Mothers come in all shapes and sizes. The one on my front porch had a reddish-brown breast and soft dusty blue on her wings and tail, giving her a classy appearance. We’d put up a nest box to attract bluebirds, and she perched on its roof, then peeked inside to inspect it. Meanwhile, her escort whizzed around our yard, proudly displaying his brilliant “look at me” cobalt wings as he scrutinized the nearby plants and flowers. I found myself echoing Henry David Thoreau’s words: “The bluebird carries the sky on his back.”
Apparently, the pair liked what they saw. Twigs, straw, and leaves littered the porch as they began nest building in earnest. Soon there were four powder blue eggs in the nest box.
Weeks later, as I was pouring a cup of coffee, I looked out my kitchen window and saw a bluebird flitting crazily around our screened-in back porch, looking for a way out. In her quest for protein-rich insects for her hatchlings, she’d ventured through a bird-sized hole in the screen—the result of a barbeque mishap. Now she was trapped!
I propped open the door to the backyard, assuming the bluebird would eventually find her way out, but an hour later she was still making erratic touch and go landings on the patio table and chairs as she flew from one side of the porch to the other. It was in sharp contrast to how they usually fly—close to the ground. What appeared to be a sure thing, had a heavy cost—her freedom.
To complicate matters, I could see her mate, with frantic tweets, zipping back and forth between the purple irises in the garden below. In that moment, despite his sharp beak, speed, agility, and powerful wings, he was helpless to do anything but watch.
As the desperate female clung to the screen for a breather, her orange breast rose and fell rapidly. I stepped towards her, but she shot past my head, barely missing me. This harbinger of happiness, wasn’t happy.
At breakfast my husband and I prayed the Lord would help the bluebird find the escape route we’d provided, but she continued to zoom by the open doorway without a glance; perhaps she was frightened by her reflection in the sliding glass door. As a last resort, I used a broom to shoo her in the right direction, but she continued to veer past the doorway, instead of going through it.
I picked up a plastic bucket and a piece of cardboard from the garage. Bucket in hand, I chased the bluebird around the porch until we were both worn-out. The weary bird, panting with her beak open, clung to the screen. The word “birdbrain” and “featherhead” came to mind, but I wasn’t sure if they were meant for the bluebird . . . or me?
I grabbed the bucket and while she was eyeballing me, I brought the bucket from the other direction and ZAP! I slammed it over her. She thrashed against the pail for a few moments but finally grew quiet. I slid the piece of cardboard between the bucket and the screen, trapping her inside.
With a sigh of relief, I headed to the backyard and joyfully released her, to the delight of her lifelong mate. With a flash of blue, they soared to a flowering dogwood tree, chirping happily as they were reunited. Quickly, they resumed hunting crickets, spiders, grasshoppers, butterflies, moth larvae, and berries to feed their clutch.
The Lord had answered my prayer at breakfast, but not the way I’d expected. For some reason, He’d decided to use me to provide the escape route for the bluebird. I thought of how many times I’d asked the Lord to do something for me, when in reality I was capable, with His blessing, of accomplishing the task. In His wisdom, He knows we often need some “skin in the game” for our faith to grow—we need to put our faith to work and be invested in the outcome.
This is the heart of the Jailbird Ministry; we invest in men and women who are incarcerated. Many times, like the bluebird, they’re convinced there’s no way out. Jesus said, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture” (John 10:9). The Bible is the door to freedom in Christ, and only then can we begin to fly.
