeting each other and talking all at once.

 

And I was convinced they were all gathered around my bedroom window.

 

They were quite unashamedly loud for 5 a.m  Didn’t they know I was trying to get my last hour of sleep?

The nerve!

Oblivious to my distress, they chatted on, and no amount of wishing on my part could wish my fine feathered friends to someone else’s yard. In fact the longer I lay there, the nosier they seemed to get. 

 

I was just about to admit defeat and get out of bed, when suddenly over their noisy chatter rose a sound so melodiously sweet, that all other sound and noise faded to the background.

Somewhere amidst the chatter and chirp of all the others, one bird began to sing.

His small voice didn’t compete with the chatter of the other birds, instead he blended with their chorus and the sound that delighted my ears was so perfect that not even the world’s most accomplished symphony could have achieved it.

How like God to use nature to teach me what I had temporarily forgotten.

A new day was a gift, not a privilege.

 

If a small, seemingly insignificant little bird had the courage to began his morning with a song in his heart and praise on his lips, why couldn’t I?

Here was a creature who was homeless, at least by our standards. It lived at the mercy of nature’s elements everyday, searching and hunting his food daily. His was not a life of luxury such as I knew with a warm bed and cozy home.

And yet still it sang as though it had something to be thankful for.

Needless to say, I didn’t need my alarm clock to wake me up.

I had already had my wake up call

And how sweet it was.

…Sing unto the Lord a new song…

 

 

 

There’s no place like home

This morning I met a homeless woman.

Or at least she was before she moved into a home in my neighborhood.

This morning when she woke, she had a roof over her head and a sense of knowing that she had a place to call her own.  Not a place that was on loan or a temporary dwelling place, but a place she could finally call home.

Her home.

Recognizing that she had a need to tell her story to someone, I listened patiently while she shared her heart with me for the few minutes that our paths crossed. Someone once told me that what comes from the heart always reaches the heart. Listening to her story, I finally knew what that meant.

I saw her eyes light up as she recalled the generous people God had placed in her path along her way.  I saw her mother’s heart as she talked about her children. I heard weariness creep into her voice as she mentioned those who had not understood her struggle and had not been the support system in the way she needed. But what mesmerized me the most by her story, wasn’t in the words she spoke.

It was in the soft smile that still clung to her lips.

That smile told me more than any words could have ever spoken. It told me that in spite of her hardships and struggles, in spite of those who were not in her corner, in spite of her tears and fears, in spite of the odds against her, she was home.

In her home.

And in that few minutes of our chance encounter, I realized that home wasn’t just the house we resided in. It wasn’t just the walls that held our prized material possessions. It wasn’t just the place we worked jobs to live in.

It was the contentment in our hearts.

Suddenly I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and I wanted to click my heels three times and chant, “There’s no place like home.”

But instead I looked at her and with contentment overflowing from my own heart, I said the words her heart needed to hear.

 ”Welcome home neighbor.”

Happy Birthday to Me

Today was my birthday.

But all day long I felt as if something was missing. Something wasn’t quite right.

Don’t get me wrong. I love April the 14th. In fact, I think it should be a national holiday in every state including Hawaii. Businesses should close in honor of it, and schools should not be open. Even congress should not hold session out of observance for this special day.

I love my birthday.

But today for some reason. Something was missing.

I received cards and many well wishes from family and friends. A few people even bought me special gifts and expressions of their respect and love for me. Even people I wasn’t aware who knew it was my birthday, stopped by to wish me a Happy Birthday and a great day.

But something was missing.

Perhaps it was because I went to work. Normally I schedule myself off from work for my birthday. Or perhaps because I’m officially over 40 now. But whatever the reason, there was definitely something missing.

And then a knock came at the door. My brother had dropped by to wish me a happy birthday and to give me a gift. It was a beautiful handbag. In fact it was one I would have chosen for myself, and I marveled at how well my brother knew me.

And then I realized what was missing.

Although I had no doubt that my brother and everyone else loved me, I knew they weren’t celebrating April the 14th.

They were celebrating me.

And the person who should have been celebrating me the most had not.

Me.

I had treated today as though it was any other day. I had made no allowances for me to celebrate me. And though some would call that selfishness, I would beg to differ.

No matter how many other people love you and show love towards you, you have to do the same for yourself. And birthdays in my estimation are not just any other day.

They are days to celebrate you and the fact that you are still here. Out of any gift we can be given, the gift of life is the greatest one yet. And speaking for myself, that’s a gift I owe my Creator.

So when I celebrate me on my birthday, I’m also celebrating Him who made me and allowed me another birthday.

I won’t forget that again.

Happy Birthday to me.

How do you love me…

I never wanted to be a teacher.

Growing up like most children, I thought I wanted to be a nurse or a doctor or even the man who rode around in the ice cream truck every day on my street. But a teacher?

Nope!

But now being a new Sunday school teacher within my church for our teens’ class, I have a new found respect for teachers everywhere.

Initially when I was asked to take this assignment, my mind automatically rejected the idea. The idea of sitting in a room full of teenage boys and girls for an hour trying to teach them about the bible held no appeal for me. Although I thoroughly enjoyed being a student in my adult Sunday school class, the thought of being a teacher never entered my mind.

But I soon discovered that being a teacher didn’t mean I stopped being a student. True, I was the “leader” so to speak of the class, and yes it was my responsibility to teach a revelant lesson each week. But teaching the lesson, put me in a better postion to be the one being taught.

And perhaps one of the greatest lessons my students taught me was about love.

Love moved me to answer the need my church had for a teen sunday school teacher. But just being moved by love wasn’t enough.

 I had to learn how to love them.   

They didn’t just need someone to bring them a cardboard lesson each week and try and hold their attention for an hour. They needed someone who would tailor lessons for them and make it applicable for their everyday living.

They needed someone who would nuture the individuals they were, while trying to mold and shape the one they would become.

They needed someone who would love them enough to lay aside being the “teacher” and sit and become a student of the Word with them.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning had it right when she wrote, “How do I love thee?”

To love someone isn’t the hard part. How to love them is.

Because it requires us to look beyond our needs and meet someone else’s. And when you think about it, if everyone tried to meet the needs of those they loved, at the end of the day, all of our needs would have been met.

And in the big scheme of all that really matters, we all have a need to be loved.

Loving one another meets the commandment we were given to love, but how we love each other gives a voice to the true testament of what that love is really about.