I held him gently in my hand yesterday. I had gone to the garden to check on things after the gully-washer-toad-strangler of a rain we had. I kept hearing a baby bird call for help. I went first to check on the bluebird house to the back corner of the garden, but it was empty, though the little cupped grassy area looked like it had been slept in recently. I realized I was moving away from the sound, so I backtracked. There at the base of the okra, moving ever so crookedly, was a tiny baby sparrow. His feathers were soaked to the bone and he looked terrified. I tried to pick him up, but he began to run, laboriously climbing over one row-hill after another, finally reaching the back fence. Theres a bit of a drop there, so he rather disappeared into the grasses there. I knew hed never find his way home if he stayed there. I moved around from the garden into the back pasture, keeping watch to see if he moved. He was quietly hiding under grasses there, so well camoflaged I could just barely see him. I reached for him; his eyes became huge. I spoke to him quietly, and cupped my hand gently around him. He was dripping wet. There is no way that a new flyer could have overcome the dampness of those feathers, so I quickly took him inside the house. I used my shirt to dry him off as best I could, then used the craft heat gun to gently blow his feathers dry. He was so tiny, so beautiful. He was shaking from both fear and cold, I would imagine, but when the gentle warm air began to dry his feathers, he settled down, his heart slowed, he began to study me. When he was dry, I carried him back outside and gently put him onto a damp limb in the Sparrow apartment complex pile of dried branches. Oh, the story he will have to tell his grandchildren of the big ox who saved his life! Got some Swiss Chard seed planted in the boxes in the backyard; the spinach was definitely tired out, though it made a good run during July and August. Came upon a copperhead under the dirt, hiding in the cool dry soil, but Marv made short order of it with an ax. My hero! Around here, only good snake is a dead snake, so there a very good snake buried under the Chard. Chard does better if its a bit cooler, so Im hoping it does better this month. I think I like its flavor almost better than spinach. Spent most of the day painting kitchen cabinets. My body is reminding me today that arm-swinging, up and down, is not my usual activity, but Ill pop some vitamins and Tylenol and truck right along. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. Ecclesiastes 4:12 admonishes us that one can be overpowered, two can defend themselves, but three....three is a good number for cords,...and people. I can remember watching my cousins braid each others hair and wondering at their ability to remember which cord went over which. It seemed like an impossible task. Yet, when I took weaving classes in college, I was able to remember an array of patterned cord-crossings. It was all a matter of study. Im sure this reference is for a greater purpose, but anytime there is mention of cord, I immediately think of the miles and miles of yarn that went through my fingers during that semester. I still love the feel of a good yarn, still crochet, and occasionally get out the ole Friendly Loom and hand weave. There is just something sensual to me about soft cords going through my fingers. When God thinks of cords, I would imagine He thinks of people, and directed this author to advise them in a metaphor they could understand. People have been weaving for years, so they could get His point right away. God knows that we are a people who need people, but surely He meant for us to remember that He always wants to be a cord in our lives. In families, I have found that people come and people go, but God remains as the only constant cord of our lives. He will be glad to be that strongest cord of our lives, but we must invite Him in to be our defender and our strength. I will continue the study of Ecclesiastes, but todays quote will bind itself with cords that cannot be broken onto my heart. Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth. II Timothy 2:15 I love you all.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Sep 2014 13:24:23 +0000
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