A robin built her nest on the rungs of a ladder leaning against our barn. My husband noticed it a few weeks ago and pointed it out to me where I stood on tip-toe to see the bluer than blue eggs.
Yesterday my husband motioned me over to the barn. Inside the nest were three baby birds, eyes and mouths wide open, their large black eyes, dark with a depth that drew me in. We kept a safe distance, careful not to upset the mother bird, which watched and waited on the nearby limb of our giant ash tree.
Later, as I did the dishes I looked out at the barn and thought of the baby birds. Their eyes and mouths open, waiting to be fed, taking in the world. Unaware their home, their universe rests on a thin metal strip feet above the ground.
I was once again reminded of the times when our nest is on the rung of a ladder, or swinging from a fragile clothesline, when all we can do is have faith.
Sabra is a writer and editor at OurPrayer.org. Her blog abridged and originally titled is featured with permission of . Copyright 2011 by Guideposts, Carmel, New York 10512. All rights reserved.
The sun’s broken light
through dusty painted clouds
moves me from instinct to prayer.
I bathe in the cuff of morning praise,
like a butterfly plotting its path of nectar
in the summer mist.
The windblown chimes
echo the song of Your river.
I listen for the thread of heart-string,
instead hear a symphony of worship.
You bless my day with testaments,
recorded in the late hour,
where light is put to bed
after everyone is sleeping.
I wake to find Your mystery in landscape
and song, a touch and a smile,
a cadence of devotion
and pulse for the Spirit’s call.
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