His Eye is on the Sparrow, but Not Mine!

When we moved into our home in 2015, there was a clothes line in the backyard that we wanted to remove. One of the T-poles was wood, and came out of the ground easily. The other T-pole was steel and set in a large amount of concrete. There was no way we were going to be able to easily remove the pole, so I embraced it. I painted it red, did a little bit of modest landscaping around it, and (my favorite thing) I hung a birdhouse that a friend made for us as a housewarming gift. I was looking forward to the possibility of enjoying birds in our own yard. The first spring, we didn't have any feathered visitors claim our little white birdhouse as their own, but early the next spring, to our surprise, black capped chickadees came. When they were finished raising their sweet young, equally to our delight, little wrens came. The next spring followed the same pattern. First the chickadees came, raised their babies, and then the wrens came again, as well. This spring, we were looking forward to the return of our two sweet songbird families, but strange chaos was about to destroy the concept of our little bird nursery.

Mr. Woodpecker was the first to come. He did a thorough job of pecking around the entrance hole of the birdhouse making it bigger than it should be to keep the tiny wren family safe from predators. Not long after Mr. Woodpecker decided the little white birdhouse wasn't up to his expectations, a bluebird couple came and argued with the returning chickadees wanting rights to nest in the space. To both of the bird couples' dismay, house sparrows came on the scene bargaining for the space, as well. The three bird couples flitted about, sang accusatory songs, and chased each other off until the house sparrow couple finally won early spring nesting rights to the house.

I felt frustrated that it was common sparrows, not my beloved chickadees or bluebirds that were building a nest, but then I was reminded that the sparrow is the lowliest of birds, and they needed a home, too. I tried to make my peace with it. 

SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE CARE OF THE SPARROWS, RIGHT?

"What is the price of two sparrows- one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it." Matthew 10:29 (NLT)

We have a heart for ragamuffins and those broken by life. Who better to take care of the lowly sparrows than us? Though disappointed, I tried to let the heart of what was happening soak in. I went the extra step and hung a bird feeder on the crossbar opposite of the little white birdhouse. I would make it as easy as possible for the sparrows to thrive until they flew away after raising their young, but... 

THEY NEVER LEFT THE NEST! THEY NEVER FLEW AWAY!

I started to become worried about what would happen when the little wrens came if they found their home occupied. The chickadees and wrens shared the space together in perfect harmony, but the sparrows stayed... and stayed... and stayed. They wore out their welcome.

The wrens did, indeed, return about two weeks ago. They flitted around the clothes line pole singing concerns to each other about their hijacked home. They finally gave up, and I thought they would be gone for good. By now, It was an all out struggle for me to embrace what seemed like lazy sparrows taking over our beloved birdhouse and just camping out because it was easy, yet the words of the old hymn swirled around my head and heart and brought nothing but guilt.

"I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free, for his eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me." (Civilla D. Martin) 

Ugh! What an internal battle I was in about these sparrows! 

To my surprise, the wrens came back and discovered that we had an uninhabited birdhouse hanging on our patio. It was a perfect little wren house with a small entrance for their protection. Satisfied, Mommy and Daddy Wren began to build a nest in the little red birdhouse. I was thrilled that the wrens came back and found a safe place to call their own. They busied themselves, driven to build their nest, and my heart finally rested over this crazy bird dilemma. 

Two days after fervent nest building, the house sparrows did something that changed my perspective forever. I had just returned from taking my daughter to work, and heard constant angry chirping coming from our patio. I opened the blinds on our sliding glass door to find the oversized male and female sparrow (no doubt fattened from their hearty food supply) tag-teaming against the sweet little wrens. The bully birds were actually attacking the wrens and fly-diving at them to chase them away. Those fat sparrows wouldn't have been able to fit in the little red birdhouse if they tried. I angrily chased the sparrows away at least thirty times only to have them return quickly with their antagonistic tones spewing bitterness at the sweet little wrens. I decided that it was long past time to consult Google to figure out what might be going on with these sparrows.

The following is from Pest Management Professional.

"House sparrows have since become a common pest bird that lives in close association with humans, greatly depending upon them for food and nesting sites. The birds are associated with the transmission of more than 25 diseases of humans and domestic animals... House sparrow feces deface and foul structures, park benches, outdoor lunch tables, statues and stair railings, and contaminate walkways around buildings. Their uric acid droppings can even damage automobile paint. House sparrow nests often clog roof drains, plug gutters and downspouts, and cause roof leaks. Their bulky nests made of grass, straw, feathers, hair, weeds and other dried plant materials, strings and other miscellaneous flammable trash are serious fire hazards—especially when nests are located in electrical equipment, light fixtures, around power lines and electrical substations. House sparrows are opportunistic, quarrelsome, aggressive, persistent, relentless and pugnacious competitors, and they’ll frequently out-compete, drive out and displace desirable native songbirds.Bird houses that are placed out to accommodate songbirds are often usurped by house sparrows."

I was shocked! House sparrows are flat out evil! I told IronMan all that I had learned about the house sparrows and he did a little bit of research on his own. He learned that a house sparrow will raise 3-5 broods a season. No wonder they didn't leave the white birdhouse! They were multiplying right under our noses. He also said that if you try to remove their nest, they will attack and kill any area songbirds out of spiteful vengeance before they leave the area. The wrens wisely left and never returned the morning I tried to chase the sparrows away from the little red birdhouse. Maybe this way they have found a safe place to nest and they will ultimately be protected from these bully sparrows?

I feel like I was naive to allow the house sparrows to come and stay. I ignored my own reservations, and made it as convenient as possible for them. I even provided for them by feeding them choice birdseed. It was easy for evil to come and camp out, rest (does evil ever rest?), and stay awhile, and I was completely unaware. Evil seeps in slow moving and desensitizes us until we are okay with it. Its steadily growing roots finger down until its grip is fierce, it's either too late, or it becomes a GREAT BIG deal to get rid of after causing untold damage. I am awake to this now, and it is my responsibility to stay aware of other ways evil much worse than sparrows may be creeping in. I am known for championing grace, and I don't often talk about this, but if you are allowing things in your life and your family's life that you know shouldn't be there, wake up! Don't be naive. Take care of things before they take root. This is truth. We have a very real enemy that seeks to destroy us in any way that he can. I am not an alarmist or a person that thinks there is a demon around every bush, but I have also lived a little, and I can tell you that this is real, and attack seldom shows up like a loud parade at your door. I thought it was a good thing that I was going to take care of these house sparrows, but allowing them to stay did nothing but destroy the good.

"Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour." 1 Peter 5:8 (ESV)

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." John 10:10 (ESV)

I HAVE DECIDED THAT IF GOD'S EYE IS ON THE SPARROW, THAT'S OKAY. GOD, HIMSELF, CAN TAKE CARE OF THEM! I'M OUT. 😉

***********

Hard Thanks

Thanksgiving is just two days away. Grocery store aisles are crowded, boxes of Stove Top are flying off the shelves, there's a run on turkeys and hams, cranberries boil and pop in shiny saucepans, houses are cleaned spit-spot from top to bottom, and heavenly smells waft through our homes as prep work sometimes seeps right into the wee morning hours. Soon, the white noise mishmash from dishes clinking, coffee brewing, conversations and laughter, prayers around tables, marching bands, football, and children playing will mingle from floor to rafter in homes across America. It is a time of JOY. Thanksgiving wells up in our hearts and spills over into the space of this one day that we share together corporately from Maine to Florida all the way to California, Alaska, Hawaii, and every state in between. It's one special day to say "thanks" together. BUT. There's always a but, isn't there?

Last week, I received a message from a long-time friend. She and I go all the way back to sixth grade. Her little sister's life was tragically stolen by the relentless tormentor of cancer. She was thirty-seven. She was stunning. She was a mother, sister, aunt, daughter, cousin, friend. She is gone. This morning, I received a message from another friend. Her cousin, a senior in high school, was in an ATV accident. He had his entire, amazing life ahead of him, but he was ripped from life to death in one single, disastrous moment. How? How in this hell-hard grief do you say "thanks"?

The truth is, hearts are broken all across this same America that is supposed to pause for gratitude this week. Marriages are falling apart, jobs have been lost, news from doctors has devastated, finances are fragile, gaping soul-wounds fester, alcoholism rages, relationships have been betrayed, depression lurks. There are so many different forms of death that cast a shadow across our souls, and if it isn't happening to you, I guarantee there is someone you know or someone your path has crossed that it is happening to. We are broken people in a broken world. AND it's Thanksgiving. What do we say to the motherless children, the parents who have buried a child, the widow who lost her beloved, the man whose wife ran off and left him with kids to raise alone? I ask again. How in this hell-hard grief do you say it?

...thanks...

Let all platitudes be silenced. There simply are no words for soul-bending pain.

***********

To the hurting and broken, even with God, some things don't make any human sense. We turn them over in our minds a thousand and one different ways, but God is not a genie god answering prayers like wishes granted to bless us with a perfect, untainted life. When we have pleaded and prayed from the depths of our soul-bones for something that meant the world to us, yet our world makes no sense at all, it can leave us in an utter faith crisis. Sometimes, our world gets rocked right down to ash and there is no explanation.If you are aching and feel abandoned this Thanksgiving, I want you to know it's okay. It might be hard for you to get out of bed, let alone to try to get your heart around to being grateful. You don't have to, but if it is in your heart to try to offer a thank you, I want you to know that whatever fragment you can muster to hold up with trembling hands, that priceless fragment, is likely more valuable than a million thanks easily uttered from a place of abundance, because that fragment or shard will probably cost you everything. In giving it, you will have given ALL. If you can't, it's all right. You are not alone. You are understood. I keep thinking about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was hauled off to his accusers to be tortured and murdered on rough-hewn beams. He was asking His Dad for another way through the soul-crushing path he was on. I don't recall Him saying thank you, but he did ultimately surrender in the midst of asking for a different way through or around His circumstance. Hear this. For the love of all things holy, Jesus pleaded for an answer He didn't get! If you are hurting, be gracious to yourself. I won't promise that your pain will make sense, but I know you can get through this, even if it is one breath at a time. If you can't say thank you, let it go. That will be okay, too. Focus on breathing.

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

It is enough.

***********

If you know someone carrying unspeakable wounds, I want to encourage you to let your love and compassion be evident in actions. Weep with those that are weeping. Sit beside another in their sorrow. Even well-intentioned words have the potential to sprinkle salt on open sores. Staying quiet is often the most loving action you can offer. Take a meal. Give a hug. Offer your service. Be a listening ear. Whatever you are led to do, do it without expectation. Be kind to those who need your kindness. Maybe your smile will be the very thing that keeps someone else's head above water for a day. You never know the full impact of simple things. Be mindful of those who might be lonely this Thanksgiving. Holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people. By all means, soak up all the joy you can if you are surrounded by it this holiday. Don't be ashamed of that at all! It's a beautiful gift. Just try to be aware and others minded. You might be surprised what beauty will come across your path as you selflessly give love and care to one who truly needs it.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

***********

Notes from the Ordinary- Vol.2

When we moved into our home nearly three years ago, it was in the middle of snowy February. Under a blanket of icy white, our home had many mysteries to be discovered with the upcoming seasons. One of the mysteries for me was the younger tree that graced our front yard. If you know me personally, it is likely that you also know my favorite color is red. Keeping true to my love of red, one of my favorite trees is a red maple, and I have always longed to have one of my own. Little compares to the fiery bright splendor that warms the world in its contrast against an autumn sky than that of a red maple. I am not a tree expert, so I wasn't one hundred percent certain that our new front yard tree was a maple, but I hoped, longed and wished that if it was, it would also be red. Spring came, and the tree branches became dotted with brand new buds. The buds soon swelled and unfolded into tiny, perfect leaves. MAPLE LEAVES. Again, not being a tree expert, I had no idea if there was a way to tell if this maple was a red maple or not, so I patiently waited. The first autumn in our home arrived, and the first signs of color change revealed red leaves on the tips of our maple's branches. I was thrilled! I had a red maple of my own! This felt like an unexpected gift. But as the next week or two progressed, the remainder of the tree's leaves changed to yellow. I hadn't paid enough attention to yellow maple trees to know that the first leaves that change color usually turn from green to red hues. Simple hope was dashed, and some days it doesn't take much after a long hard journey to be discouraged. Autumn 2015 was a disappointment.

I was prepared ahead of time for a yellow maple tree the second autumn in our home, so at least hope wouldn't be dashed. I began to plot our yard in my mind and plan a place for a future new tree, a red maple tree. If I wasn't gifted a red maple, I was going to plant one myself. We only live on a half acre, and the way our home is situated on our lot gives little place for another tree to grow, mature, and thrive. I turned it over and over again in my mind, but I couldn't find a viable place to plant a tree unless we wanted to sacrifice the humble fire pit, or the spot where we put up a small pool for our kids. One tree just for me was not worth the sacrifice of many things that our entire family enjoys. Autumn 2016 was also a busy time for our family with our firstborn getting married, so I didn't have a lot of time to sulk about yellow or red trees even though I confess that many times I wondered why the tree we currently have couldn't have just been red. How hard would it have been for the tree's planter to plant a glorious red maple instead of a plain ordinary yellow one? God surely would have known how much I would have loved red, and He knew at the time of planting that this would eventually be our home. It seemed so simple to me. Why not just this one thing, God? So many other big, hard, heart-wrenching things have paved our journey. Couldn't I have had just this one tiny thing that doesn't really even matter to anyone else in this world except for me? But it wasn't meant to be, and there was no way to fix it myself in the yard space we have. As silly as it seems, autumn 2016 held more disappointment.

I noticed several weeks ago that the autumn colors seemed to lack this year. Our family took a quick trip to southern Indiana to view the fall foliage, and it seemed to be the same there, as well. At home, our young tree did begin to faithfully change from red tips to blah yellow, and fall just felt flat. Many other life-deep, soul-deep things have been stirring, so the outside seemed to perfectly reflect my inner being. Then, autumn 2017 took me by surprise. Right in the middle of an ordinary morning on an ordinary day, I stepped onto our ordinary porch stoop, and looked up at our ordinary tree. Golden beauty literally took my breath away.This was a different fire than a fiery red maple. This tree shimmered dreamily with steadily glowing embers that cast a lovely golden hue over the entire corner of our yard, and I was frozen in its hush.

 Every single leaf changed from dull to vivid yellow overnight.

It was stunning, and it shamed me that I have been complaining about this tree for far too long. Honestly, I don't even need to bring myself to a place to try to embrace it. IT EMBRACED ME.

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL WAS RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES, AND I NEARLY MISSED IT BECAUSE IT WASN'T THE THING I WANTED IT TO BE.

How often do we do this in our lives? How often do we do this with God? I confess that I do this more often than I really want to admit. I scoff and complain about my circumstances. I grumble because I have this thing and I want that thing. I am bitter because our situation should be that way, but it's this way. I have thrown my fist in the air and stomped my feet demanding for something to change. Dear ones, I confess to you that I know I am missing beauty that's right in front of me. Life, just like this golden, glorious tree holds a precious lesson.

SOMETIMES, YOU HAVE TO GET UNDER A THING TO REALLY SEE ITS BEAUTY.










***********

Notes from the Ordinary- Vol.1

It's been nearly a year since I last posted a blog. I know this goes against every single blog rule in the book, but I have never really been one to follow all the rules (*wink*). The truth is, a whole lot of life can happen in a year, and sometimes, it isn't quite time to put your heart out there for the world to see right in the midst of it. Discernment dictates that it's best to let things settle before sharing, and it is my firm belief that there is seasoned wisdom in knowing when to be silent and still. For today, I am going to choose to let the "silent" things be, and I will unpack them with you as God leads me. For today, I am gently stepping back into writing publicly, and I will share here in this tiny corner of the internet as heart things stir.

*********************************************************************************

To catch up a tiny bit, we have experienced several momentous changes in our family this past year. Last November, our oldest daughter was married to a beautifully-hearted young man right here in our home by her daddy. It was a labor of love to prepare for this special day, and having the ceremony in our home was a precious, intimate experience that we will all remember for a lifetime.

This past summer, we helped move my parents 1,200 miles from Colorado to the mid-west. It is currently a sweet time in the life of our family, and my growing-up-too-quickly kids are soaking up the days having their grandparents right around the corner. There is a whole lot of good-old-fashioned spoiling going on doused with buckets of extra laughter. The past year has gifted us precious family treasures, and we do not to take a single moment for granted.


*********************************************************************************

There have been many things I have processed these past twelve months. There is one thing that has recently percolated to the surface. I am identifying that it might be a contributor to one of the reasons I haven't written. You see, I am quite ORDINARY. There isn't really anything about me that stands out in the crowd. My life is probably considered quite mundane to most. The days are so similar that they run together, and as a busy, homeschooling, stay-at-home mama, I don't really get out of the house as much as I would like to, need to, or should. I don't have any outstanding gifts or talents. Someone else will always be better, faster, stronger, prettier, wiser, smarter, more successful, more capable, more talented, more, more, more. But you know what? It's okay! So often, ordinary people are dismissed, marginalized, or ignored. I am SHOUTING this from the ROOFTOPS that this is a monumental mistake. We ALL have our own beauty to offer, and only you can offer your kind of beautiful to the world, and only I can offer my kind of beautiful. 

WE ALL HAVE BEAUTY TO OFFER EACH OTHER. 

You don't have to be the best at something to be able to offer it as a gift to someone else. Since when did we believe we were worthless if we weren't the best? Our streets, stores, churches, businesses, schools, and homes are full of ordinary people that have tucked their beauty away because they don't think it is worth offering. I am here today to tell you to stop being afraid, dig deep, be brave. Uncover the gift you might be hiding and share it with someone else. If you are a baker, bake cookies for your neighbor. If you sing, sing a song to a loved one. If you are an encourager, speak your uplifting words over those who need your truth. If you paint, paint your joy and share it with a friend. If you are a teacher, teach. If you are a writer, write. If you are a server, serve. 

YOU ARE THE ONLY ORDINARY PERSON THAT CAN DO THESE THINGS IN YOUR VERY OWN WAY, AND THAT MAKES YOU EXTRAORDINARY. 

Let's all choose to take the time to make the world brighter by putting a little bit more of our extraordinary in it. 


***********

"If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives."  (2 Corinthians 4:7 MSG)


***********

The Pumpkins Came...and...Went

All summer long, I worked tirelessly to help sustain the life of my petunia plants. My heart's desire was to nurse them along... until the pumpkins came. The survival of the petunias became deeply important to me as we have been fighting, in a sense, for our own family's survival. For those that may not know, our family's needs are primarily met by a little eBay business that we started a few years ago. Without going into too much detail, owning and depending on your own small business can be is crazy-making. We ride the waves of a fickle economy and fragile sales trends, and we trust...that there will be enough. Well, often, there isn't, so we listen and look for signs of hope in the everyday whispers from God that it will be okay. Summer is our slowest business time, and my petunias became symbolic of making it through the summer. If they could hold on until the pumpkins came (autumn, when business normally picks up), then so could we. Carrying all of these things in my heart, I parked my vehicle and walked up to our local market. You cannot imagine the relief I felt when I saw huge crates overflowing with pumpkins. The petunias made it. Spindly. Barely. But they did. Whew!

THE PUMPKINS HAD COME!

I felt like... maybe... I could at least breathe in and breathe out. I felt like... maybe... we were going to make it, too. The hope I had in the petunias shifted to the pumpkins. The life-cycle of my beloved petunias was complete, and I felt free to let go and plant fall mums in their place.

The arrival of mums is one of the first indicators that harvest will soon be in full swing. Oh how our souls have longed for this year's autumn harvest. We tried to soak in every hope and encouragement from the arrival of pumpkins and the planting of mums, because we barely made it out of summer alive. Actually, I am not convinced we really did, but harvest time would bring new grain into the storehouse, and new hope to our souls. Right?

Two short weeks after I purchased the pumpkins, I walked outside to discover that they had rotted.

THE. PUMPKINS. ROTTED.

My heart sank to my toes. Tears quarreled with anger and won. I couldn't begin to imagine what this symbolism meant for us. We were slammed with discouragement, and I threw my pumpkins in the garbage. 

My dear friend, Carrie, began messaging me the chronicle of her own petunias sometime around mid-August. Too much rain? Too much heat? Were they going to make it? She would send me an update once every week or so. Our hearts and souls and hopes were both engrossed. Towards the end of September, her messages to me were more timely than she would ever realize. She had given up deadheading her flowers, but they were still hanging on. Her pumpkins weren't rotten, either. {wink~wink~smile} By mid-October, she shared with me how she felt bad for giving up on her petunias. Even still, they were prospering.

This was the last picture that Carrie sent me on October 24th. She included with it this description:

"Long after the pumpkins came, way longer than what was expected, and long, long after all hope was given up..." Her flowers were still blooming.

This truth prodded my soul, but my petunias had long been thrown away, my pumpkins were compost, and our lives... sigh... just sigh... Where was our harvest?

The very same day I received the picture of my dear friend's still-flourishing flowers, I walked outside to refill the bird feeders that were on our patio. When I turned to head back into the house, this is what I saw. 

God bless this tomato plant. Ragged. Frayed. Tired. Bedraggled. We had long given up hope on this, as well, much like Carrie and her petunias.

Every branch, whether appearing dead or alive, was laden with tomatoes. This precious plant had more than 60 tomatoes to gift us.  

My thoughts were so consumed with the petunias and pumpkins, I had lost interest in giving this tomato in our backyard proper care. I had abandoned it, yet, against all odds, it was still working hard to bear fruit.

Hope was trying to nudge me from somewhere I had never even considered, and I needed fresh perspective.

I WASN'T LOOKING FOR HOPE IN THE RIGHT PLACE.

Something else wise Carrie said to me, "God's message is everywhere." Yes. Yes, it is. When all appears to be forlorn, open your eyes, and look elsewhere.

Determined not to let rotten pumpkins haunt me, I took my kids to the pumpkin farm to choose fresh-from-the-field pumpkins.

And at the dinner table, I couldn't have been more poignantly reminded that a form of harvest was right there in front of me.

Our life circumstance still hasn't changed, but we are hanging on and trusting for harvest, even in the eBay business. 

I came across this box of flower bulbs at the pumpkin farm yesterday. I didn't notice it until I got it home.

Thoughts that have been swirling around in continual prayers for weeks finally united. My eyes were opened and I chose to see hope here in this new place. 

FALL IS FOR PLANTING.

Maybe...just maybe, for the Sargent family, the harvest will still come? I HAVE TO BELIEVE that it will, and WE MUST PERSEVERE. Maybe...just maybe, you are waiting, too? Even though fall is typically thought of as harvest time, right now we are going to choose to plant, wait, and trust. 

HARVEST. WILL. COME.