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The goldfinches are back.
There’s a group of about twenty of them that frequents our yard. They
settle in the bare branches of the maple tree, camouflaged neatly by their
muted winter colors of dull yellow and brown.
settle in the bare branches of the maple tree, camouflaged neatly by their
muted winter colors of dull yellow and brown.
They don’t sit long. First one and then a handful shove off from
their perches, tiny wings aflutter, and swoop breathily toward the feeder.
their perches, tiny wings aflutter, and swoop breathily toward the feeder.
A lantern-shaped bird feeder hangs from a tall shepherd’s hookright outside our dining room window. It is usually full of black oil sunflower
seeds. The tray that dispenses them is big enough for five or six little
songbirds, or one bossy cardinal.
The finches plop onto the feeder a few at a time. They hop about
the rim of it at first, eyeing each other and tilting their heads to squint
evaluatively at the seeds.
the rim of it at first, eyeing each other and tilting their heads to squint
evaluatively at the seeds.
Sometimes suspicion gets the better of them and they fluster off
to the safety of the trees, leaving the food untouched. But usually one gets
brave and makes a swipe at a seed, hopping sideways in a little scuttering
dance step.
to the safety of the trees, leaving the food untouched. But usually one gets
brave and makes a swipe at a seed, hopping sideways in a little scuttering
dance step.
Soon the birds are twittering about the feeder, scooping up their
snacks and chasing each other away. New
birds dive in, nudging the vanguard out of position and greedily snapping up
the plumpest seeds.
snacks and chasing each other away. New
birds dive in, nudging the vanguard out of position and greedily snapping up
the plumpest seeds.
Suddenly, the whole conglomerate starts in alarm, and then lifts
into the air in a rustling cloud. They have seen my movement in the window and
are frightened into the trees. They sit, subtly blending with the bark, until
one of them gets hungry enough to be brave and lifts its wings. And the dance
begins again.
into the air in a rustling cloud. They have seen my movement in the window and
are frightened into the trees. They sit, subtly blending with the bark, until
one of them gets hungry enough to be brave and lifts its wings. And the dance
begins again.
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
6:26
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
6:26
I put food out for the birds because I want them to be fed. It is
a source of joy to watch their little stuttering approaches, their silly
squabbling, and finally their ecstatic appreciation of the feast I have laid
before them. I don’t want them to be hungry and alone. I want them to come,
trust me, and be fed.
a source of joy to watch their little stuttering approaches, their silly
squabbling, and finally their ecstatic appreciation of the feast I have laid
before them. I don’t want them to be hungry and alone. I want them to come,
trust me, and be fed.
We sometimes approach our Heavenly Father’s feeder with
hesitation. He gives us what we need to live and be content, but we look at it
sideways, thinking maybe it’s not for us. Maybe it won’t be enough. We hop
about and evaluate the blessings we have been given, wondering if our neighbors
have a better selection.
hesitation. He gives us what we need to live and be content, but we look at it
sideways, thinking maybe it’s not for us. Maybe it won’t be enough. We hop
about and evaluate the blessings we have been given, wondering if our neighbors
have a better selection.
Our Father’s feeder includes more than material things, of course.
He offers His presence, that we might never be alone. He offers to take our
days into His hands, to carry our burdens for us. He holds out forgiveness, and
a chance at living without the fear of unredeemed failure.
He offers His presence, that we might never be alone. He offers to take our
days into His hands, to carry our burdens for us. He holds out forgiveness, and
a chance at living without the fear of unredeemed failure.
And we flutter, and we hesitate, and we think we can do everything
on our own, and we think we are not worthy.
on our own, and we think we are not worthy.
———
I think my favorite visitors to the feeder are the tufted titmice,
with their pretty gray feathers and comical Ed Grimley hairstyle. They will sit
plumped on the feeder for long minutes, ignoring the squabbling birds around
them and focusing on the meal at hand, cracking the shells efficiently with
their short, fat beaks. They don’t fret about whether they ought to be
there or whether the food is really for them. When the tufted titmice get to
the feeder, they eat.
with their pretty gray feathers and comical Ed Grimley hairstyle. They will sit
plumped on the feeder for long minutes, ignoring the squabbling birds around
them and focusing on the meal at hand, cracking the shells efficiently with
their short, fat beaks. They don’t fret about whether they ought to be
there or whether the food is really for them. When the tufted titmice get to
the feeder, they eat.
I spend a lot of time fretting over the details of life, worrying
that there won’t be enough money or enough time or enough of me to go around. Even
though I know better, I can’t stop thinking that I’ve got to take care of it
all on my own.
that there won’t be enough money or enough time or enough of me to go around. Even
though I know better, I can’t stop thinking that I’ve got to take care of it
all on my own.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have the courage and the confidence to
fly to our Father’s feeder, fluff up our feathers, and simply sit and eat?
fly to our Father’s feeder, fluff up our feathers, and simply sit and eat?
Look at the birds of the air. They are so little, and so
insignificant. And yet our great big God takes care of them, and loves them.
insignificant. And yet our great big God takes care of them, and loves them.
God cares for birds. Must He not also care for me and you, the
ones for whom His Son died? Mustn’t He sit and watch as we approach the good He
has offered, smiling at our foolish hesitations, delighting in our joy when we
finally accept what He wants so badly to give?
ones for whom His Son died? Mustn’t He sit and watch as we approach the good He
has offered, smiling at our foolish hesitations, delighting in our joy when we
finally accept what He wants so badly to give?
I’ll worry again tomorrow, I have no doubt. But maybe, just for
today, I can place my frets into God’s hands. He can carry my burdens. He can
comfort my soul. He can give me all the good He has in store.
today, I can place my frets into God’s hands. He can carry my burdens. He can
comfort my soul. He can give me all the good He has in store.
As for me, I’ll be busy giving thanks for birdseed.
First published in the Alpena News, March 8, 2014
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Julie J. Riddle 