The food of love? Well, we are making cookies today . . .
My granddaughter perches on the kitchen stool, one loose-cannon leg kicking the rungs. She’s chatty, a tad restive. She waves the baby chick cookie cutter above her head. Then, surprisingly, she falls silent, pointing to the decal that spans the soffit. With a five-year-old’s zest she proclaims, “If music be the food of Love, pla-a-ay on.”
“Keira,” I marvel, “you’re reading!”
She grins briefly, then returns to cutting birdies from dough. Keira, aka Kiki, was once a hypersensitive infant we carried around on a pillow. She suffered acute sensory issues. Traumatized in utero by her birth mother’s drug habit, our little fledgling now reads Shakespeare.
Oh, the ageless effervescence of wonder — it tingles all over my body. I’m older than the average grandma, eager to savor each stage of growth while I still can.
As my friend Judi Carlson says, “What piece of our heart did God create to receive this kind of miracle? We adopt fragile children. And those children adopt us.”
Kiki, our impish dynamo, seldom sits long enough to hear a story through to the end. So when did the skill to read click? She’s a girl with places to go, faces to make, boundaries to test.
“All done,” she sings out. “Now what?”
I slide her tray of ginger-bird cutouts into the oven. “Eight minutes,” I say. “Want to see the baby robins?”
We tiptoe to my bedroom window to watch the ramshackle nest on our deck.
Three fledglings yeep and chirr, jostling each other. Then, like harrumphing uncles, they rotate positions.
She wants to know why they are fighting.
“They’re getting too big for the nest,” I say. “And maybe they’re itchy. Look, they’re taking beak-baths.”
[Click & watch] IMG_0548
Chirping, Mama Robin swoops to the lawn, nabs a worm, heads for the nest. She embodies music, the food of Love — countless times each day.
I’ve watched her spread wings and tail over the nest during two hailstorms, her quivering pinions jeweled with ice. She’s giving her young every chance in a world where statistics show only 25% survive their first year.
The oven timer goes off, and we head for the kitchen, Kiki bouncing ahead of me — and off a wall or two. The thought comes to me, she’ll be okay, despite her rough start in life and her madcap ways. The cherishing God who knows when a sparrow falls is with her, and will be, long after I’m gone.
Whoever wrote Psalm 91 knew a thing or two about love: “[God] will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.” For now, I’m grateful the Deity shares part of that privilege with me.
Kiki and I frost the cookies and top them with sprinkles. Another gift. The robins, too, seem sent. Vulnerability dressed in feathers chooses my deck. My time. Me. From the nest’s inception to sky-blue eggs to scruffy hatchlings, I’ve eavesdropped on this family-in-progress day after day, for weeks. A living psalm.
Kiki takes bird cookies home to her mama. A few hours later I find the nest empty. Abandoned. I’m surprised by the ache in my chest. And how it spreads.
I would have loved to watch them fly.
Since then, I’ve used this breath prayer throughout the day, the one that’s been singing itself in my head lately, helping me let go.
(inhale) Lord of every (exhale) quickening,
Watching over egg and wing,
How you cherish everything!
Taking flight or nestling,
I live to sing
All that you are, my King.
What helps you release a cherished hope or a beloved being already in flux?
You might also enjoy this one about Kiki
And this one, if you missed it, about the nest
“Vulnerability dressed in feathers chooses my deck. My time. Me. From the nest’s inception to sky-blue eggs to scruffy hatchlings, I’ve eavesdropped on this family-in-progress day after day, for weeks. A living psalm.”
What a gift, and how lovely that you fully received it, Laurie. Now that psalm, that song lives on in you, and you sing it to us. Thank you.
Ah, Bethany, thank you for lifting out those lines. It was a wondrous month of watching life unfold. Transformative. I’ve been writing about birds ever since. : )
Thank you for joining me in the givenness of it all!
Oh my….. I remember Kiki’s story from the beginning–what love and grace and patience! And she’s reading Shakespeare.
Laurie, your story weaving leaves me in tears at the goodness and love of our great God.
Sending hugs.
Dear Jody, thank you for remembering.
Thank you for brimming over today at the goodness of God. (Now I’m teary, too.)
We grandmothers feel moments like these so deeply, don’t we. Is it the “long view” age allows us meeting the sudden intimacies that steal our breath? I don’t have the words.
Now to stay present. Yielded . . .
I too am watching life move, watching grandchildren live and grow – seemingly fast.
Watching the birds has reminded me that our Father watches us the same. And how much more than birds!
I thank Him for the needed affirmation through your sharing.
We have adoption in our family.
I’m going to email you something that best describes.
Your words resonate, once again…
“What piece of our heart did God create to receive this kind of miracle? We adopt fragile children. And those children adopt us.”
“Oh, the ageless effervescence of wonder.”
“Eager to savor each stage of growth while I still can.”
“A living psalm.“
Love the prayer.
Thank you for sharing.
Rick, I imagine your youngling doves have flown by now. I hope they’ve settled near your yard. I love their haunting song.
The article you emailed moves me. What a testament to the mysteries of God lavished upon us, over time, in loving trust. I hold your family in prayer often, and here is one more instance for thanksgiving. Blessings on your tribe today!
And, as always, thank you for highlighting the lines that chimed in your mind and spirit—so encouraging, as you well know, as a fellow writer.
The dove family have stayed local.
Thank you for making mention of mine.
I do the same for you.
Glad to hear it!
Even more glad for your prayers.
Oh Laurie, another heart throb for me! I love your sensitivity to nature and life! And what a gem to be able to see the birds- awesome how you included that live scene for us to share in. Keep your gift coming, thank you ? ??
Dear Georgia, I’m so glad this resonated with your heart, my friend. All these days later I still check the nest each time I walk by that window. I’ve been trying to name the little pangs of sorrow I’ve been feeling, a loss of intimacy, I think, having been privileged to watch the precious unfolding of tiny lives for a couple weeks. I am hoping the robin returns later in the season!
You, nice lady, have a gift of observation and communication equal to any superpower. That little girl will never know the gift that she has been given by your family, and it is probably just as well. It is that kind of humility – the ability to give without spoken reward – that is so lacking in our world. Remember that robins are likely to return to the nest. On South street, we had the mailbox on the porch, and every year, mother robin would set up shop on the roof of the mailbox. The mailman had to put the mail in a shoebox for a while.
Dear John, thank you for those kind words. Your shoebox story is crazy-wonderful. As was your mailman. Were you still able to use the front door for those magical weeks?
Hearing that robins reuse/remodel their nests from someone who has experienced it, year after year, makes my day! Now anticipation is in play (I still check the nest every time I walk by). Perhaps she’ll return . . .
Sigh! I was right there with you in every line. Of course, you know how I love birds and great children. Terrific writing.
I wish you could have watched them with me. It felt miraculous, an ongoing movie beyond the French door. Thanks for encouragement, dear lover of little ones!
Hi Laurie,
We also have a sign up in our kitchen that says, “If music be he food of love ,play on.” Your reflections always uplift me and remind me to keep my eyes on the One who cares for the sparrows. I miss seeing you! I often think of how you sent me 3 cards when I was recovering from hip surgery, which were such a huge encouragement to me. I’m grateful to know you.
Linda, how absolutely splendid to hear from you. I think of you so often and miss seeing you, too! I love that we both have the Bard leaning over our shoulder while we stand at the stove.
Blessings on you and your clan. Love, Laurie
Once again, I am blessed and mesmerized to read your word pictures, sentiments, prayers and observations, woven together, seemingly effortlessly, like a Mama Robin’s nurturing nest. Thank you!
Pacia, when I think of all the demands on your time in this season I’m so moved to think of you stopping in here. Thank you, my friend for those words of encouragement. I wish it was effortless and give thanks that it sounds that way! Blessings on you, my friend. Love, Laurie
Reading this in light of our eldest preparing to graduate from high school in a week. Thank you for being a person who pays attention and shares your noticings with us. God’s mercies are new each second!
Dear Sarah, what a milestone in family life. Congratulations!
I am continually taken aback by how swiftly time passes. And yes, we would be utterly swamped without those moment-by-moment mercies . . . Your words have triggered fresh thanksgiving. Thank you, friend.
Love it Laurie , I’m glad your Granddaughter is doing well . Rough start but she seems to be flying high now …very glad to hear that . I’m certain the fledgling robins got a bumpy start learning to fly Too., but for sure they are finding their way …
Kiki will never forget how to make cookies , she will cherish that loving memory and share it with her children .. you paint such a beautiful picture in my mind with your words ..Thank you,.
Larry, thank you for rejoicing with us.
Our deck seems so empty now. I keep checking the nest, just in case a robin pops back for a visit, keep watching for them around the yard, but so far, no sight of them.
Do you know, I’ve never thought of Kiki baking cookies with her kids and remembering doing so with me. What a lovely encouragement that is. Thank you!
You brought to mind a Truman Capote quote I appreciate: “To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make.” However, you’ve one-upped Capote, Laurie. The insights you share minister wisdom and encouragement right along with the beautiful music of your words! P.S. That Kiki sounds like a charmer. You’ll have to tell us more stories about her!
Nancy, thank you so much. I too love to make words chime, but even more, to know they land and send down a root or two.
Our Kiki spins through life in hi-def technicolor, perpetual motion, and 4-speaker surround-sound. Keeps us all on our toes. And knees. : )
You’ve watched over the brood with an eye like God’s–who made the world to survive, despite the prevalence of hardship and death. Yet in spite of your watchfulness you are left to trust to God all that you cannot see. All that the future holds…just our of sight.
It’s both the hardship and miracle of faith.
Even as with your granddaughter…
Trust, yes. And I must. Not my strong suit but hopefully I’m making headway. And wouldn’t I just love to know what’s around the bend! Better by far that I don’t.
Hardship and miracle, hand in hand. I like the feeling that gives me when I read those words together, a settled resolve, like I’m buckling in for the ride. Or rather, being buckled in by Hands that steer impeccably and hold all. Amen
Such gorgeous writing, Laurie. Your musical score ,with interjecting wonder and generational interludes, all took flight!
My 101 year old Papa was fledged onto freedom a few days ago. He now has much in common with your wee baby birds.. minus the imminent perils
…but oh yes…the exhilaration of flying free.
Oh Judy, your beloved dad, whom you loved so well, and those wings . . . a long time coming. What an amazing daughter you’ve been! I know the stories told will become legends.
I am glad I met him, dear friend. May the Father on High comfort you. And may images of that inimitable soul soaring to greet you one day (and show you around) even now delight your spirit.