Keith noticed it first, a dove that sat quiet and almost still on the ground beneath one of the hanging bird feeders.  While other doves and a bevy of cardinals hopped around him pecking at the ground, then flying up and down from the feeder, he barely moved a foot in two hours, and always one small, hesitant hop at a time.  By late evening most of the other birds were gone, finished with their free supper and off to find a good roosting place for the night, but he still sat there.
            By then I was a little worried.  I grabbed the binoculars for a closer look.  He had puffed himself up twice his size as birds will do in the winter to keep warm.  But it was still early September and the humid evening air hovered in the upper 80s.  Suddenly his head popped up, stretching out his neck just a bit, and then immediately back into the folds of feathers around his shoulders.  As I continued to watch I noticed it every five minutes or so.  It almost looked like he had hiccups, but somehow I did not think that was the problem.  Something worse was happening.
            Near dusk he suddenly flew straight up to the feeder itself.  Instead of perching on the outer rung designed for a bird to curl its feet around and be able to lean forward to eat from the small trough that ran around the bottom of the feeder, he flew into the trough itself, hunched down, and leaned against the clear plastic wall of the feeder.  Then he became completely still—no more twitching or bouncing.  I watched until it was too dark to see any longer. 
            The next morning I went out with my pail of birdseed to refill all the feeders around the house.  There beneath the feeder lay the now much smaller body of the dove.  Sometime in the night he had died and fallen off the feeder.  We carefully disposed of the small body for the sake of the other birds and our Chloe just in case it had carried a contagious illness.  It was a sad moment.  I couldn’t help but think, “You weren’t alone, little guy.  We watched you and we cared.”
            We weren’t the only ones watching.  Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father, Matt 10:29.  God notices when every little bird falls to the ground.  And never forget the lesson Jesus draws from that:  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows, Matt 10:30-31.
            Dying alone has become a metaphor for a purposeless existence. “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone,” (Orson Welles).
            It’s used to depict life and death as a beginning and end that you cannot effect one way or the other.  “Don’t expect anyone to stick around.  You were born alone and you will die alone,” (Anonymous).
            It’s used as a desperate pitiful plea for someone to care:  “I just don’t want to die alone, that’s all.  That’s not too much to ask for, is it?  It would be nice to have someone care for me, for who I am, not about my wallet,” (Richard Pryor).
            It’s used to show the meaninglessness of life:  “At the end, we all die alone,” (Anonymous).
            Is it any wonder that skeptics and atheists commit suicide?  None of these things is true for a Christian. 
            For the LORD loves justice; he will not forsake his saints. They are preserved forever… Ps 37:28.
            Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you, Heb 13:5.
            Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go, Josh 1:9.
            Sometimes we can quote passages like these until we are blue in the face, but when the hour of trial comes, any sort of trial, and no one stands with us, we allow the physical eye to fool us into believing we are alone.  We need to learn to see with spiritual eyes like our Lord did:  Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me, John 16:32.  We are the only ones who can take that promise away—when we don’t believe it.  With God a believer is never alone no matter how much vacant space surrounds him.
            If God promised to watch for every fallen bird, He will watch for me.  Even if some day I breathe my last breath in an otherwise empty room, I can know that Someone cares enough to be nearby, watching and waiting to take me home.
 
Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints, Ps 116:15.
And I will gather you to your fathers…2 Chron 34:28.
 
Dene Ward

Did you know there are 336 species of hummingbird in the world?  The United States is home to 16, but Florida to only 3, and two of those, the black-chinned and the rufous, are rarely seen, and then only in the winter.  The ones who visit our feeders are all ruby-throated hummingbirds.  These little rascals are about three inches long and weigh about ¼ ounce.  Everyone loves hummingbirds.  "Widdle buhds," my grandson Judah called them when he was two, and, "Oh, so cute," all the adults say.  Well, guess what?  As a Smithsonian article I once read said, ounce for ounce, hummingbirds are the most vicious creatures on the planet.
            If you have ever watched a hummingbird feeder, you have seen the aggression.  And who can really blame them?  Their wings can beat 80 times a second and their hearts can beat 1000 times a minute.  They must eat every 30 minutes to get enough calories for that high metabolism. They have no down under their feathers, which helps them fly because they are so light, but it does little to keep their tiny bodies warm.   When they sleep at night, they are in danger of dying from starvation or cold, so their tiny bodies go into a state of torpor that slows their heartrate and lowers their body temperature.  And how many calories do they need?  Usually they take in 3-7 calories a day in nectar, which may not sound like much, but when you translate that to something the size of a human it is 155,000 calories a day.  We can easily see why they are so aggressive at feeders—it is literally a matter of life or death.
            They are especially aggressive in early spring when claiming territory.  Females are more aggressive in protecting the walnut-sized nest after she lays their eggs.  Then, as they prepare to migrate in the late summer and early fall they must put on 40% more of their total body weight to survive the trip, often as far south as Central America.  They will fly over the Gulf of Mexico rather than following the shore around it, 18-72 hours of nonstop flying over open water.  No wonder they do not want to share!
            A hummingbird's aggression increases by stages, depending upon the results he gets at each level.  First he will sit off to the side of the feeder, buzzing and chirping and squeaking, gradually increasing volume as the intruder feeds.  After that he will "posture."  He may flare his gorge, spread his wings or his crown, or point his sharp little bill like a sword.  If you see one diving at other birds on the feeder, he has moved on to the third level of aggression.  If you are in the middle of filling the feeder, or simply standing too close by, he may dive at you too.  If the dive does not get rid of the interloper, he will actively chase him away, following him for several yards to make sure he is gone.  And finally, when all else fails, hummingbirds will fight, and fight to the death, using their talons and beaks as deadly weapons.  On occasion ornithologists have actually found two dead hummingbirds, one dead with the other's bill through his body so far that the attacker could not extricate himself and died too.  See what I mean by "vicious?"
            But here is the thing:  hummingbirds are wired that way by their Creator.  It is the only way they can survive.  If somehow you could stand there and say to them, there is plenty for all of you and I promise to keep filling it up, none of them would understand.  It is the bird's job to survive in the ways he has been given and to see any intruder as someone who could cause his or his lady's death.  You simply cannot change the nature of a hummingbird, and no one would expect you too.
            We are not like that.  God expects change from us.  "But that's just the way I am," won't cut it with Him.  He knows who and what you are, and what you can and cannot do, and He has said from time immemorial that He expects us to change.  The word "repent" is found 105 times in the KJV Bible and that doesn't count the various forms of the word like "repentance."  And what does that word mean?  To put it simply, "change."  And it wasn't only the doom-saying prophets and so-called angry God of the Old Testament who said this.  "Except you repent, you shall all likewise perish," said Jesus, not once, but twice (Luke 13:3,5), and in other places as well.
            What did he say to the woman taken in adultery?  "Go your way and sin no more" (John 8:11).  Sounds like a change to me.  In fact, he constantly demanded such complete commitment (change) that many turned and left.  "Let the dead bury the dead."  "Go sell all you have."  "Hate your mother and your father."  Become "a eunuch for the kingdom's sake."  "Take up your cross [crucify yourself] and follow me."  Jesus never coddled anyone into the kingdom.
            So here is our question for the day.  Are you a wild creature who has no sense of right and wrong and therefore, no self-control and no self-determination?  Or are you created in the image of God, a creature who can not only know right from wrong, but can actually choose which one to do?  If you don't know, God does.
 
Or do you despise the riches of His kindness, restraint, and patience, not recognizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? But because of your hardness and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed. He will repay each one according to his works  (Rom 2:4-6).
 
Dene Ward

Retirement is a wonderful thing.  No more rushing around every morning, swallowing a quick breakfast whole, throwing on an outfit, and rushing out the door after a quick peck on your wife’s cheek.  At least that’s the way it was for Keith for several decades. 
            Now it’s a leisurely breakfast in your pajamas with a second cup of coffee, and then a third out on the carport, watching the birds swoop down in front of us to the bird feeder, hummingbirds battling over their feeder like tiny pilots in fighter planes, and Chloe sitting next to us, her tail swishing sparkly grains of sand over the concrete. 
           We have a little ritual with her—three or four doggie treats that Keith sails out toward the flower bed one at a time with her tearing after them, sniffing around in the grass until she finds the morsel, then rolling in the dew wet grass in doggy euphoria before returning to her post at our feet, or even under our chairs—the better to garner a belly rub.
            He always throws the treats in the same direction, slightly south of east, and makes the same whistle like a missile falling to the earth, and she has become habituated to the whole routine.  We did not realize how much until one morning he threw it north of east instead of south.  Even though she watched him do it, she still ran southeast and sniffed the ground in ever widening circles, becoming more and more frustrated when she could not find the treat.  Finally he had to get up and walk in the direction he threw it and call her over.  Eventually her nose found it, but you would have thought we had punished her as she dragged herself back without her customary cheerfulness, her tail sagging almost between her legs.  She was not happy again until he had thrown the next treat in the right direction—translation:  the one she expected.
            Have you ever shown a friend a scripture that teaches something obvious, only to have him say, “I can’t see that?”  Have you ever had her read something out loud only to answer your unspoken comment with, “But I don’t believe it that way?”  Almost unbelievable, isn’t it?  Don’t think for a minute that you are immune to the same failing.  What you can see, what you do believe, depends a whole lot on what you are looking for. 
            The worst thing you can do in your Bible study is go searching for something to back up what you already think.  In fact, I often tell brand new classes, “The biggest hindrance to learning is what you think you already know.”  I have had students who were intelligent and sincere look at something everyone else could see but not see it, and nearly every time it is because of some preconceived notion they grew up with or heard somewhere a long time ago and have not been able to let go.  Even something as plain as the nose on their faces.
            What you already know will also raise a stop sign in your learning path.  As soon as you find what you thought was there, you will stop looking, when just a little more study and uninhibited consideration would have shown you something brand new.  The same thing happens when you rely on old notes.  You will never see anything new until you rid yourself of old ideas.  You will never find a deeper understanding if you think you have already dredged as far as you can go.
            Jesus said, “For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind,” John 9:39.  He was not talking to unbelievers.  He was not talking to pagans.  He was talking to people who thought they knew God’s word inside out, who could quote whole books, who kept the law in the minutest detail, proud of how exact they were—even beyond exact—and the fact that they were children of Abraham.  Guess who that translates to today? 
            When was the last time you learned anything new?  Thought any new thoughts?  Discovered any new connections in the scriptures?  When was the last time you changed your mind about something?  Can you see it if it’s thrown in a direction you never thought of before, or are you as blind as those people who were sure they knew what their Messiah would look like and how he would act?  When he came out of left field, they were lost.  How about you?
 
…and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself…? Rom 2:19-21.
 
Dene Ward
 

Our blueberries have not been particularly bountiful the past few years.  I remember years when over the three or four weeks we were picking, I had enough for four or five pies, two or three dozen giant muffins, blueberry pancakes at least twice, and a dozen jars of jam, and still put fifteen full quarts of berries in the freezer for later use.  This year I didn’t have enough for one muffin.  If blueberries are antioxidants, we may start rusting soon.
            When the blueberries are thin I really hate sharing them with the birds.  It would not be so bad if the birds would pick one limb or even one bush out of the twelve we have.  But they flit around pecking a blueberry here and a blueberry there.  Once a bird has pecked a berry just once, it is useless to us.  Yet there is still enough in the one berry for several more pecks if the bird would only take them, and then he would not need to peck so many others!
            Satan does the same thing to us.  How many faults do you have?  How many weaknesses do you fight on a daily basis?  If you are a faithful Christian, maybe only a few by now, certainly less than when you started out.  But you know what?  Satan doesn’t need to totally ruin you.  He doesn’t need to turn you into evil personified.  All he needs to do is make you satisfied with just one little fault, only one little thing that you need to work on, because the fewer pecks he makes into your soul, the more likely you are to be satisfied with your progress.  You will look at yourself and say, “I’m doing pretty well.  This one little thing won’t hurt my soul.”  And so you give in, you make excuses, you say to yourself, “That’s just the way I am, and after all, it’s not that bad.  I haven’t killed anyone lately.”  This is not to minimize the need for grace, just the attitude that says, “I’m satisfied where I am.”
            So we become a bush full of pecked blueberries, too ruined for those around us to nourish their souls, but not ruined enough for us to think we really need to do something about it.  Is that why the church isn’t growing?  Is that why we no longer have any influence on our neighbors?  Is that why our children are falling away and the future looks so grim? 
            Pecked blueberries are useless.  When Satan sends a bird to peck at you, beat him off with a stick if you have to.  One peck can cost you your soul.
 
But when the righteous turns away from his righteousness and commits iniquity, and does according to the abominations that the wicked man does, shall he live?  None of his righteous deeds that he has done shall be remembered; in his trespass that he has trespassed, and in his sin which he has sinned he shall die…I have no pleasure in the death of him who dies, says the Lord.  Therefore turn and live, Ezekiel 18:24,32.
 
Dene Ward

When the boys were growing up, we raised chickens for a while.  I never would have guessed you could buy chicks mail order, but that is exactly what we did, and about two weeks later the postmaster called with the message, "I have a crate of little biddies up here for you."
            We kept them in a box on the porch for the first few weeks and learned to live with the constant background of high pitched peeping.  Finally they were big enough to place in the pen Keith constructed for them, complete with a straw-lined, raised henhouse, nesting boxes, and an old tub full of water.  They were not likely to run dry with that thing sitting out there.
            At the appropriate time, about four months later, the hens began to lay eggs.  Soon we were gathering about a dozen jumbo-plus sized brown eggs a day.  Huge bowls of eggs filled my refrigerator.  You can only make so many pound cakes, quiches, custards, and deviled eggs before the masses begin to revolt.  And only a couple of us really liked eggs for breakfast every day.  When the church folks found out we were drowning in eggs,  half a dozen families offered to buy a dozen every other week or so.  We asked fifty cents a dozen back then, and both sides were thrilled with the deal.
            The boys fed the chickens and gathered the eggs every day (and fought off the rooster, but that's another story and another lesson for another day).  And we all learned a lot about chickens. For one thing, I never expected to need to wash such filthy eggs.  Not all of them, but enough.  When Keith saw them he said, "Grandma always said that chickens are the only birds that will foul their own nests."  
            Even though we were rookies, we had done everything right.  The hens all laid their eggs in the nesting boxes, taking turns because there were more hens than boxes, which is normal.  But evidently, one of them was lazy, and instead of leaving the nesting box to roost in the evening, it would remain in the nesting box overnight.  And let's just say, chickens are not exactly potty-trained.  From what I have read, no other bird does such a thing.  Between that and the prevalence of salmonella on raw chicken meat, one wonders why chicken is considered such a healthy meat, and how it ever made the "clean" list for the Jews.
            Chickens may be the only birds that do such a thing, and since they are domesticated rather than wild, it seems especially surprising.  Some Christians do surprising things as well, especially considering their claim to be better than the average sinner. 
            Why in the world should we have to tell a Christian not to drink?  Why should we ever need to suggest to a Christian woman that she needs to cover up a little more of her body?  Why is it that my neighbor might say to me, "Since you are a Christian I know you would never watch such and such a movie," while I know that several of my brothers and sisters did watch it and even bragged about it on Facebook?  I could go on, but you get the point.  Some things should go without saying, yet the shame is that they can't.
            And so we foul our own nests (homes and churches) with impurities just as filthy as a chicken's.  God wants purity in our lives.  That is the only way we will ever be fit to live with a holy God forever.
 
Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.  (1John 3:2-3).
 
Dene Ward

It was a hot, sultry August morning in the year that was so unlike any other, at least in my lifetime.  The world had gone crazy and despite having to deal with all that, we still had the usual, and not so usual, mishaps and illnesses, pain and sorrows.  I walked Chloe around the property, both of us wilting despite our sun protection as the summer heat of Florida rolled down on us.  My shirt dripped sweat at the hem and my feet faltered here and there as the weight of this world added to the weight of the heat and humidity.
            When I reached the gate a hawk flew over the western field and landed in one of those ubiquitous North Florida pines.  He sat there even as I continued toward him down the hill, his call far more insistent than the normal predatory cry of a hawk.  When I reached his tree I stopped beneath where he still sat, calling stridently, and began talking to him.  He quieted and sat there as if listening intently.  I wondered, could it be?  Could this be one of the hawks we had "raised" here on the property?  Could it be the one who, after his older sister flew, sat lonely in his nest in the tree next to the garden where I could talk to him every spring morning as I worked, the one who followed me around for weeks after he had learned to fly himself?  Could it be the one whose nest tree was struck by lightning, whom we rescued from the ground before a fox, coyote, or bobcat could find him, and placed in a homemade moss-stuffed milk crate "nest" until his mother could find him and care for him?  Could it be one of the many others we simply talked to in their nests day after day before they matured enough to fly away?  Can red-shouldered hawks live that long, I wondered, and found out later that yes, they can.
            He stayed on his piney perch as I talked to him a bit longer that morning, but Chloe was becoming antsy to continue the walk (and find the shade), so I left and headed further downhill.  Immediately the hawk began crying out, so I turned once more and told him to be patient, I would be back for another lap very soon.  But wild creatures operate on instinct rather than patience, and he was gone when I returned.  Still I wondered about him being there and this odd behavior, and, as I cannot seem but do, found a lesson in him.  Maybe God was reminding me providentially through this creature of His that He still remembers me, even in this strangest of years, that His eye so high is still keen enough to see where I am and what I need, and that He can find me among the billions of souls on this fragile planet we inhabit.
            As I walked across the field, unreasonably hurt by the bird's perfectly normal absence when I returned, a large shadow flew over me with an impossibly wide wingspan.  And once again I was called to remember:  God is always there when life treats us badly, whether I see Him or not, and I can always hide in the shadow of His wings.
 
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till these calamities pass by. (Ps 57:1).

(If you would like to see other hawk stories, click on the category "Birds and Animals" on the right sidebar.)

Dene Ward

We have had probably fifteen generations of cardinals grow up on our property since we put up our bird feeders, maybe more if they nest more than once a year as many birds do here in our warmer climate.  The first time the parents brought their adolescent children to our bird feeder, I was shocked. 

Everyone knows what beauties cardinals are.  The males range from bright fire engine to deep cherry red, a rounded breast of the same color, with a black Zorro mask, orange-red bill, and a full, high crest.  Even the more muted females are a smooth olive green to buff brown with fringes of red on their wings and tails, full crests, plus the same orangy bill and a bit of a black mask.  But the adolescents?  Can a bird be called "gawky?"  The colors range from scruffy gray to a spotty brown, with remnants of dirty-white baby feathers stuck here and there, and an ugly, gray bill.  They are usually skinny and their crests either as short as crewcuts or as stringy as a human head of oily hair, and sparse to boot. 

They remind me of human teenagers actually—that gangly stage where their legs and arms are too long for their bodies and the most recent growth spurt has left them looking like Elastic Man stretched to his limit.  But what happens?  You see them five years later and suddenly you have a beautiful young woman standing in front of you, or a handsome young man.  That's what happens.  And you know what?  All those gawky cardinals eventually become just as beautiful as their parents, too.  It's perfectly normal.

The same can be true of spiritual growth.   Sometimes a new Christian can be an ugly creature.  Especially if he has come straight out of the world, rather than growing up among us, he may still be slipping back into bad habits fairly often.  His language may slip.  His temper may flare in a less than godly way.  His choices may be every bit as unwise as they were before his baptism.  That's perfectly normal too.  Should it stay that way?  Absolutely not.  "Please be patient with me," should be an early request that grows less and less necessary, rather than something he clings to like ivy on a brick wall. 

I have watched the ugliest, gawkiest cardinal grow to be one of the most beautiful birds God made, so perfectly red that as he sits in my dark green jasmine vine he looks like a Christmas card—all that's missing is a little snow. 

I have seen new Christians do the same thing, but not until they have gone through that awkward growing up stage, tripping over their own feet and falling flat on their faces more than once.   Expect it.  Bear with him.  Be tolerant of his errors rather than deciding he will never make it.  You were once that awkward adolescent Christian yourself.

However, if you are indeed that babe in Christ.  Don't use it justify a failure to grow up.  Surely you do want to be that beautiful red cardinal someday, and as soon as possible.  That won't happen if you are still making excuses five, ten, twenty years down the road.  Or even if you make them tomorrow.
 
…until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children…(Eph 4:13-14).
 
Dene Ward

We’ve all seen those definitions of pessimism and optimism, the classic being the half-empty or half-full glass.  As a gardener, I’ve come up with my own.  When you look out over your herb garden, do you see beautiful brightly colored butterflies flitting around, or does your mind’s eye conjure up green caterpillars on naked parsley stems, their leaves stripped away practically overnight?  I have a friend who is overjoyed at the sight of a butterfly.  I often have a difficult time sharing her joy.

But I recognize the problem.  Pessimism can easily turn to cynicism.  We want to rationalize that by calling it “being realistic.”  But here’s the difference: 
Realism understands that you won’t save everyone (Matt 7:13,14).  Cynicism doesn’t even try. 

Realism knows that you are unlikely to change the mind of that misled young man in the white shirt and tie who knocked on your door with Bible in hand, but it greets him with kindness and respect.  Cynicism views him not as a lost soul, but as an adversary and approaches him with sarcasm and downright hatefulness.

Realism knows that perhaps even a majority of those who ask for help at the meetinghouse door are making prey of good-hearted brethren, but it takes the time to politely ask a few questions and determine an appropriate action just in case.  Cynicism immediately tars them all with the same brush and sends them on empty-handed, both physically and spiritually.

Realism is compassion tempered with wisdom.  “Be ye wise as serpents and harmless as doves.”  Cynicism is malice fueled by pessimism.  It looks for the worst, it expects the worst, and ultimately it rejoices in finding it.  That is about as un-Christlike as it comes.

So watch the butterflies today and enjoy them.  You can always check for caterpillars in the parsley later, and then rejoice when you only find a few.
 
[Love} does not rejoice at unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  1Cor 13:6-7.
 
Dene Ward

You would think that after well over ten years of watching these birds outside my window that I would have seen everything, but such is not the case.  I imagine I will still be sharing experiences with you for years to come.
            Take the latest.  Besides the trough outside my window, we also have two hanging feeders out in the yard, another on the corner of the field on the other side of the house, and two suet cages hanging by the window next to the trough.  The suet blocks in those cages get the most traffic in the cooler weather.  Suddenly, not just meat eaters (bug meat, this is) but also seed eaters who need more fat in the cold are thronging the things.  Access can be a problem.  With sparrows or wrens, several can and will hang onto the cages containing the suet all at one time, happily pecking away, share and share alike.  But larger birds take up too much room for that.  With a 4 by 4 inch block of suet, an 8 inch cardinal, or a 9 inch catbird, or a 10 inch blue jay have no room to share, even if they wanted to—which most of those varieties don't.
            Then there is the swing factor.  One cage is hooked to a tiny bar by a five inch chain, similar to a charm bracelet chain.  It sways back and forth a bit when a bird lands, takes off, or simply sits on the old TV antenna next to it and pecks at it, but the arc is fairly small and the swing barely noticeable.  The other one is hooked to a higher bar by a cord a good 2 feet long.  Now this one can really get to moving, both in a back and forth arc and also in rotation.
            The catbird loves suet, but he much prefers the cage on the short chain.  Devious me, when that one runs out, I leave it empty for a while and force the birds to use the one on the longer cord.  Otherwise it would never be eaten.  The first time that catbird landed on that cage it started turning like a merry-go-round.  He moved back a forth a bit, trying to counterbalance the rotation, but the more he moved, the faster it turned.  Finally, he became so upset that he started flapping his wings while still hanging on with his feet and before long the centrifugal force had nearly flung him off.  He flew away in self-defense.  But he does love that suet, so he keeps coming back.
            Yesterday he made a breakthrough.  He has finally learned that if he lands on it and stands totally still, it will eventually slow down enough for him to be able to lean over and peck the suet with very little sway factor or rotation.  He overcame his panic and let the laws of physics and gravity slow the turn simply by being still.  Can birds learn these things?  Well, I guess he learned something because we no longer break out in fits of laughter watching him rotate like a spinning top and somehow avoid being slung off into the azaleas.
            Sometimes we get just like that catbird.  Life starts throwing us around, flinging us back and forth, trying to completely throw us away from the very thing that can stabilize us and feed our souls—God.  If we just stop flailing about, stop going in all directions, stop trying to take care of things ourselves and just let God take control, many times the situations we find ourselves in will completely disappear, and the ones that don't will suddenly become more manageable.  I  know for myself that the very things that have kept me awake all night suddenly have simple solutions the next day when I just quit trying to control everything myself and hand them over to God.
            Back in the early 1960s a musical ran in London called "Stop the World I Want to Get Off."  It follows the life of a man who, every time something happened which he didn't like, cried out that title line.  In fact, the whole show stopped and he would talk to the audience about it.  The catbird, if he could have talked, might have said the same thing, and in the beginning did "get off" the suet cage, but he knew he needed that suet so he kept coming back and learned how to deal with it. 
            We can't get off the cage—or the world.  We have to learn, just like that catbird, how to cope, and we have a Father who will help us if we will only let Him.  So be still and let Him.
 
Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! ​The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. — Selah (Pause) (Ps 46:10-11)
 
Dene Ward

My big flower bed on the south side of the shed attracts butterflies by the score.  Every day I see both white and yellow sulfurs, tiny blue hairstreaks, huge brown and yellow swallowtails, and glorious orange monarchs and viceroys flitting from bloom to bloom.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the bloom stops and the butterfly begins amid all those big yellow black-eyed Susans, multicolored zinnias, and purple petunias. 
            But have you ever watched a butterfly?  If you and I decided to go somewhere the way a butterfly goes, it would take all day to get there.  We have a saying: “as the crow flies,” meaning a straight line course.  A butterfly couldn’t fly a straight line no matter how hard it tried—it would always fail the state trooper’s sobriety test.
            Some of us live our spiritual lives like butterflies.  We seem to think that waking up in the morning and allowing life to just “happen” is the way to go.  No wonder we don’t grow.  No wonder we fail again and again at the same temptations.  No wonder we don’t know more about the Word of God this year than last, and no wonder we can’t stand the trials of faith.
            Some folks think that going to church is the plan.  That’s why their neighbors would be surprised to find out they are Christians—Sunday is their only day of service.  Others refuse to acknowledge any weakness they need to work on.  It rankles their pride to admit they need to improve on anything, and because they won’t admit anything specific, they never do improve. 
            Some folks make their life decisions with no consideration at all for their spiritual health, or the good of the kingdom.  The stuff of this life matters the most, and only after that do they give the spiritual a thought, if at all, and it is to be dismissed if it means anything untoward for their physical comfort, convenience, status, or wealth. 
            The only plan they have for their children is their physical welfare—how they will do in school, where they will go to college, what career they will pursue.  They must get their schoolwork, but their parents don’t even know what they are studying in Bible classes, much less make sure they get their lessons.  It’s too much trouble to take them to spiritual gatherings of other young Christians.  And have you seen how much those camps cost?!  Probably less than a year’s worth of cell phone service and much less than the car they buy those same kids. 
            Where is the plan for this family’s spiritual growth?  Where is their devotion to a God they claim as Lord?  If their children do end up faithful, it will be in spite of these parents, not because of them.
            God expects us to have a plan.  The writer of the seventeenth psalm had one.  “I have purposed that my mouth will not transgress,” he says in verse 3, and then later, “I have avoided the ways of the violent, my steps have held fast to your paths,” (4b,5a).  He made a vow and he kept it.  He mapped his life out to stay away from evil and on the road to his Father.
            How are you doing as you fly through life—and it does fly, people!  Are you flitting here and there, around one bush and over another, out of the flower bed entirely once in awhile, then back in for a quick sip of nectar before heading off in whichever direction the wind blows?  Or do you have a plan, a map to get you past the pitfalls with as little danger as possible, to the necessary stops for revival and refreshing, but then straight back on the road to your next life?
            Do you know what the term social butterfly means?  It’s someone who flits from group to group.  Perhaps not so much now, but originally the term was one of ridicule.  I wonder what God would think of a spiritual butterfly who has no focus on the spiritual things of this life, but flits from one thing to other and always on a carnal whim rather than a spiritual one.  I wonder if He would decide that butterfly wouldn’t be able to appreciate an eternity of spiritual things either.

…And [Barnabas] exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith...  Acts 11:23,24.
 
Dene Ward