“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.”
– Emily Dickinson
Last week we found a baby bird who had fallen from a nest perched on a tree in our front yard.
The mother bird was nearby, watching over her little one. She brought it food and constantly squawked to let her baby know she was nearby.
Every once in a while we went out to check on our new friend. All day the baby bird sat silent and still, his eyes wide and watching.
Late in the night, I went out to check again, and the bird’s head was tucked down a bit, but his eyes were still open and staring wide at the darkness surrounding him.
The next morning Boy 2 went out to check on our bird and came back with the bad news; the bird was gone.
He assumed the worst. And he might not be far from the truth in assuming our scared little friend didn’t survive the night.
“But what if he flew?” I asked.
It’s possible. He was fully grown, and seemed strong and able. We let our hearts rest on the image of a bird soaring heavenward.
But all week now, I keep remembering how he waited there, eyes wide and aware, not moving, never making a noise.
That’s how every believer waits. Knocked from the safe nest of Eden, we crouch here, out on a limb, waiting to fly.
I’m letting my heart rest on the image of my soul flying heavenward Because there is always, always hope in Jesus.
