This afternoon, my children and I heard a thump on the window and found outside a beautiful gray bird in its last minute or two of life. I picked it up, hoping it was just stunned, and we spoke softly to it, stroking its breast and admiring its beauty. It's been over an hour, and it has grown stiller. I think its neck is broken, and sadly, it won't be flying off again. It lies next to me on a towel in a decorative bird cage as I write this. So seemingly pointless. We weren't sure what it was, so we examined its markings and looked it up. I think it's a tufted titmouse.
I find myself thinking of what Jesus said to His friends:
"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul;
rather be afraid of God, who can destroy both body and soul in hell.
For only a penny you can buy two sparrows,
yet not one sparrow falls to the ground without your Father's consent.
As for you, even the hairs of your head have all been counted.
So do not be afraid; you are worth much more than many sparrows!"
My Father knows the loss of this little bird who enriches no one's life. Who makes no one grieve but us, and only because we knew of it. If he had fallen in the woods, we would not care. Every delicate feather and subtle marking is known by Him, although we have to examine them to recognize his species. And He says not to be afraid -- He's counted our hairs.
"Precious in the sight of Jehovah is the death of his saints."