Spring in Texas inevitably means storms. So when my wife, Dolly, heard bad weather was coming I hurried to finish the yard work.
Truth is, I was grateful for the chance to do something physical. It got my mind off things I had no control over—like unexpected illness and prescription costs. God, I know you’ve always provided for us in the past, I thought as I got the mower out of the garage, but the older I get the more vulnerable I feel.
I pushed the mower around the yard. Gray clouds rolled in. I turned the mower back around. When I brushed against our flowering crepe myrtle tree a sparrow flew out. I peered into the tree. A nest made of straw and twigs was nestled in the branches. Inside were five gray and white speckled eggs. Too fragile to survive the storm.
As the first raindrops fell, the storm was upgraded to a tornado. Dolly and I stayed inside as it hit, shaking the roof with its fury.
When the tornado had passed, I went out to the yard. Branches littered the grass. I stopped at the crepe myrtle and pulled aside the branches. Amazingly, there was the mother bird. Her nest and all five eggs were intact. “Impossible,” I said. The mother bird chirped.
We got more storms that spring, but that sparrow nest stayed safe and sound. Every time I checked on it, the mother bird stared back at me as if to say, What did you expect?
Dolly and I are getting older. But the God who cared for that little nest is the same God who will care for us. One storm at a time.
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