“I have always wanted a bird of my very own! Just look,Mammy. I found a bird!”
Everyone else was looking at the sunset and waiting for the fireworks to begin. It’s the biggest thing that happens annually in Maysville and the whole community turns out. There’s homemade ice cream and yard games for the kids and then a fireworks show that rivals any rural show in the state of Alabama. And while everyone was looking up, Eliza Jane was looking down…rescuing the little bird with the broken wing.
Sometimes it’s watching the path I’m walking that makes the difference. While everyone else was preparing to witness the bright and loud and impressive, Eliza’s big take-away from the fireworks show was a tiny bird that prompted a series of calls to some bird rescue habitats, and. finally ended in the night, in the quiet death of Lena.
I’m not even sure what kind of bird Lena was, but she reminded me that our God sees the sparrow that falls.
And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. But rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.
It’s powerful to know that the One who formed the heavens–the amazing backdrop to the display that was erupting in that celebration of patriotism; the God who ordered the sun that was setting, to give it’s light by day, and the moon that was rising to show His glory by night–that God was aware of a single baby bird in the hands of a little girl who desperately wanted to mend the bird. What’s even more profound is that He tells me not to fear; He knows how many hairs are on my head and He values me. That’s the God who knows that, without a rescue, I am dying. And He has provided that rescue for me.
Much to Eliza’s disappointment, we couldn’t save the bird. Lots of little lessons emerged from the tiny little failed rescue mission. It’s never lost on us that our power, even in tiny things, is so small. But God has never experienced a failed rescue mission. And we are so very thankful!
Behold, the LORD’s hand is not shortened,
That it cannot save;
Nor His ear heavy,
That it cannot hear. (Is. 59:1)
I’m up at four this morning to dig and as I began to do that, I ran across this. I wrote it almost exactly one year ago, well before I had firmly decided to write a study about the God of More. The challenges are slightly different this week, but still just as intense, if not maybe a little more so. So this…still: 
It’s a new year. I’ve decided to do some things that might be helpful for me, personally. I’m going to drink some protein every morning. I’m implementing some new prayer habits and I’m starting the Digging Deep writing process much earlier this year. But more than those resolutions, I’m going to remember that, while there is so much that I cannot control—sickness, technology, sin in the lives of others, to name a few—I serve a Father who is “hyper-able”. I can take all the little inconveniences and mishaps to Him at any given moment, and I can know that He is working with unlimited ability toward the end that He already sees with clarity! And he works in “our house.” I cannot focus on the end of the anxiety yet, because I cannot see the resolution. But I can focus on my “hyper” God and know that He is able to do more than I am asking or thinking for our house! Happy New Year! Your God is able!
As lots of readers know, because of circumstances we would have never chosen in a million years, three of our grandchildren have moved to our street. We praise God that they are nearby and thank so many for frequent prayers in their behalf. They are wonderful and all we want is exactly whatever is best for them now, but mostly heaven for them one day! So now…
I
I have learned that army men in the fort secretly enjoy eating goldfish (and they leave their wrappers.)
I have relearned that Polly Pocket pieces are almost as painful as Legos are in the middle of the
Last week I heard a heartwarming story about the conversion of a young teen girl whose life had gone awry following the death of her father and a subsequent downward emotional spiral. Her heart was convicted in a dark and powerless room during a hurricane disaster relief effort by Christians from Decatur, Alabama and middle Tennessee who were ministering in emergency mode on the coast of Florida. Studying with this young woman by flashlights directed at their Bibles, these Christians changed her life for the good and they changed it for good! So there she was, last week, at Camp Moriah in Winchester, Tennessee, hundreds of miles from home. She even brought a mentor from her home church in Florida, or rather the mentor brought her. This young married mentor just may have needed the spiritual breath of fresh air more than even the camper did.
I watched intently as women who had given up all other activities for the week, poured themselves into young women who can make homes and enable good elderships of the future, who can make the congregations they will touch stronger for souls within and for evangelism without. I watched women spend all kinds of hours in that kitchen, preparing great (best camp food ever) meals for fifty women with camp appetites.
tongues held at the right times and words seasoned with grace when needed.
He’s my refuge, sword and buckler
You have kept count of my tossings;