Since I can remember, I have been captivated by nature. When I was a child, I was determined to grow up and become the next Jack Hanna. I also loved science magazines and would read them in my school’s library. I can’t remember the name of the magazine, but eventually, this led to a fear of ticks. I find myself reflecting on this as I sit on my porch in my spot watching cardinals. When we first bought our house, my husband refinished our front porch and made a space for me to sit in quiet. On the weekends, it is my favorite place. I sit in silence, read, and reflect. This year, my husband bought a bird feeder, and it sits by our porch. Now I watch birds.
Our bird feeder has lured many different kinds of birds. I am convinced we have attracted a flock of sparrows to our front yard. My favorite and the second most common bird that comes to our feeder are cardinals. As I sit, coffee in hand, I wait and watch as cardinals come and go. Some mornings, I have counted up to ten, two of which are female. Before anyone becomes skeptical, I’m confident they are different cardinals and not the same because I notice their details. Some either have a disease or are molting (I’m not sure why their feathers look so strange), others are larger, some have a pronounced crest on the top of their head, while others have more vibrant red. I notice the differences.
Now I find myself reading about them. One new fact I learned is that cardinals are known to be vocal. I have befriended them so well that when I am inside, I can hear their song and know it’s one of them.
They land, look at me, tilting their head from side to side, chirping. I like to think they are talking to me and imagine we are conversing like animals often do in Narnia. Of course, I know they are probably warning their cardinal friends there is either food, a predator, or both. Then they fly away, and another comes a few minutes later.
Luke 12:6 reminds us:
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.”
I remember when I was younger, traveling to another part of the world and seeing something grand and old while locals would simply walk by, as though they had forgotten how magnificent it was. I remember being naive and this part of myself wanting to run up to them and ask, “Do you not realize how blessed you are to live near this?” How easily apathetic we become. I realize now how often I do the same thing with both ordinary and magnificent things. My new cardinal friends have become a reminder to slow down and recognize the extraordinary in something so common and ordinary. I’m so used to seeing them my whole life; I forgot how wonderful they are until my husband bought a bird feeder and I stopped to notice them.
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