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My Own Little Bird

posted in: Confessing the Blessings, Storytellers | 1 |
Reading Time: 7 minutes



The strange story about how God used the plight of a fledgling bird to teach me how to deal with my own child’s struggles.


by Becky Arganbright

A strange thing happened the other day. God broke His finger through the heavenly clouds and reached down to teach me something in a special way.

Or at least, that’s how it seemed.

The baby bird.

I was in the middle of making lunch when suddenly, without really knowing why, I felt prompted to go outside to look for a baby bird. Not even thinking about the strangeness of it all, I left everything half cooked and went out to the front yard. Then, as though an invisible hand reached down from heaven and turned my head to the left, there it was . . . a baby bird!

CONFESSINGMy first reaction was one of surprise that there actually was a bird there, but this was quickly followed with dismay. I love animals but get nervous around anything that is helpless. I knew that the best I could do for this baby bird was to put it back into its nest and hope that the mother would come back for it.

After getting a neighbor to help me with the ladder, we put the bird back into his nest, only for him to “fall” out again.

“I think it’s time,” our neighbor said. “He’s learning to fly. Not much we can do for it but let nature take care of it.”

I didn’t like this plan at all. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything with a helpless baby bird hopping around our front yard. I worried our dog might get it. Or that one of the kids would accidentally step on it. Or that it would hop into the street and get run over.  But, like our neighbor said, we had to leave the bird alone and let nature run its course.


Nature takes care of its own

Still, I hovered by the window, watching for several minutes to see what would happen to the little bird, who seemed content to sleep on our lawn. To my amazement, I realized his parents had not abandoned it or forgotten their baby, but had been watching over it a short distance away, even coming often to bring it snacks.

“Maybe this is why I felt compelled to look for a baby bird,” I thought to myself. “Maybe God wanted to show me how He takes care of His own.”  

I still kept an eye out for the bird throughout the day, though, as it alternated between sleeping and exploring its new surroundings. Only once did I have to run out to the street to save it from being run over by a car.

The day passed uneventfully, and pretty soon, even the little bird was forgotten. We ended the day by going to Mass as we always do. But my emotional day was not yet done.


A cross for Max to carry…

Max, our twelve year old who altar serves, got the schedule for altar serving and was shocked to find an increase of altar servers on the list. On our way home from Mass, he worried and fretted, working himself into a frenzy of questions: “Who are all these people? Where did they come from?? Why are there so many names?? I don’t think I should altar serve anymore. I don’t know what to do! What do I do?! Why do all these kids have to be on this list?!” And on and on.

Lately, Max has been showing more and more fears and anxiety over social situations, to the point where it’s impossible to take him anywhere. I have found that except for altar serving—his one “social event”—there is no group I can get him to join, no outing I can get him to come to. I can’t even bring him to the store without him nearly having meltdowns. Even going to the park is no longer an option as the different kids “popping in and out of nowhere” is disconcerting to Max. I have found myself increasingly worried about Max, about where this road of reclusiveness will lead if we can’t get control of his fears. As he ranted on and on about the list of names, I found myself getting impatient and finally angry. I told Max to stop it and get ahold of himself. They are just names, why is he getting so upset over a list of names?!

I lay in my bed crying that night, though I didn’t know why. I wasn’t sure where the anger was coming from. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me, Max, or just autism. All I knew was that I was angry. The memory of the fear and anxiety I had felt over the little bird reminded me of how I was feeling at that moment. Helpless.

And suddenly, I understood where the anger was coming from.

I’m so sorry Max. There is nothing I can do for you. You are going to a place I can’t get to. I used to be able to soothe you, comfort you, scare your fears away. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t help you.

There was nothing I could do but commit Max to the Lord. For the rest of the night, I slept restlessly, waking up often with Max on my mind, praying and begging God to help Max in a way that I couldn’t. I would fall back into a restless sleep, only to wake up again later, praying.


God takes care of His own

The next morning, I woke up and prepared myself for another long rant from Max about his fears over the list of faceless names. I gathered as much patience as I could, telling myself to not react or show my anxiety as I watched my son slip further and further into the puzzling world of autism.

But it turned out that none of this was necessary. For God and Max had already figured things out, as it was revealed through Max’s prayer that morning:

“Dear Jesus, I am a little worried about all those kids who to be altar servers. Where did they all come from, Lord? It used to be just me and a few other kids. But now, all these kids are suddenly wanting to serve, too. But even though I’m scared, I’m happy, too, because all those kids want to serve You. And that is really good. I’m happy that they love You so much that they all wanted to serve You. Please teach them to focus on serving You and not themselves. Teach them they are up there for You, to serve You. Help them to be good examples of what altar servers should be.  Amen.”

I kept my eyes closed, not daring to make a sound during Max’s prayer. Outwardly, I looked the same, instructing the next child that it was their turn to say their prayer, but inwardly, I was saying, “Thank you, dear Jesus. Thank you for taking care of Max, my own little bird. For going into a place where I couldn’t go, for reaching him in a way that I couldn’t. Thank you for taking care of your own. Thank you.”

We proceeded with our day, and Max’s anxiety over altar serving disappeared—something very unusual for him. Somehow, during the night, God took care of Max as I watched and prayed from a distance. Not being able to help him as I wanted, but leaving him in the hands of God. And God had proved once again that He is faithful; He helps the helpless. I didn’t have to worry. Max was not alone as I feared.

Later that day, Luke came running in breathlessly. “Mom!” he gasped. “I found the little bird!”

I felt my heart contract as I prepared myself for the worst. “What happened?” I asked.

“It flew away! It was sitting on our grass and when I got to it, it flew away! It learned how to fly!”

I couldn’t help but smile at the ending of God’s lesson. Point taken, Lord.

This essay is adapted from the original in Becky’s personal blog, Home Great Home.

Editor’s note: The best thing to do if you or your kids find a fledgling bird on the ground is to leave it alone, according to numerous authoritative sources online; the bird’s parents will still care for it as it learns to fly.

Follow Jerry Windley-Daoust:

Publisher, Gracewatch Media

Jerry Windley-Daoust is a writer, editor, and father of five. He writes essays and stories at Windhovering and is the show-runner for Gracewatch Media, a small Catholic publisher. You can follow his latest publishing projects at gracewatch.org.

  1. jeanie.egolf@gmail.com'
    Jeanie Egolf
    | Reply

    Thanks for sharing this. My 11 year old is starting to have the same issues.

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