This evening, nature hosted a quiet little drama in our driveway. Three sleek black birds gathered where the maple trees once stood, pecking at a few unsuspecting worms wriggling into the sunlight.
The
trees, long past their glory, had recently been removed, making way
for something new, perhaps, though the worms didn’t seem to be
celebrating. As they surfaced from their disturbed earth and wiggled
their way to the driveway, it was as if they’d wandered into the
wrong story. Yet the birds were ready, grateful even.
Watching the impromptu feast unfold, my mind recalled the old nursery rhyme “Sing a Song of Sixpence,” where “four and twenty blackbirds” are tucked into a pie. True, it is a whimsical and strange rhyme, but it's etched in my memory from childhood. Only three birds graced our yard today, but they were enough to stir the same wonder in a deja vu moment.
Funny how upheaval (even the removal of ugly old trees) can lead to small blessings—tiny meals for tiny lives. The moment reminded me of Matthew 6:26: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”
What a beautiful reassurance. Even when the world feels uprooted or uncertain, provision still finds its way—sometimes wriggling across a driveway. If the birds are cared for in such detail, how much more are we?
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