Yesterday, this little girl (the one who lost her first tooth) brings home a homemade bird feeder. She announces that the bagel was “a rotten one, leftover from her teacher’s kitchen,” and the birdseed and spread cannot be eaten by humans.
Noted.
We hang the bird feeder on the winterberry bush. And we wait.
And we wait.
We wait, wait, and wait some more.
I read somewhere that it takes backyard birds a few days to find a new feeder.
All day today, we stop every few minutes and glance out the kitchen window just in case a bird has arrived. We talk about who might be the first to catch sight of that first little bird.
No birds yet. But the desiring of them, the wait, delights us.
We remember another wait, last April, for a hibernating turtle to emerge from underneath our deck. It feels just like that, this waiting, and we love it.
It feels like the wait for a first loose tooth.
I want to construct more apparatuses designed to teach me the beauty of hope. A backyard bird feeder reminds me to hope today. I wait patiently with my daughters, peer into the landscape ahead, and keep our longing alive. Tomorrow might be the day!
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Journal: What am I hoping for, and how do I keep my hope alive?
0 Responses
Anticipation is wonderful!
Once the birds find you, they will keep coming back as long as you keep putting out food.
Hope. It is what makes us smile, it's what keeps us moving towards the sun, and it's what keeps me alive.
hope.
It's a powerful, powerful thing.
xoxox
i adore you.
Heather, I'm STRUCK by this. Who creates opportunities to…wait? Who does that? Yet in the doing, and certainly in the waiting, hope emerges. Fabulous post!
Waiting is so tough … patience… will God come through?
So wonderful. Such a small pragmatic example of something so impossible to understand.