I am sitting in my lovely screened porch and thankful for SC late December weather which allows me to do so. I look outside and see the tall tree in the yard knowing its bare branches will be full of new life in the not too distant future.
Suddenly I am reminded of the words of a friend who said, not long ago that “it’s a widow maker, you know.” With a bad arm and a bad foot, climbing up with a saw, not my talent anyway, is for sure not wise. Having heard the forecast for heavy rain, wind, and potentially dangerous storms, I am wishing I knew a friend who could help me prepare and not knowing anyone, I am concerned about that heavy limb hanging low and oh so near to my home . . . nothing I can do. Not money to hire anyone. The storm will come or not and it has already put a damper on my joy.
Then, I heard it. The sweet yet strong voice of a bird singing high up among the bare branches. The warned of storm is not here so I can easily hear its singing, yet study has taught me that its natural instinct likely means the bird is well aware of the storm not far from here. Its music, though, is sweet!
The bird moves to a lower branch and I see how tiny it is. I see its delicate wings, its light feathers fluttering in the gentle afternoon breeze. I am amazed at the colors . . . then I see another bird . . .
I make note that the solo has become a duet and again am amazed anew at the beauty of this creature, so small and fragile. What hand created it in such love and painstaking attention to detail? But I already know the answer and smile when I recall a Word about the very topic on my heart.
“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? ” Matthew 6:25-27 I am awakened suddenly to the memory of another storm and recall sitting on my bed in fear as the wind crashed against everything in its wake. In my mind I can hear the noise of the storm and the noise of my fear as I prayed for protection. At first I wondered if I would hear an answer to my prayer and as my spirit grew quiet, I did hear it. My answer came from Him yet through a tiny choir. Storm or not and small and seemingly frail, the wee songbirds huddled on a branch knew the Master’s touch and felt His love and calmly sang their praises . . . and so do I.