Some ramblings about spring on the first day of fall

He lay there all naked and helpless – not even able to make a peep. And yet he preached a sermon so loud it still echoes in my ears many months later. I’m thinking about him again today as I sit outside on this unseasonably warm September day.

He doesn’t know it, but his story begins many years ago.

Back when the kids were small and homeschooling was filled with the loud chaos of chatter as all 3 often had things to talk about (much of which was not related to “school” at all). Back in those days, God sent us Eastern Bluebirds to distract them from their books and teach them about real and tangible things.

Each year they would come through, and make a nest in the birdhouse my father built with my daughter. Each year we would name them and watch the saga unfold. One year the large bellied third wheel of the family hung out at the window and pecked neurotically(and incessantly) for attention. Many nests were built, eggs were laid, and sometimes they would hatch and grow. Sometimes there was tragedy and the eggs would be destoryed by a yard villain … but every year the birds returned and their presence marked the end of winter and the beginning of spring.

Then – 2020. That year, we had a late freeze. It was the kind of cold that elicits strong warnings from the meteorolgist and everyone hunkers down indoors for a few days. As I walked past their nest in the following days, I saw a glint of blue feather. So I opened it and looked in, only to find the entire family of 6 crowded in there in a vain attempt to escape the wintery blast. Those were the days Covid was a new word and everything felt a bit insecure in the world … and so my heart grieved this loss a little more than normal.

We rode through that year with all the drama, loss, confusion and challenges that marked each of us in different ways. And then spring came back – and we watched for our Eastern bluebirds to return and weave their story of hope and fresh life around us again. But their nest remained empty that year. We saw lots of cardinals and ravens and assorted backyard visitors, but not a single bluebird. The nest remained empty for the next two years.

Much happened in our lives over the next couple years. There was a lot of change. Covid changed all of us in different ways – but it wasn’t just that. We took on a huge project in our ministry. Life was simultaneously exhilerating and overwhelming and suddenly we were thrust into the middle of numerous decisions that we weren’t prepared for. Our kids didn’t see us as much during those days, due to unending meetings with architects and construction workers and ministry team partners. I’m grateful for all God did in that season, but honestly? When I look back it all feels like a bit of a blur. The blur lives on in me, as I struggle with what life should look like these days. How do you find a new rhythm when all you have known for so long is a litany of hurry? How do you slow the body, much less the mind, when the relentless decisions have entangled themselves into your subconscious. It is one thing to know that hurry cauterizes the senses – it is another thing to learn how to live again.

And then one morning this spring, as I sat in my backyard, I saw them. 2 Eastern Bluebirds, faithfully building a nest in the old abandoned birdhouse.

I held my breath as I watched them day after day. Then there was an egg, and I started to hope.

And on a typical Wednesday morning in April, I saw this – and God reached in to that aching place in my soul.

And every day that ugly little bird grew – and with it, hope. He grew feathers and chirped insistently for food. And then as suddenly as he came, he was gone. But his message echoes on…

He whispered promises of new life, in the midst of my fatigue. He helped me see that life needed to be fully lived, embraced, experienced, rather than just doing the next thing. He whispered, through a helpless naked little bird – “Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19

It’s hard to undo old habits. It’s easy to wake up in a flurry and rush through the to do list of the day. The tyranny of urgent waits on no one. Yet buried in my soul is this promise – and as I sit here today on the first day of fall, I am asking God to breathe the freshness of spring into my life. I think of old Scrooge who exclaims at the end of his crazy night with 3 ghosts, “I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all year”, and I find myself saying the same about my spring encounter with a baby bird.