Out on a Limb

A few days ago I discovered a bird’s nest in a cedar just outside the garage. It was high, but low enough for me to see the three upraised hungry mouths waiting for mama, who had gone for more food.

I backed away and watched the robin return and feed the three. Checking their progress, I noticed her faithful attention, and once how carefully she shielded them in a long afternoon downpour. They were growing quickly. How much longer could the baby robins remain in the nest? Wednesday morning, only one remained, his siblings long gone.

Again I backed away, hearing the mother calling to the little one, sometimes with a shrill call and another that sounded like more like encouraging clucking. I’m not a bird linguist or psychologist, but I sensed the drama.

As evening wore on, the hatchling managed to perch on the edge of the nest. Once more mama came and fed him, flew away, and continued to call. He would respond with a quiet chirp.

After many such exchanges, the little one seemed to take courage and fluttered from branch to branch until he was six or eight feet from the nest. It wasn’t exactly flying, but he was learning to use his wings.

As I waited in the quickly approaching darkness, mother came to his side, this time with no food, only a nudge. The baby bird sat motionless, as if frozen to the branch. Twice he raised his head, but remained in place. The calling from the mother stopped.

I wondered what would happen next. Birds don’t usually fly at night, and I didn’t think the little one would solo in the dark. I was right, and the Thursday morning sunrise found him still clinging to the branch.

Once again I heard the mother’s calls. She had not forgotten the little one out on a limb. But neither had she forced him to fly. Her instincts told her to let him alone, to await the sunrise.

I thought of how many times the Bible speaks of God caring for his children like a hen with her chicks, or wanting to cover us with His “feathers” (Psalm 17:8; 36:7; 57:1; 63:7; 91:4; Matthew 23:37).

And I wondered how often He might allow us to spend the night out on a limb because we were unable or just unwilling to fly.

It’s reassuring to remember that when the sun finally warms the morning air, His calls to us begin again. He was never far away.

“The Lord repay you for what you have done, and a full reward be given to you by the Lord,
under whose wings you have come to take refuge.”

Ruth 2:12


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