Lent 2022, Day 38

 


Today’s BiOY NT reading is from Luke 12, which includes the famous “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” That verse and concept seemed like the obvious prompt, given everything that’s happening with Libby and with the world, so I wrote a couple of drafts of thoughts on worry. I even got out the “Wave-Zyxt” volume of the OED (yes, my own, personal copy of the Oxford English Dictionary, cause I am a dork, and my husband loves me) to muse on the different meanings of the word. But I was never pleased enough to post, which is odd, since usually I fire off something on my phone, post it and move on with my day. But today was different.

I got home from a long walk with a friend this morning and noticed feathers on the floor. That’s weird. I then left for another couple of hours to celebrate another friend’s birthday. Came home to more feathers. Huh.

Turns out a little sparrow had gotten into the house while I was gone, through the door I had left open for the dogs. Poor sparrow.

Turns out that getting a sparrow out of a house solo (Ken is traveling) is tough. I grabbed an extension pole and a pool skimmer and ran up and down the stairs as the bird flew from skylight to clerestory window and back. It was frustrating and sad and tiring. But I couldn’t just leave a freaking bird loose in my house. 

3 hours into this frustrating project, I remembered another passage from today’s reading:

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. ⁷ Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

So there I was, chasing a sparrow while the dogs barked, realizing with a start that this sparrow was not just a sparrow, but a maybe a message? I started to worry that the message might be about Libby, a reminder that, try as we might, some battles can’t be won.  Then it occurred that the message might be simpler:  God was aware of this sparrow and cared about her.  I started to cry with frustration , now absolutely desperate to save this sweet, frightened bird. 

 And *that* was when Ms. Sparrow finally cooperated and flew through an interior window into my office upstairs, where I was able to pick her up and let her fly off outside, no pool skimmer required. I am happy to report that she zoomed away at a high speed and seemed absolutely fine.  I am sort of ashamed that I stopped long enough to take her photo, but somehow holding that little bird seemed like a miracle, and while I didn't want to prolong it, I wanted to remember it.



 She flew off to freedom, and my musings on worry were tossed.   This was what I needed to think about today: Libby, me, God, and a tiny bird.

 God sees us. We are never alone, even in the smallest battles.

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