Two Sparrows

                For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)

                Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. (Matthew 10:29)

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait." (Milton, John, Sonnet 19)

                As happens now and again, yesterday I found myself looking out my front window. There are two Serviceberry bushes, a birdfeeder, the top of a Bronze Fennel, and what I hope is golden rod visible without my standing up. Fairly often, birds come to the feeder, but they’re almost always invasive House Sparrows, invasive European Starlings, and Rock Pigeons. Pigeons! Robins visit the serviceberry bushes. And I found myself with a vague sense of disappointment.

                I planted the Serviceberry bushes because they were supposed to draw cedar waxwings and indigo buntings in. I’ve never seen either since I planted them. I planted the bronze fennel because of the smoky appearance of the leaves, but it’s a host plant for Eastern Black Swallowtails. Much of what’s in the front garden is there for the benefit of birds, butterflies, or bees, but, except for the Lavender/Oregano beds, I just don’t see the critters, especially this year.

And before someone says, “Climate change,” yeah, I hear about the decreases of critter populations, too. But my attention as I inwardly sighed over the patronage of the “Keil Diner” wasn’t really on the critters. It was on me. Why can’t I (as some people do) feed Indigo Buntings, Cedar Waxwings, and even crows, owls, or eagles? Given my education, why can’t I seem to find a job I like doing something more “important”? Why aren’t my books bestsellers?

Esther came to mind. Queen Esther, we think. Beautiful Queen Esther. Taken from her family and turned into a sex slave to a Gentile, and an idol-worshipper. If she wasn’t forgotten by the Jews, she might have been pitied by them or rejected. After all, she was married to the enemy. For the most part, in a position to do nothing of value. We might envy a romantic version of her, but a bird in a gilded cage is still in a cage. And yes, thanks to her connections, she was able to save her people. But she almost missed it because it didn’t look the way she thought it would.

Then the verse about God caring for the sparrows. If I were not here, who would feed the sparrows, starlings, and pigeons? Oh, God would provide. Deliverance from hunger would come from another source because God cares for them, but could it be that I am divinely put here just so that I can feed them and have a garden that, if the birds, bees, and butterflies ever come, they will find a refuge? Could I be here – in part – to keep the neighborhood free of litter? Could I serve by “standing” and “waiting” so that when the time comes, I am available to do something more? Could my writing be for one person a hundred years from now who stumbles on one of the copies and is changed by it?

I’ve written about suffering recently, and one of the points I’ve tried to make is that what we call “suffering” may be better for us than “not suffering.” Here again, there’s a question of perspective. We have these ideas of what it means to make a difference in the world. I wish I could be that person who accomplishes what I think are great deeds. And I could undoubtedly be much better and do much greater deeds if I’d just “apply” myself and change myself into the sort of person who isn’t the sort of person I am, but I suspect that would involve a lot of people-pleasing or becoming what this person or that declares that I should be to be “good enough.” But the idea returns. No matter where I am, was I not made for such a time as this? If I resent caring for the sparrows that God cares for, will I really be ready or able to care for the people God cares for? If I don’t provide the refuge the insects need, will our environment not suffer even more?

I’m not putting myself on a pedestal here. You may well be in the same situation. What you’re doing may not seem like much, but could it be that God has you there for such a time as this? Could it be that the little you think you’re doing is bigger than your ego or society believe?