Category: His Eye Is On the Sparrow

Sparrowsong

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”His Eye Is on the Sparrow”, written by Civilla Durfee Martin in 1905, has long been my favorite hymn. The anthem chorus captures the most fervent longing of my heart:

“I sing because I’m happy—I sing because I’m free;

For His eye is on the sparrow,

And I know He watches me.”

I have birds all over my home and jewelry to remind me of this truth—God’s compassionate and loving  eye is upon me, upon each and every one of us.

This is an easy truth to proclaim—a much harder one to believe and live. The first verse of the hymn begins by echoing the cries of Psalm 42:11: “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Saviour and my God.”

I have three friends currently battling cancer. One has a toddler and a new baby; one has children in elementary and middle school; one just sent her “baby” off to college. Another dear friend who is disabled just lost her husband and caregiver after fifty-three years of marriage. I am navigating my own challenges. And these are all first world problems, to say nothing of the intense struggles of those in places like Israel, Palestine, and Ukraine.

But the apostle Peter told us not to be surprised at the fiery test we would undergo. Jesus told us, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 13:33b). And in His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus assured us that not even a sparrow falls without His notices. He told us not to worry for our needs, for He splendidly clothes even the lilies of the field.

So often, I feel burdened by the weight of life’s trials. In Isaiah 40: 27-31, the prophet admonished God’s people:

“Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel,

‘My way is hidden from the LORD, 

And the justice due me escapes the notice of my God’?

Do you not know? Have you not heard?

The Everlasting God, the LORD, the

Creator of the ends of the earth

Does not become weary or tired.

His understanding is inscrutable.

He gives strength to the weary,

And to him who lacks might He increases power.

Though youths grow weary and tired

And vigorous young men stumble badly,

Yet those who wait for the LORD

Will gain new strength:

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not get tired,

They will walk and not become weary.”

Spring arrives slowly in my neck of the woods, but despite the fluctuating and unpredictable April weather, the birds have returned. Their joyous calls, regardless of winds and storms, remind me to join in song.

“A World Made, Yet Being Made” (John Muir)…

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Snow falls gently again today after a weekend that brought a foot of snow. I look out the windows past my Christmas twinkle lights and the silver star that tops the tree, seeing and seeking a world made new. What a wonderful God we have–a God who brings beauty from ashes and makes all things new. I think of the many situations in my life that have seemed hopeless, yet through it all, God made a way.

John Muir said that we live in a world made, yet being made. Our awesome God is Creator and Sustainer of the earth. Yet in His great wisdom and affection for us, He has allowed us to play a role.Paradoxically, we all carry both beauty and brokenness within us. We live in a fallen world, yet we bear the image of a perfect God. Endless choices of what we will reflect are before us. In God’s Kingdom, we can choose to allow Him to redeem us, our surroundings, and our circumstances. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Though we travel the world to find the beautiful, we must carry it within us, or we find it not.”

An encounter with creation is always an encounter with its Creator. In God’s mysterious glory, He meets us there and allows us to come to His feet in whatever condition we are in. He has made us, yet we are being made. Whatever our journey, He is our Emmanuel, God present with us. And as the apostle Paul declared in Romans 8, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” 

In The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, author Annie Dillard sought to observe and experience the marvels and mysteries of nature. She wrote, “I am prying into secrets again and taking my chances. I might see anything happen. I might see nothing but light on the water. I walk home exhilarated and becalmed, but always changed, alive. ‘It scatters and gathers, Heraclitus said, ‘It comes and goes.’ And I want to be in the way of its passage and cooled by its invisible breath.”

We may feel we have nothing of significance to offer the world, but God says differently by choosing to create and sustain our lives. Nelson Mandela used the following quote from author Marianne Williamson in his inauguration speech, 

“It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

In this season that holds the darkest days of the year, yet one in which we celebrate the coming of the light of Christ the Messiah, may we each choose beauty…to let our own lights shine in the places we inhabit.

Call to Wonder…

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As I drove home a couple of nights ago, a pink-orange sky bathed the rugged snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds in mystical light. The scene took my breath away. I thought of a card a dear friend once gave me for my birthday that pictured a little boy, mouth agape, gazing out the window at a newborn bird. The caption said, “Never lose your sense of wonder.” What a privilege to marvel again and again at God’s creation and this wonderful wild land where we live. As John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul…. All that sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.”

As my husband and I await our first baby and stand in awe at this miracle of life developing each week, I am awakened once again to this Christmas season of wonder. I marvel at our creative Creator and the artistry with which he put together the world and each miraculous, unique life to grace it. Though this past year has been one to remember for all of us–a friend told me she’s heard 2020 will be the new swear word–I’m astonished at all the ways, big and small, our great God has provided for us within the storms.

In her many books and blogs, author Ann Voskamp invites us to offer a song of gratitude each day for every grace we are given. In Unwrapping the Greatest Gift she states, “You were formed to have front-row seats to waves hugging the shore, to trees touching the sky, to stars falling across the night–the whole of the universe falling in love with God…. You could unwrap the wow today just by going to the window. By going to the front door, to the park, to the backyard, or to the top of the highest hill you can find–standing there and staring and being wowed by the shape of the clouds or the color of the sky or the size of the sun when you hold up your hands.”

Edith Wharton, first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for literature, has a quote I adore about how this kind of spirit can even keep you young. She said, “There’s no such thing as old age; there is only sorrow. In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”

As we do the work of remaining alive and curious and grateful, may we be assured with the knowledge that regardless of what storms may come, we will never be alone on our journeys. As Lamentations 3 and the great hymn say, “Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

“Invincible Summer in the Midst of Winter…”

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Okay, so it’s late April and  officially spring, but in southwestern Colorado, it can be hard to tell in the month of April. Admittedly, we’re officially spoiled here–our state sees the sun shine an average of 360 days per year. This month, a couple hours a day is often all we get. The wind, cold, icy rain, and occasional snow give it the unmistakable feel of ongoing winter. With a global pandemic and the isolation of sheltering in place, it’s easy to let the doldrums of the season overcome. 

And yet, the red-winged blackbirds who arrived over a month ago sing their spring song and balance on the thinnest of branches regardless of the storms. They remind me of the thoughts of great thinkers of long ago. Albert Camus wrote, “In the midst of winter, I finally discovered that deep within me lies an invincible summer.” Transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau encouraged, “Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each.” What lovely reminders that wherever we’re at, there are pleasures and beauty to be found and enjoyed, moment by moment. Summer can always be cultivated within us.

In my own winter mentality moments, I continue to grieve for the loss of a career I loved due to poor health. Although it’s been a couple of years since I quit teaching full-time, I struggle to find my place in the professional world. For the second year in a row, I applied for a job I hoped might be the solution and didn’t get it. As I lamented to a friend the difficulty of no longer being valued or known in this professional realm, she reminded me of the TRUTH. I am absolutely valued and known, seen and heard. My God has not forgotten me and will walk with me through this season. Psalm 18:19 assures me He brings me out into a place of abundance because He delights in me.

 
In Lamentations, the prophet Jeremiah, writing in a time of great personal and societal suffering, said, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness” (Lam. 3:22-23, NIV). Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, saw all men like trees in winter, stripped of color, leaf, and anything of value–yet loved unconditionally. Though I am a humble tree in winter, struggling toward warmth and light, I will “…live this season as it passes…” knowing “…within me lies an invincible summer.”

“Be Like the Bird…”-

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We all have times where it feels like the ground is falling out beneath our feet, when everything solid that we know suddenly disappears. The things we thought were firm and sure supports either cease to bear the full weight of our lives, become disconnected from one another, or crumble completely—our foundations are revealed to be faulty. As believers, we know that God is the only sure base, Christ is the Solid Rock, but our own expectations & experiences become subtly intermixed. 

 

Just as the birds, whose mothers often nudge or even push them out of the nest, these times are necessary if we are ever to find our wings. Victor Hugo has a poem that describes this well, & encourages us to find a song in the midst of this scary process of learning to fly: “Be like the bird who, halting in flight, on limb too slight, feels it give way beneath him, yet sings, knowing he hath wings.” Our worlds may shatter & our backs may buckle & our feet may falter, but the One who watches over us has not ignored our fall. Instead, He has equipped us with both wings and songs. 

 

A dear friend recently sent me a quote by Og Mandino that beautifully describes what it means to live with this kind of bravery:

 

“I will greet this day with love in my heart. And how will I do this? Henceforth will I look on all things with love and be born again. I will love the sun for it warms my bones; yet I will love the rain for it cleanses my spirit. I will love the light for it shows me the way; yet I will love the darkness for it shows me the stars. I will welcome happiness as it enlarges my heart; yet I will endure sadness for it opens my soul. I will acknowledge rewards for they are my due; yet I will welcome obstacles for they are my challenge.” 

 

Just like the birds who learn to soar through the very experience they initially avoided at all costs, the experiences & skills we gain through the storms of life can offer such freedom. Though we are grounded earthlings, that will not always be the case; shouldn’t our human experiences include both flight & joyous song? Though the wind may blow and the limbs beneath us may give way, because God has offered us His everlasting embrace, we are safe.

The Song of the Meadowlark & The Coming of Spring…

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In Colorado, it’s definitely hard to predict when spring has actually arrived. Skies are typically as consistently gray as ever are, and spring blizzards and dust storms frequent. It’s mid-April now, and for a couple weeks, I’ve been hearing the song of the meadowlark, my favorite of all birds. There’s something about this bird’s song in particular that signifies the arrival of spring here. Now the daffodils are blooming, and I’m sure that spring is on the way. Oh, how wondrous it always is. Sometimes in the fall, I almost welcome the shorter days and quieter season, bringing with them a chance to turn inward. Despite holding a definite appreciation for each season, however, it does seem winter always leaves its mark. The coming of spring is always so welcome. Margaret Manning, an author and speaker for Ravi Zacharias ministries, reflects on the arrival of spring and Easter:

Even as Christian mourning turns to joy with Easter resurrection celebrations, it is important to note that Jesus bore the wounds of violence and oppression in his body—even after his resurrection. When he appeared to his disciples, according to John’s gospel, Jesus showed them “both his hands and his side” as a means by which to identify himself to them. Indeed, the text tells us that once the disciples took in these visible wounds “they rejoiced when they saw the Lord” (John 20:20).

The resurrection body of Jesus contained the scars from nail and sword, and these scars identified Jesus to his followers. And yet, the wounds of Jesus took on new significance in light of his resurrection. While still reminders of the violence of crucifixion his wound-marked resurrection body demonstrates God’s power over evil and death.

But his wounds reveal something else. God’s work of resurrection—indeed of new creation—begins in our wounded world. His resurrection is not a disembodied spiritual reality for life after the grave; it bears the marks of his wounded life here and now, yet with new significance.

One of the best parts of spring and Easter, it seems, is the joy we find in the perspective we have in them…perspective that is often wrought from the suffering and scars gained in winter-likes seasons in our lives. Bess Streeter Aldrich, a fiction author who wrote primarily in the the 1920’s, has a novel called Spring Comes On Forever. It’s a beautifully told story, but it’s the title itself to which I’d like to call attention. The wonder of spring is that we can enter into it fully, in all its presence and glory, and yet simultaneously receive the promise that it is always still coming, still waiting. May we never lose our sense of wonder in both realities!

Stepping Up…(From the Night of the Buffalo)

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For the past several years, since before my twenty-ninth birthday,  I’ve woken up each morning feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. More accurately, as if that buffalo hit me. Yes…a buffalo, though technically, it was a North-American bison. In opening my eyes to face a new day, in the blink of an eye, I can see the night my dog and I collided with him. The car lights shining on a dark night on the Colorado highway failed to warn us of his shadow standing in the road. We certainly woke him up from a nap, but he crawled off the car and stumbled back into the road behind us to stand again. That buffalo took several years to make me feel the impact of its collision, but I definitely feel it now. I’m lucky: we collided, but nothing shattered, no one died. There’s no question we were protected. It’s really a miracle, but indeed, a miracle that changed everything. Leif Enger wrote, “People fear miracles because they fear being changed-though ignoring them will change you also.” Had I known it was coming, I’m sure I would have been afraid. Now, I pray it has changed me, molded me, transformed me. Now, I fear most ignoring the miraculous in it all.

 

In his powerful Superpower poem, Steve Gross wrote, “it takes practice…to get beyond the whole half-full, half-empty question, and just be grateful for the glass.” I  hope I’ll practice, hope I’ll cultivate that gratitude for the glass I’ve been given. Though I’ve yet to meet another who has shared the experience of hitting a buffalo, I’m definitely not the only one to battle illness, or to spend her life fighting the gravity of life and the depravity of man. As I get moving, get stretching, and receive  the warmth of a hot shower each day, I can feel my broken back begin to hold itself upright again. My muscles and joints begin to move more easily, the head clears, and for the rest of the day, I have the ability to move and walk and live well. Many would give anything just to have two legs that can walk.  I may have to work pretty hard at making this body functional, but if I do, it functions. Many would give anything to have a body responsive to their cues and efforts.  Sure, there’s pain, but I’ve been provided with so many tools, so many gifts, so many friends who love and support me. Mostly, it’s easy to get discouraged when encountering the ways pain has changed me, and resisting the limits it has placed on my life. Again, the choice is presented each day. Albert Einstein once prompted us to choose well: “There are two ways in which you can live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle, or as if everything is a miracle.” I can be grateful and work hard, or I can let pain filter my existence and illness the condition that defines me.  Will I choose to awaken to limitation, or to live unlimited? All I must do to maintain a sense of wonder is receive the mercies offered anew every morning.

 

Most days, with the difficulty of just putting one foot in front of another, it does seem simplest to quit: to stop trying so hard and just let it all take its natural course. If I make that choice, things quickly degenerate. My body can’t get enough of the drug of rest.  If I am to live in hope, I must cling to God’s promises. There is no experience wasted and no downward spiral that can separate us from the His love, even those that are self-generated. ALL is being worked for good. The good work that He began, He will complete. Author Roy Lessin affirms this so well, expounding on the reality of God’s Kingdom. It’s  a wonderful point:

“Everything in this world is moving in a downward direction-our bodies are a little older than they were yesterday; the parts in our cars have more wear than they had yesterday; even the earth is aging like a worn garment. In God’s kingdom, things are just the opposite for us. Everything moves in an upward direction-we go from faith to faith, from glory to glory, and from strength to strength. Our characters are being conformed to the image of Jesus, our spiritual lives mature, our love for the Lord deepens, and He becomes more precious with time. Today you can confidently say, ‘It is well with my soul…and it will be even better tomorrow.”

This is the hope of our journey in stepping Heavenward, in stepping up.

“Bird On a Wire”…

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Singer Johnny Cash has a classic song called Bird On a Wire. From the perspective of someone who suffered the consequences of bad choices, & experienced dramatic highs & lows on his journey, this is the picture he chooses for himself. Many of us feel like we walk a tightrope wire, or at least attempt to, in some area of our lives. It’s certainly true that life is a balancing act in so many ways, but why a bird on a wire, there for all to see? Perhaps, like the bird, it’s because our ride on the rollercoaster of life is so visible to others… perhaps because as lonely as we may feel, “walking the line” is such a normal, daily occurrence? It seems most probable, however, the illustration conveys the song we’re all given to sing in the midst of our best efforts, normalcy, & even visible failure. However strong our voices may be, however wobbly our best attempts, we can give God glory & add to the world’s beauty, just in the attempt to sing out His praise. Though we may not catch the attention of the majority who pass by, there is one who sees & hears & delights to stand with us on that wire, who supports us in His embrace. “The Eternal God is our Refuge, & underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27). One of my all-time favorite quotes by author Wendell Berry reflects this: “I am always surprised, when I look back on times I have known to be laborious or worrisome or sad, to discover that, they have never been out of the presence of peace & beauty, for her I have been always in the world itself.” However ordinary our journeys may be, they also all hold pieces of the extraordinary.