“Look at the birds of the air….”
Several weeks ago my Mom was telling me about the birds outside her kitchen window. Mom lives in Grace Lutheran Village, a wonderful independent living community in Paris, Illinois. Through the large kitchen window, she keeps an eye on her bird houses and feeders.
She told me the hummingbirds aren’t going to the feeders with man-made nectar but to the flowers. “Part of the organic movement,” I said. From Paris or from your yard, these amazing little creatures fly to Mexico and Central America in fall. “Your heavenly Father feeds them.”
Mom was especially interested in the baby wrens, waiting for them to come out of their bird house. “I read that when they leave, the parents feed them for four days. Then they are on their own.” “Oh, just like you and Dad,” I said. “When I was in grade school, you told me that I could live at home as long as I stayed in school, but whenever I dropped out of school, I’d have to pay you for room and board.” That stunned me. Little wren, we’ll feed you for four days and then you’re out of here. “Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”
“O you of little faith,” Jesus said to His disciples, says to me. As I get older I’m realizing more and more how weak is my trust in the heavenly Father. What am I going to do about this? How will I cope with that? Lie awake in the middle of the night. Sunday sermons can evaporate so quickly, and so Jesus says, “Look at the birds of the air….” Sitting on my own back porch, the cardinals sitting on the wire do preach to me, “Your heavenly Father knows.” “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24; about birds, Matthew 6:25-34).