The Drama and The Danger

Sometimes, normal life must pause for Drama.

Not only did my life pause one morning recently, but any passing car may have noticed a nightgowned-and-bathrobed older woman running frantically around my yard.

Yes.

I was chasing my cat away from newly-fledged wren babies.

We had been watching for weeks as the parent wrens made their home in the little rusty, green watering can hanging on wooden hooks just outside our kitchen door. I hung the can there years ago, solely for rustic (and rusty) décor, when to my joy, a wren couple made their home inside it. We had front-row seats for observing diligent, tender care in raising a family from those devoted parents.

Then, one year, the vacated home blew down in a storm, and I decided to clean out the nest, which had been used repeatedly by this assiduous couple.

That was a mistake.

When the pair came back the following year, their lovely, carefully tended nest was gone. They decided to make their home elsewhere, to our sadness. I even considered hanging out a “For Wrent” sign, in hopes they would notice and come back.

So, to our surprise, this spring, some of their offspring—I’m convinced it was a new, rather juvenile couple starting their family—began building in the can. That it was their first attempt at nest-building seemed apparent because it was somewhat sloppily made, with sticks protruding at various angles out of the opening. Well, everyone has different needs in a home, I guess. Some human homes are neat as a pin. Others could do with a bit more order. So it was with our little pair. But it fulfilled its purpose, which was to house and shelter their young.

Two days before the parents became empty-nesters, the activity around the can increased. Back and forth, back and forth went the father and mother bird, bringing food, cleaning out the babies’ droppings (order after all!).

Was today the day? We stopped everything to watch. But evening came, and the four open-mouthed wrenlings settled down for the night.

Then came The Morning.

I should have gotten dressed for the drama. But who is prepared for drama, which, by definition, is often unanticipated?

I confess—I prayed that I would not wake up to find bird feathers all over the deck. A cat is a cat, after all. And our cat lives on the deck. Should I have belled the cat?

I saw no activity in the can. Surely, they had not fledged before I woke up!

But, no. Back and forth, back and forth went the parents--and then it was time.

WHERE WAS THE CAT?

We took our breakfast to the deck. I moved the cat’s bowls away from the can, but she ate quickly and settled down in her favorite spot, just in view of the hooks. Oh, the scolding coming from a nearby tree branch! I watched the cat as she craned her neck to see what the commotion was about. Then—the first little fuzzy-headed bird flew down into a nearby shrub. Another, unnoticed by us, apparently went farther afield, because it was the cat, suddenly racing down the steps, that caused me to jump up and run into the yard, yelling.

“Ginger! NO!” I shouted and chased her until she fled in hurt self-defense toward the neighbors’ yard. I was hoping they did not choose this moment to open their garage doors and leave for work.

But nothing mattered except the safety of those four little birds. Two had followed their parents’ urgent coaxing, two were still in danger. The one that had flown into the shrub now flew up to cling precariously to the side of the house, just above the cellar steps. Then, not finding its way, flew down the steps and landed on a ledge. My husband took a broom, hoping the little bird would creep onto the broom straws and he could carry it to freedom. Instead, fear of the broom caused it to fly off, and we lost sight of it. One—who knows which? flew confusedly onto the deck and almost in our faces, then flew off again.

They were all gone now, out of sight, seemingly safe. But we continued to hear the parents, coaxing them farther, away from danger on the deck.

Birds do this all the time, I remind myself. Did they really need our help?

But they were our birds. I had already—weeks before—chased away a cowbird, noted for taking over the nests of other birds, destroying their eggs and using the nest for its own purposes.

Other dangers threaten out there, besides the cat. A few hours after the babies went into the wild world, a major storm blew up. Tree branches flailed furiously, thunder raged. Again, we worried and wondered if the little birds were sheltered.

And then I recall, “…a sparrow does not fall to the ground apart from your Father…”

Yes, the Father, their Creator, cares about sparrows--and wrens. But Jesus was alluding to an even more profound care: “…fear not, therefore, you are of more value than many sparrows.” i

As much as we cared about the little birds, we have a Father who is watching us even more closely, coaxing us even more urgently, and caring for us even more intimately, who perhaps even chases away dangerous predators without our knowing.

In a wild and threatening world, he is the one who says to us, “Fear not.”

Here is the highest drama—worth pausing. Worth stopping altogether to ponder and wonder.

i Matthew 10:29-31