August 2017

She spent hours building her home, putting together just the right combination of lawn clippings, tender twigs and even some runaway pink Easter basket grass. A masterful work of art, the nest precariously rested in the eave of our front porch. I kept tabs on the project from my perch on the stairs in my foyer, a perfect view of the building site through the transom window above my front door—a front row seat, so to speak.

Soon, the dove traded home construction for motherhood. One stormy night, I raced to the stairs to check on my feathered friend. There she stoically sat on her eggs, cloaked in maternal defiance at the roaring thunder and violent lightning. I don’t mess with storms, so I was impressed. I admired her. In between claps of thunder, I meekly opened the front door and told her so—“You are a good mother”—and then slammed the door shut. She didn’t flinch. I was relieved that no one saw me speaking encouragement to a bird. But . . . after all, we were both mothers. I understood.

Before long, eggs hatched, and I watched as wide-open beaks, attached to little fuzzy heads, poked up out of the nest. The feeding frenzy began. I know what it’s like to feed a bottomless pit. The trips to Kroger. The bloated food budget. Most of my day spent in the kitchen. One meal barely eaten, only to hear, “Mom, do we have anything to eat?” It’s what we mothers do, feathered or not. And what a blessing!

Spring definitely sprung, and the nest looked full . . . so full that the babies tentatively ventured to the edge of the nest . . . then stood on the edge. Mama Bird was out of human sight but never far away as she called “Whoo-oo, hoo, hoo, hoo” from the branch of a nearby tree. I have to think that she was preparing them for the world they would soon enter, teaching them all she knew, coaxing them to fly with precision and purpose. Perhaps she felt a bit desperate at the short time she had to spend with them when there was so much they needed to know. I know that feeling.
And then, one day, the nest sat empty.

I felt sad. I’d grown attached. I felt sorry for the Mama Bird—all that attention, care, work, and then her babies just flew away.
And then, my epiphany! The nest was EMPTY! The babies flew away and so did the mama! She didn’t hang around to mourn the empty nest. She spread her wings and took flight.

Funny how God works! He sent me the Bird Family in the spring before my baby flew off to college, and I was working hard to make sure he was prepared for take-off and that he would land safely and joyously on his feet. But, the Mama Bird taught me an excellent lesson. I should not mourn the empty nest for long. I, too, should stretch my feathers, flap my wings, and soar in whatever direction God chose to send the wind.
So here I am, writing a blog!