Don't Squander the Wander!

The bluebirds are back. But then again, so are the grackles. They fly together, happiness and hassle. One pair looking for refuge and an aviary airbnb nailed to the fence, while the other a pack of starving starlings looking to empty whatever feeders they find. Blessings and blessing depleters, flocking together.

Bluebirds with their tricolored beauty, bright eyes and vibrant wings. Dressed in their Sunday best, fluttering along in their God-given calling. Meanwhile the grackles crash into tree limbs with feathers as dark as a new moon night. Until the sun hits them head on. Then, with technicolor hues as shiny as an oil slick, they light up with greens and purples. One can’t help but see the beauty in this transforming coat of many colors. Until the sun no longer shines on them, then back they go, to a dull black shadow tucked into a tree, perched on a branch.

The grackles serenade with a symphonious cackle in the tree line, making it clear who is in what camp. The bluebirds chatter ever so softly to each other, with a little trilly love talk. The grackles sound more like some sort of weapon system charging up and shooting enemies. Wheeeeeze, crack. Wheeeze crack. Weeeek, wack. Creeek, crack. Loud. Annoying. Apt to fill us with fear, if we mistake the taunt as a real threat.

We choose whether to focus on the sound of perceived weapons. We are armed with the decision to weed through the crowd of bullies to hear the little trill of peaceful bluebirds. Also in attendance, just in another tree. Quietly going about their lives, unmoved by the grackle’s cackle. We too can be unmoved, if we choose.

Lord, how long will it take for us to see this is the way for our lives as well? As we search and yearn for a home without hassle, You allow the pack to pick on our nerves. In spite of the great blessing and provision You place before us, it is far too easy to get blinded by the whirlwind of the takers. The world is full of givers and takers, and you can bet that if you’re not giving, you’re taking. From someone else’s blessing. From the coffers of the ones who need it more than you.

The bluebirds are focused on finding the right nesting box, not too sunny, not too windy, close to food and water, and in a safe tree line. They are the ones this refuge is prepared for, yet the pack is there to find the feeder, and eat all the choice seed as fast as they can, belly up to the buffet and have at it. Leaving nothing but broken sunflower shells mingled with unscathed leftovers on the ground, for some lucky squirrel to find. Oh, and the stains of their remains all over the place. A flock’s calling card. The bluebirds watch as the provision given is taken without thought of who needs what. But that’s ok, we have more. Tomorrow’s feeder will once again overflow with fresh seed.

As with us, God will keep providing for our needs, no matter who circumvents the system and takes our bounty.

That little nesting box on the fence is just big enough for the couple to roost, and when the eggs are hatched, it gets pretty squishy in there. Peepers stacked and smooshed, growing feathers, strength, and motivation. Heck, what a motivator to fly, right? No more room, little one, get on with your life. One by one, the fledglings leave, providing a little more space to breathe for those left inside. Until that last little runt peeks out the porthole, finally conjuring up the nerve to try to fly. Mama has to take a little more time with this one. Even though he saw the rest of them confidently launch into their future, the last one seems to forget he is one of the same.

Instead, gripped by fear, and a bit more feeble and weak than the others, he waits. He peeks. He sits. He calculates and recalculates and wonders and ponders until another day goes by. Meanwhile mama’s daily menu gets sparser, as she nudges him to get out there and find his own drive-thru. All the factors align into desperate motivation, until finally whoosh! He tries. He flies. A close by branch, then a tall tree. Mama leads him to a safe space in the tree line for the next season of life.

Somewhere in that hustle, the grackles finally flew. In the focus and purpose of the bluebird’s destiny, they didn’t even notice. They were set in solid resolve to raise the next generation, regardless of the crashing crowd. I wonder if that noise of the takers actually became a comfort of normalcy. Like, oh, they are here, this is what our life consists of, a little nesting and a lot of noisy resters.

Yet the grackles left. Rushed off to the next free meal. Found another generous giver to take from, in the name of survival. After all, they need to eat too. They need to survive just like the bluebird. If the food is there, why not take it? And herein lies our dilemma. Do we just bless the cute little family, or are we willing to share the bounty with the loud crowd who give nothing back?

Lord Jesus, show us how to give, open hands and open hearts, to those in need. Show us how to extend grace to the rest who run in and out without thought or concern. Help us to love the unlovely, and help us to see the weapons being armed aren’t anything more than blustery calls with no real harm done. For their time among us is assuredly short-lived. Though they may be replaced by another pack in another perch, God will continue to sustain us. No matter the resources are taken. No matter the threat of weapons, which will hopefully turn to a mist of misplaced fear, as we put undeserved weight to useless noise.