Let me give you a piece of advice. If you are ever, for whatever reason, tempted to think, “How hard could it possibly be to find a few bugs or worms,” just don’t. Trust me. Bugs and worms, ubiquitous when unwanted, apparently make themselves as scarce as fiscal sanity amongst congressmen when sought after.
I learned all of this while trying to tend to Gertrude early Father’s Day Sunday morning at church.
Gertrude, by the way, is apparently my foster bird for the moment. On Saturday, while weed-eating at my home, I looked down and saw her in the grass at my feet. My first horrifying thought was that I had whacked her and ripped off wings or legs, but a quick examination assured me she was intact. How she got there, I do not know. There are no trees or gutters or nesting spots at all near to where she was, nor were any mama birds nearby looking to claim her.
She is tiny; just a poof of gray with sort of a flat, wide beak. And, true to my upbringing as the son of the female Dr. Dolittle, I immediately stopped everything I was doing, scooped up the bird, took her inside and put her in some warm rags in a container. And then I googled how to care for baby birds. This, naturally, led to me finding a way to feed her. I am assuming it is a her, obviously; I could not begin to tell you how to figure out if a baby bird is a male or female. But she just strikes me as a Gertrude, so Gertrude it is, for now.
Gertrude ate a bit of warm, watered-down chicken and settled in for the night. But on Sunday morning, knowing she would need to be tended to and knowing that we rarely get to come home between services, I brought her to church with me. And that is how I found myself searching in vain for bugs and worms, all of which seem to have decided they are Catholic, or Pentecostal, or anything but Baptists for today.
I got a bit of tuna into the bird. Then, after a Father’s Day lunch with my wife and kids, I headed to Lowe’s with an idea in my head. See, at our house, we have three bird feeders. One is for hummingbirds, the other has sunflower seeds for all kinds of birds, and one has a block of mealworms for bluebirds and other insect eaters. And that last kind of food is what I was after and what I purchased. Then we brought it back to church with us, and I began to break it apart and separate the worms from the rest of the whatever it is. Then I soaked them in warm water for a few seconds, spoke to the bird and she chirped a bit and opened wide. It is now 4 in the afternoon as I write this, and the bird has been greedily devouring the worms every little bit.
She also pooped; proud dad moment, here; I am apparently an avian maven of potty training.
Her breathing is pretty rapid, but she seems strong. Her eyes mostly stay closed, though she opens them to eat. Mind you, I have dealt with baby birds before, and I know that the odds of them making it are not particularly good. That will not stop me from trying, though. You see, my Father has a fondness for birds. You may have read about that in Matthew 10:29, “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.”
Little birds were pretty cheap in that day. They are just so very common and ordinary. And yet, the very presence of God the Father is with each and every one when they fall to the ground. He made them, and he loves them. And in this case, he made sure I would happen along to that very spot to find and care for this tiny, helpless bird.
He knew. He knew where I needed to be and when. He knew which way I would look and when. He knew I would pick it up and carry it inside. He knew, of all things, that I would go worm and bug hunting for it and then go buy mealworms when that did not pan out. He knew I would feed it one wet worm at a time, by hand, and talk to this bird as if it could understand me.
Will Gertrude make it? I don’t know. I do know that she will either survive and thrive or be well taken care of until she breathes her last breath. I could not begin to tell you if she is a sparrow or a mockingbird or a buzzard or a pterodactyl (though I am pretty sure against that last one), but I know that God cares about her.
But it isn’t just her. Whenever God gives a person some one or some thing to care for, it is a reminder that God cares about the caregiver as well. It is a reminder that he knows that for our own good, we need to tend to others who can do nothing to repay us. You see, that is what he himself did and does for all of us, and we are never more like him than when we do the same. In a world of selfishness and narcissism and cruelty, our very good God will often put us in positions that cut against all of that and teach us the wonder of tending to the helpless and hurting.
And so I will be a bird dad, for now. Hopefully, one day I will get to open my hands and have her fly out of them into the wild to be exactly what my Father designed her to be.
You can do it, Gertrude.
Bo Wagner is pastor of Cornerstone Baptist Church of Mooresboro, North Carolina, a widely traveled evangelist and the author of several books available on Amazon and at wordofhis mouth.com. Email him at 2knowhim@cbc-web.org.
Pastor Bo Wagner