We have a couple of bird feeders just off the deck on the back of our house. They attract a variety of birds, house finches, sparrows, cowbirds, mourning doves, cardinals, blue jays, and, once or twice, a woodpecker. A Cooper’s Hawk has even perched itself on the fence at the back of our suburban yard for an entire afternoon in hope of taking a bite or two out of the bird population we attract. Far and away, however, the crowd at the table we set is dominated by goldfinches, floating flicks of chattering black and gold jostling for a chance to slip their tiny little beaks into slim slits and gobble thousands of minute black thistle seeds.
Adjacent to the bird feeders is a rather decrepit, barely recognizable dogwood tree. We keep talking about putting it out of its misery and replacing it with something more vibrant and attractive, but the birds love it. They use it as both resting place and launching pad. The branches also provide a place to catch up on the latest avian gossip while the birds await their turn at the busy feeders. They actually fight a lot with each other over the limited seating at the feeders. I’ve thought about issuing teeny little light-up pagers in an attempt to bring some peaceful order to our busy bird restaurant. For now, in the corner of our deck, near the tree and feeders, is a small bubbling water fountain. We enjoy the sound and sight of it; for the birds it is a favorite watering hole and spa. This seems to take some of the heat off the wait for the feeders.
In the midst of a quiet Sunday afternoon given to frequent glimpses at the fluttering activity around the feeders, my wife and daughter together heard a small “crack” at the deck door window and looked up to see one of the restaurant regulars fall with an ever so slight “thunk” to the deck. A goldfinch lay face up, still as death.
My eleven year old daughter, Kira, ran to find me. We stood side by side looking through the glass at the little body on the deck. Maybe it’s just stunned and will get up in a moment, we said. Is its chest moving? We waited, held vigil, hoping the bird would rise and fly – or at least get up and wobble.
“I should probably scoop it up,” I said finally. “Wait,” Kira asked. “Such hopefulness,” I thought as she disappeared down the hall.
But it wasn’t hope, at least not the kind I assumed, that moved Kira to delay disposing of a possibly living bird. I would soon learn that it was a deeper, even biblical, hope requesting that I wait.
Moments later Kira reappeared with a shoebox and a scissors and planted herself in the study. I sat in my big red comfy chair and watched as dear Kira disassembled the shoe box and then skillfully reassembled it into a much smaller two-piece goldfinch-sized casket held together with purple staples and a good bit of TLC. On the carefully crafted cover she obscured the LA Gear logo with dark black script: Birdie II – Died of a Window – October 5, 2008. "Okay. Now," she said.
I grabbed a shovel from the garage and met Kira on the deck. The tiny body fit perfectly in the handcrafted casket. Kira lowered the lid, we walked around the outside rim of the deck, not more than 10 feet from the decrepit dogwood. I dug a hole and Kira placed the box.
“Do you want to say anything?” I asked, dropping dirt back into the hole.
“Not really.”
“How about ‘Bye-bye, Birdie’?” I tried.
“That’s good."
Adjacent to the bird feeders is a rather decrepit, barely recognizable dogwood tree. We keep talking about putting it out of its misery and replacing it with something more vibrant and attractive, but the birds love it. They use it as both resting place and launching pad. The branches also provide a place to catch up on the latest avian gossip while the birds await their turn at the busy feeders. They actually fight a lot with each other over the limited seating at the feeders. I’ve thought about issuing teeny little light-up pagers in an attempt to bring some peaceful order to our busy bird restaurant. For now, in the corner of our deck, near the tree and feeders, is a small bubbling water fountain. We enjoy the sound and sight of it; for the birds it is a favorite watering hole and spa. This seems to take some of the heat off the wait for the feeders.
In the midst of a quiet Sunday afternoon given to frequent glimpses at the fluttering activity around the feeders, my wife and daughter together heard a small “crack” at the deck door window and looked up to see one of the restaurant regulars fall with an ever so slight “thunk” to the deck. A goldfinch lay face up, still as death.
My eleven year old daughter, Kira, ran to find me. We stood side by side looking through the glass at the little body on the deck. Maybe it’s just stunned and will get up in a moment, we said. Is its chest moving? We waited, held vigil, hoping the bird would rise and fly – or at least get up and wobble.
“I should probably scoop it up,” I said finally. “Wait,” Kira asked. “Such hopefulness,” I thought as she disappeared down the hall.
But it wasn’t hope, at least not the kind I assumed, that moved Kira to delay disposing of a possibly living bird. I would soon learn that it was a deeper, even biblical, hope requesting that I wait.
Moments later Kira reappeared with a shoebox and a scissors and planted herself in the study. I sat in my big red comfy chair and watched as dear Kira disassembled the shoe box and then skillfully reassembled it into a much smaller two-piece goldfinch-sized casket held together with purple staples and a good bit of TLC. On the carefully crafted cover she obscured the LA Gear logo with dark black script: Birdie II – Died of a Window – October 5, 2008. "Okay. Now," she said.
I grabbed a shovel from the garage and met Kira on the deck. The tiny body fit perfectly in the handcrafted casket. Kira lowered the lid, we walked around the outside rim of the deck, not more than 10 feet from the decrepit dogwood. I dug a hole and Kira placed the box.
“Do you want to say anything?” I asked, dropping dirt back into the hole.
“Not really.”
“How about ‘Bye-bye, Birdie’?” I tried.
“That’s good."
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground unperceived by your Father. [Matthew 10:29]
Hope.
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