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A flutter of blue caught my attention. I stretched my aching back and looked up, glad for the diversion from spreading mulch in my flowerbeds. The beautiful blue bird swooped over and I caught a glimpse of his rose-colored breast as he settled on the wire fence. So, it really was a bluebird. How I loved them.
“Maybe they’ll decide to nest in our new birdhouse.” I glanced over as my husband, Greg, came out of the garage and squatted on the grass beside me, squinting against the sun. We watched as the pair swooped and flew, a riot of color in the beautiful spring afternoon.
A few days later, Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird moved in and started their family. That’s when the trouble began.
One morning, I woke up to Greg banging on our bedroom window. “Hey,” he yelled.
I rolled over and groaned. “What time is it and who on earth is outside?”
“It’s the house sparrow. Can you hear him? I’m pretty sure he’s after the bluebirds.”
Instantly, I sat up in bed, wide-awake. Cheep, cheep, came the sparrow’s call. He wanted our bluebird’s nest. Why couldn’t he leave them alone? Go somewhere else. Build his own nest. Why invade my favorite little bird family and take those eggs from such beautiful birds?
As the days passed, we anxiously watched the battle between the birds. The sparrow, persistent, loud and obnoxious; the bluebirds, valiant, selfless and brave. They fluttered outside the nest, beating blue wings in a vain attempt to protect their young. The sparrow kept up his harassment, waiting for the moment when he could get to the eggs.
I couldn’t sit back and watch the bluebirds destroyed. I kept the windows open, so I could hear the first sound of attack. When I heard it, I ran to our sliding glass door, and threw rocks toward the sparrow. The rocks never hit him, but they had their desired effect. He would quit his harassment, but only for a while.
Cheep, cheep. Again, I ran to the slider, but this time the sparrow didn’t wait for the rock, it instantly flew across the field. Troubled, I stared out the door as the shadows lengthened and the sun sank towards the west. Everything seemed bathed in a golden light; the birds sang their evening calls to each other, yet I worried. How could I protect them? Did they have to be constantly harassed like that?
Suddenly, I felt angry. Angry with Satan for wrecking this beautiful planet we call home. For bringing discord, strife and division where once only beauty and harmony existed. For bringing jealously and envy, pride and covetousness into our little world. I thought of a friend’s marriage breaking apart, my cousin’s body, ravaged by the effects of cancer, another friend working so hard, yet facing bankruptcy. The words of the apostle Paul from long ago echoed in my mind, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecutions, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.” (Romans 8:35, 37) Nothing could separate me from Jesus! The sky rapidly changed to rose and then gray as the day darkened into night. Yet, I didn’t feel afraid. Satan’s rule over this earth had its limits and it would come to an end.
Not long after, we heard the familiar cheep; cheep, early in the morning. Greg and I dashed to the window. The sparrow sat triumphantly on top of the birdhouse. Greg sighed and looked at me. “I think that means he got the eggs, Jilly,”
We rushed outside. The air smelled fresh and sweet. I arrived at the bluebird house just behind Greg. He was already stooped over several things on the ground. Broken eggs lay scattered on the green grass. My heart ached for Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird.
What was that Bible text? Nothing could separate us from God! Not even the killing of innocent little baby birds. Sin wouldn’t last forever; someday, there would be no more pain, hatred, or strife. And, when it comes, I want a family of bluebirds to live near my mansion. Even so come, Lord Jesus!
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