Baby Bird

Welcome to the days when spring is rapidly being overtaken by summer, a time when Mother Nature is in full birth. Hope you enjoy this poetic chapter from my book Messy Poems And-Not-So-Private Prayers. This poem is a concentration of our dependency on the Father and our need for Spiritual contentment.  

Psalms 91:1-4 BSB

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty will say to the LORD, “You are my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Surely He will deliver you from the snare of the fowler, and from the deadly plague. He will cover you with His feathers; under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and rampart.

Luke 12:6-7 NASB

“Are not five sparrows sold for two cents? And yet not one of them is forgotten before God.  “Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear; you are of more value than many sparrows.

 John 3:1-3 GNT

See how much the Father has loved us! His love is so great that we are called God’s children—and so, in fact, we are. This is why the world does not know us: it has not known God.

My dear friends, we are now God’s children, but it is not yet clear what we shall become. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he really is.

Everyone who has this hope in Christ keeps himself pure, just as Christ is pure.

 BABY BIRD

Listen.

Listen closely.

Do you hear it? Do you hear that little chirp?

Can you transfer that sound to a picture in your mind, the one of that little baby bird in its nest? Calling out with what seems to be a helpless cry from a lonely tree.

So small, such a naked form curled up and waiting. No feathers of its own, hardly able to hold up its head. Yet, its mouth is tilted, its beak stretched as wide as its little body could open, exposing its throat.  Do you hear it?

Feed me! Feed me, please!

Have you ever thought about how that baby bird could do nothing but stay in its nest of small quarters to wait? To wait and not wiggle. For a baby to wiggle with too much force is certainly not safe, because falling from its nest would be more than just painful. This hatchling must know by instinct that this circular bowl is truly its home, the place where growth is to occur.

Do you hear its plea?

Come to me! Come to me, please!

Do you now see what I see? Do you now hear what I’m hearing?

I’ve seen this baby chick, I’ve heard this baby chick, I’ve been this baby chick.

I have thought this perspective through, for this image of the baby chick speaks the language of dependences. It is a poem filled with the image of trust. A concept of what contentment might look like. I know that in this day and age, dependency is almost a dirty word, and being needy is perceived to be rather pathetic.

To me, it is a statement of honor to my Creator, my King.

To some, this may be a ponder to hold or a thought that sits just out of reach, making it hard to relate. Or maybe, like me, you don’t mind this image so small, so venerable, so needy, this one of infancy and dependency.

Maybe together we can concentrate on this miracle right here. The one of this hatchling, and how it has fought a great fight. Of the struggle it conquered in the using of its beak to break through its own external shell. Cracking one hole at a time in order to possess the gift of life.

Despite the fight, the baby bird now waits. Waits in patience for the provision of food. The gift of life the parent must bring; for without it, it will surely die.

The food arrives warm like the Word. It’s predigested and regurgitated, it’s straight from the belly of truth, perfect for the swallowing the baby awaits. Always, its mouth wide open for the receiving of the Seed, the Bread, the word of life, the feeding of truth.

For weeks, this hatchling will continue to wait with a great expectation. A knowing anticipation for the next miraculous provision to be brought from afar, carried on the wings of love. 

Oh, the warmth of the nest now! The feathers of safety all around. A hatchling—soon to be sparrow—in a branch high above the earth. A miracle has occurred, a sparrow has been fed.

I have come to love this picture, for myself. Me, sitting up in my Father’s nest, my throat exposed to His bread of life. I am chirping with a cry for the prayers, the needs of provision. My naked form content to wait in a posture of trust, resting on the word in Matthew six:

“Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap, nor do they gather into barns, yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? And who of you being worried can add a single hour to his life?”

My hope is that now, as you walk about on your journey of life, that you will, like me, listen. Listen for the little chirp. Together, let us focus our looking, to the seeing of an external shell breaking forth to form. Of our trusting heads tilted back and our mouths stretched wide open, and ready to receive. Watching for the wings of our Father to land in our nest, called life.

The Creator of the whole Earth has a miraculous provision to deposit. One designed to nourish our very souls. It is called the Bread of Life, for it is living, and active, and ready to eat.

“When He had given thanks, He broke it and said, ‘This is my body which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.’” 1 Corinthians 11:24

Blessings,

Melissa Norris

Sanctioned Love