Memo from heaven? I wonder, can I muster what it takes to crack the code?

Two days ago, a mama sparrow alit on our window box—mere inches from where I journal and read the Word. She twig-footed her way over leftover holiday greenery and branches festooned with cotton bolls. Pausing, head cocked, she looked . . . thoughtful. Then wily.

Squaring her stance, she rapidly beaked up four or five mouthfuls of fluff. Then made a getaway.

Fortuitous comic relief?

Yesterday a chickadee zoomed in. Same drill. Another backlit, feathered visionary with a snowy Afro.

Here’s to spring, I thought, and resourceful females, part bird, part cloud.

Today, three scavenger-bandits flap in to pillage the cotton. Are these small acts of nest-worthy curation? Or a message?

First thought: update window box. It is almost Easter. (Plus, I paid more than I wanted to for those faux cotton bolls.)

On second thought: How pressing and universal the instinct to cushion, soothe, and provide for those under our care. A memory bubbles up: my tender, clever mother braiding my hair to close a small cut on my scalp—a wee blond nest of healing protection taking shape beneath her fingertips.

And just like that, I feel part of something deeper, more maternal, ancient.

A part-time caregiver now, I’m on the lookout for resources, wisdom, new ways to renew patience. How best to savor life alongside Dreamer, my beloved . . . without diminishing his dignity and independence?

These days he is deeply, heart-breakingly sad. My usual energies falter before his grief. It seems I comfort him best by sharing the strength God imparts to me, letting it overflow. In other words, keep the inmost well topped up. Then pass it on.

Healing is a moving target.

And aren’t we all keeping closer watch on dear ones these tumultuous days? Like spring birds, we prioritize nurture for those we love.

Long ago, when I was a nervy, forewarned-is-forearmed kid enduring sweltering days at school, I monitored hornets circling overhead. Every room had at least one. To dodge a sting I had to be ready!

Memo to current self: hypervigilance still skews focus, and it triggers twitchy exhaustion. To this day I tense when hearing a menacing buzz.

Because the sting comes, again and again. In many forms. No matter how fiercely we keep watch.

And God promises to keep vigil with us. No matter how long the process.

Where to turn? Like my window box needing a seasonal update, I’m scrabbling some, seeking fresh ways to lean into proven truth. Perhaps an update can encompass learning and relearning. To that end, I’ve personalized the Ten Commandments, creating a prayer to hopefully re-energize a heart for service.

Linger a little after reading the prayer? Click the sound file to hear Dreamer voicing his marvelous song “All My Days.”

But first, I give you the Ten Commandments as prayer:

You alone are Lord of earth, Master of heaven.
May I ever hallow your Name, your Word, and your presence.
Help me rest in your perfect grace.
Thank you for parents who did what was in their power to do,
who loved and led me the best they could.
Help me inhabit this day in healing ways . . . lest I cause harm.
Keep me loyal in love, patient in mercy, rich in wisdom, abounding in Light.
Keep me from slander, deception, and envy.
Nurturing God, suffuse me with faith and truth.
I am yours, now and always. Amen.

“. . . I will always have hope; 
I will praise you more and more” (Psalm 71:14).

Friends, I wonder what’s cropping up in your prayers these days . . .

P.S. As to the insouciant moose that recently pruned our budding crab apple tree? And last week’s visiting owl commandeering the big stump outback? Head swiveling, she hunkered and glared: a fellow being on high alert. Hmmm. Perhaps, another memo to parse . . .

“All My Days,” Bill Klein ©1996 House of Mercy Music

Photo by Sies Kranen on Unsplash