The poor creature was chin to the ground, missing tail and wing feathers. All about, downy fluff rolled in the breeze. I thought it must be dead, however as I knelt down, it craned its neck to look at me. It seemed in terrible shape, all twisted and wings outstretched, so I suspected it to be mortally wounded. Thinking I could do little to help, I picked it up carefully, intending to set it down at the base of a tree, where it had a little more protection. Then, in my mind, I heard the words to a much-loved childhood hymn, ‘God sees the little sparrow fall’.
How many times I heard that hymn when I was a child. It reminds me that although a sparrow may seem small and insignificant - easily expendable - our Creator considers each one to be a creature of value. This small bird had met with peril within the scant ten minutes since I first walked past this place. Two paths converged. Even if it died in a few minutes, I could not leave it behind.
Looking it over carefully, I saw no evident wounds. I covered the ruddy little body with my other hand and started for home. A spunky little thing; it grasped my glove fiercely in its beak, refusing to let go. Presently, however, it found trust and relaxed its grip.
As I write this, the little sparrow is resting in a newspaper-lined box. I heard him munching millet and sunflower seeds a while ago, and he even sat for a while on the wooden perch I made for him.
I’ve had days lately, when I, too, have felt wounded and beaten, my feathers pulled. But the tiny fox sparrow that fell on my path brought me a very important message.
Wait. Rest. Trust. Grow new feathers. The time will come to fly again.