A time for every purpose
A couple months ago, not too long after all the covid stuff started here in the States, we watched a mama robin build a nest on top of one of our gutters. We could watch her from both of the kids' bedroom windows.
It was in the perfect spot, right under an eave, in the shade, and she was a master builder. We could tell that nest was going to be SOLID. I was excited to be able to show the kids baby birds right out their window. For weeks we watched her sit, then last week she started bringing grubs back to the nest. One evening my four year old daughter and I sat watching her fly back and forth, and one of the babies stretched their neck up high enough for us to see it. My daughter wants to be a veterinarian, so spotting that baby bird eating from its mama's mouth was the equivalent to her seeing Elsa in real life.
The next night a pretty big storm rolled through. Well, a couple rounds of storms actually. And we haven't seen the mama since. Nor have we heard the babies or seen them stretch their necks up out of the nest for food. Thankfully the kids haven't been disappointed, but I was, to my surprise. Baby birds aren't my thing.
A few days ago, I sat on our deck with my laptop propped on my knees. I had a few work emails left that needed to be addressed, but I could do what I needed to and let the kids play outside at the same time. While my three year old son soared through the galaxy while swinging on his tummy on the swing set swings, my daughter hunted the yard for flowers. And then she stopped, right in the middle of a big open space of grass and stared down at the ground. Her stillness made me look up a mere second before she called out, "Moooooommm. Come look at this!"
When I got to her, all of my "be tough, mama" instincts kicked in. There lay one of the baby birds. Dead.
It didn't make sense for it to be in that spot so far from the gutter where the nest was. Unless it had fallen out of its nest during one of the storms and one of the dogs had carried it over to this spot in the yard. My son was now by our side and wanted to touch the bird, so I had to give up solving the mystery then and there. I sent my daughter for one of her garden shovels, and I picked up the pooper-scooper, all the while threatening to take away my son's Avenger toys if he touched the bird while we gathered the tools.
We picked a shady spot under some crepe myrtles, dug a little hole, and buried the baby.
As I turned around from the gravesite, I told my daughter she could find some wildflowers to lay on top of the little mound, and then my heart stopped. A chipmunk. Dead. Just feet from our little birds' burial site.
What in the world was going on? The "be tough, mama" instincts kicked in again. I told the kids to hold on, reminded the boy what I'd do to his Thor hammer if he touched the chipmunk, and went for the BIG shovel up on the deck. I dug a little bigger hole, and we buried the chipmunk.
"Come on, kids. Let's go make sure there isn't anything else in the yard that needs to be buried," I said, all the while wondering what on earth had happened. My daughter started to cry while my son bounded through the yard in big, Hulk steps with his hammer.
I had to decide how to handle this. She was no stranger to animals dying as we'd already had conversations a few times about how all family dogs at some time die. But this was a little different. I could approach it as a farmer, like in Charlotte's Web, or I could take a more sensitive route.
I went with a gentle rendition of the Charlotte's Web way, more like Charlotte than the dad. My son piped up, "Everything dies! And then we get to go to Heaven!"
I tightened my hug around her shoulders and shared a little from Ecclesiastes 3 with her as we looked through our yard.
Later that evening when I closed the kids' blinds and curtains, I stared at the empty nest in the gutter. I was sad for the mama. She'd worked so hard on that nest, sat on those eggs for so long, and she had what, a few days with those babies?
"A time for every purpose..."
I thought about all of my friends who've lost babies in miscarriages. Mere weeks, some only days, that they got to have time on earth with their little one inside of them. I thought about loved ones who've lost babies and children and siblings and parents.
"A time to die.. a time to morn... a time to heal... a time to weep..."
I cried later that night. Not about the mama bird or the dead animals. Just about everything that's hard and uncertain right now. Our days swing like my son soaring through the galaxy. Each day we have ups and each day we have downs. Each day we find ourselves "refrain(ing) from embracing," "search(ing)" for direction as to what we can do and where we can go, and in some ways "giv(ing) up" on plans and hopes and desires for this summer.
Those of us who know Jesus have the hope only He can give us. But that doesn't mean we, believers, won't still walk through all of the times Ecclesiastes references in verses 3:1-8. And if I'm being honest, swinging through all of those feelings can be exhausting.
We might not be running around keeping up with the Jones' or the rat-race like we were a few months ago, but that doesn't mean we don't need rest right now.
My point? We're living through and navigating completely new experiences for any living person in our country. So, life looks and feels different than it ever has before. The hope? This is "a time." It's not forever. We don't know when this "time" will end, or necessarily what purpose it is intended to serve, but it will end. And one day we will gather, laugh, dance, and embrace all together again.
Until next time,
<3 Lindsay
It was in the perfect spot, right under an eave, in the shade, and she was a master builder. We could tell that nest was going to be SOLID. I was excited to be able to show the kids baby birds right out their window. For weeks we watched her sit, then last week she started bringing grubs back to the nest. One evening my four year old daughter and I sat watching her fly back and forth, and one of the babies stretched their neck up high enough for us to see it. My daughter wants to be a veterinarian, so spotting that baby bird eating from its mama's mouth was the equivalent to her seeing Elsa in real life.
The next night a pretty big storm rolled through. Well, a couple rounds of storms actually. And we haven't seen the mama since. Nor have we heard the babies or seen them stretch their necks up out of the nest for food. Thankfully the kids haven't been disappointed, but I was, to my surprise. Baby birds aren't my thing.
A few days ago, I sat on our deck with my laptop propped on my knees. I had a few work emails left that needed to be addressed, but I could do what I needed to and let the kids play outside at the same time. While my three year old son soared through the galaxy while swinging on his tummy on the swing set swings, my daughter hunted the yard for flowers. And then she stopped, right in the middle of a big open space of grass and stared down at the ground. Her stillness made me look up a mere second before she called out, "Moooooommm. Come look at this!"
When I got to her, all of my "be tough, mama" instincts kicked in. There lay one of the baby birds. Dead.
It didn't make sense for it to be in that spot so far from the gutter where the nest was. Unless it had fallen out of its nest during one of the storms and one of the dogs had carried it over to this spot in the yard. My son was now by our side and wanted to touch the bird, so I had to give up solving the mystery then and there. I sent my daughter for one of her garden shovels, and I picked up the pooper-scooper, all the while threatening to take away my son's Avenger toys if he touched the bird while we gathered the tools.
We picked a shady spot under some crepe myrtles, dug a little hole, and buried the baby.
As I turned around from the gravesite, I told my daughter she could find some wildflowers to lay on top of the little mound, and then my heart stopped. A chipmunk. Dead. Just feet from our little birds' burial site.
What in the world was going on? The "be tough, mama" instincts kicked in again. I told the kids to hold on, reminded the boy what I'd do to his Thor hammer if he touched the chipmunk, and went for the BIG shovel up on the deck. I dug a little bigger hole, and we buried the chipmunk.
"Come on, kids. Let's go make sure there isn't anything else in the yard that needs to be buried," I said, all the while wondering what on earth had happened. My daughter started to cry while my son bounded through the yard in big, Hulk steps with his hammer.
I had to decide how to handle this. She was no stranger to animals dying as we'd already had conversations a few times about how all family dogs at some time die. But this was a little different. I could approach it as a farmer, like in Charlotte's Web, or I could take a more sensitive route.
I went with a gentle rendition of the Charlotte's Web way, more like Charlotte than the dad. My son piped up, "Everything dies! And then we get to go to Heaven!"
I tightened my hug around her shoulders and shared a little from Ecclesiastes 3 with her as we looked through our yard.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:a time to be born and a time to die,a time to plant and a time to uproot,a time to kill and a time to heal,a time to tear down and a time to build,a time to weep and a time to laugh,a time to mourn and a time to dance,a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,a time to search and a time to give up,a time to keep and a time to throw away,a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,a time to love and a time to hate,a time for war and a time for peace.
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8We found one more dead animal, buried it, and called it a day. It was time to give up, heal, turn on Disney+, and get dinner started.
Later that evening when I closed the kids' blinds and curtains, I stared at the empty nest in the gutter. I was sad for the mama. She'd worked so hard on that nest, sat on those eggs for so long, and she had what, a few days with those babies?
"A time for every purpose..."
I thought about all of my friends who've lost babies in miscarriages. Mere weeks, some only days, that they got to have time on earth with their little one inside of them. I thought about loved ones who've lost babies and children and siblings and parents.
"A time to die.. a time to morn... a time to heal... a time to weep..."
I cried later that night. Not about the mama bird or the dead animals. Just about everything that's hard and uncertain right now. Our days swing like my son soaring through the galaxy. Each day we have ups and each day we have downs. Each day we find ourselves "refrain(ing) from embracing," "search(ing)" for direction as to what we can do and where we can go, and in some ways "giv(ing) up" on plans and hopes and desires for this summer.
Those of us who know Jesus have the hope only He can give us. But that doesn't mean we, believers, won't still walk through all of the times Ecclesiastes references in verses 3:1-8. And if I'm being honest, swinging through all of those feelings can be exhausting.
We might not be running around keeping up with the Jones' or the rat-race like we were a few months ago, but that doesn't mean we don't need rest right now.
My point? We're living through and navigating completely new experiences for any living person in our country. So, life looks and feels different than it ever has before. The hope? This is "a time." It's not forever. We don't know when this "time" will end, or necessarily what purpose it is intended to serve, but it will end. And one day we will gather, laugh, dance, and embrace all together again.
Until next time,
<3 Lindsay
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