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Lessons from a Cardinal

by Donna-Jean A. Breckenridge

It had been an awful day. Just a creepy, crummy, junky, plain old rotten day. I felt like a total

failure as a wife and a mother. Where do I get the *gall,* I thought, to stand up (or sit down, as

in writing!) and tell *anybody* *anything* about families, and kids, and homeschooling, and God

when I am such a complete fiasco at "all of the above"??

I was looking forward to the moment when all were asleep in bed. Even then, though, I dreaded

the thought of the next day, and doing it all over again. It seemed to me that we are in a storm

season in our home. You know - like in the weather when there are patterns or fronts, or

whatever they're called (a *good* homeschooling mom would *know* this stuff off the top of her

head!!), and you just have to hunker down (now there's a word...) and realize this

heat/snow/hurricane/rain/cold/whatever is here for awhile. It won't last forever, but it is foolish to not figure out how to deal with it right *now.*

My younger two seem to excel at naughtiness these days. (Well, OK, I did refer to it as

"wickedness" a few times yesterday...) Their goal in life seems to be - knowingly or unknowingly

- to thwart or undo everything I do throughout the day. And then there's my teenage daughter.

Life with a Landmine. Some days I'm her wonderful Mom. Some days I'm the Wicked Witch of

the West. Invading her space and requiring such evil as having her clean her room in the

morning....Sitting as judge and jury at midday over whether or not she can go on an outing with

her girlfriend...And patching up the pain and trying to solve her world's most momentous

problems late at night.

Then of course, there is my husband....that guy who sees my needs, as I see his, and wants to

help but is struggling himself with the overload of life. So what do we do? We have a fight. No

fists, mind you, but a fight just the same.

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

The Psalmist's words come to mind (I forget the reference and whether or not this is exact, but

it's how it's branded on my memory): "Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away

and be at rest!"

Well, God spoke to me - but it was through a bird of a different color.

We had been noticing that there was a small bird's nest outside our living room window. The

living room window is half-blocked with my husband's favorite household article: the air

conditioner. That is, no doubt, how he was the first one to notice it! The nest was situated deep

in the Mountain Laurel bush - and we figured it was a cardinal's nest, because we saw the adult

cardinal flying in and out of the bush rather frequently. We even thought we might see a little

bird sometime.

Well, sometime became last night. It was after dinner - the front yard baseball game had to end

because of mosquitoes (New Jersey's state bird in July...) - and we had all come inside. Bill

went to his post at the A/C - and suddenly said, "Come here! You won't believe this! There's a

baby bird in the nest!"

With much clamor and "Shush! You'll scare it!" we each picked up one of our younger two and

tried to peer into this bird nursery. I could not figure out what I was looking at - until what I

thought was part of the nest *blinked*! - and then I could make out a small brownish-gray head,

two black eyes, and the line of its beak.

There was much excitement and fuss about it, talk about how long it would be there, if there

were any others, and so on - and we even pulled out our nature books to try to find out some

tidbit of cardinal-lore. A few minutes later, Bill (whether to cool off at the A/C or check out 'his'

bird, I'm not sure) called us again. "Oh no! It's out! It's right here!"

And sure enough, this daring little bird had left its nest and was very close to the air conditioner,

perched on a branch of large green Mountain Laurel leaves. We all looked at it - boy or girl? I

decided girl, Nathan felt it was definitely a boy - and were amazed at how it just trustingly blinked

back.

Then - it happened. Bill was lowering Nathan to the floor, and Hannah was sliding down my leg -

so I think I was the only one to see the exact moment. The little bird took off. It was a clumsy

first flight - and resembled more of a leap to the ground - but I saw it. I saw a baby bird leave its

nest.

The parents went ballistic. You could hear the cardinals calling and singing and encouraging and

scolding and rejoicing. Nathan wanted to ramble some observation about something he had

seen another time, while Bill was trying to emphasize to Nathan how rare and unusual this was. I was in a bit of a daze. Was it too soon? Was it OK? Would it make it?

The action was too close to the side of the house, so we didn't dare go out to look. I should have

called Bethany and her girlfriend from across the street, but I never dreamed they would get here

in time to see anything. Looking back on it, though, I wish I had - because our encounter with the cardinals was not over.

A few minutes later, I looked out the front window - and realized that the brown patch of dirt

(where there should be grass, but where the kids hang out a lot so it's all gone now) was moving: it was the baby cardinal! It had made it!

It was the funniest-looking thing you ever saw. It was the size of a little sparrow - but more like a ball of fur with a beak than a feathered creature. It had the longest, disproportionate legs - and it was these legs that did all the work. The baby cardinal hopped from spot to spot - while the magnificent Daddy cardinal and the more refined Mama swooped back and forth, sometimes

stopping, sometimes standing on each side, sometimes soaring up into the maple branches to

warn off any intruders.

Every now and then, the little cardinal would do sort of a broad jump - complete with wild

flapping of its wings. "It can fly! It can fly! It's learning to fly!"

This lesson in first flight continued near our front steps and in our driveway for the next twenty

minutes. One time, the baby came so near the window the kids began to talk to it - and to tell it

how God had made it. The parents remained nervous, but the little one didn't seem to realize we

were the 'enemy.'

What interested me almost as much as the miracle of this little life was the timing of it all. When

I had first seen the baby in the nest, I figured nothing much would happen tonight. It was almost dark, after all, it was muggy and humid out, and it was starting to rain. Surely, this was not the time for a venture into the world of adult cardinal-hood. Yet this entire episode took place under what were not - to my thinking, anyway - optimum conditions. Shouldn't this happen on a beautiful sunny morning, with a cool breeze, and with all of nature celebrating along with this little family?

Eventually, the threesome made it to the other side of the house. It was getting quite dark - but

when we stood on the tall stool in the back playroom/garage and looked out the high window, we

could still spot the brilliant red of the father cardinal. Mother, Father, and Baby were on a fallen

branch on the ground. Nathan stood on the stool to watch, then announced to me that they had

gone into the bushes against the fence by the woods. They were safe for the night.

What was left of the evening was colored by what we had seen. Nathan and Hannah began to

flap their 'wings' and leap across the living room. "I'm a baby cardinal! I'm a baby cardinal!" It

took a great deal of effort to finally get them into bed an hour later.

Bethany, my teenager, came in with her girlfriend when it was all over. "Why didn't you call us?"

they asked, with their faces melted at the thought of a baby "anything." I came up with a lame

answer - I guess I never thought it would last more than a minute and thought they couldn't get

here in time (despite their being just across the street).

But maybe the answer went deeper. I saw a baby bird leave its nest. I saw the parents hover

near, to protect, to encourage, to help, maybe even (and I know this is my own emotion talking)

to mourn a little. And they did it despite inopportune circumstances. (After all, for all they knew,

we were just giant adversaries, not fellow created beings cheering them on to their God-

appointed tasks.)

I know I witnessed something amazing last night. I know, too, that God spoke to me. This

parenting job is hard. No, make that *very* hard. There are some turbulent seasons, some

rough times - but that doesn't change the responsibilities, the duties, the job description. It may

be dark, it may be stormy, there may be predators near...but if God says "lead them to the next

stage, guide them through the next lesson," then it might as well be the most perfect day

imaginable. It's God's timing, and that's all that matters.

It's a new day. I feel a little calmer today, a little more at peace. I'd like to think our weather

pattern is changing, that we'll have some days of glorious sunshine as a family. That may be - or

it may just be we're in a little 'break' in the storm. Either way, I have to go on. And I have a

choice - I can accept the hard days with the good, trusting in God's perfect plan for us, or I can

fuss and balk and yell and shriek and cry, and fight against Him all the way. I'd like to say I'll

pick the former 'from here on out.' I can say I'll try, with God's help. I know myself enough to

know there will be more of 'that other reaction,' too. But next time - I hope I'll remember a baby

bird leaving its nest on a rainy Thursday night, and that I'll trust in God's timing and in His

guidance.

I was just interrupted in my writing. The girls came back from their sleep-over to announce,

"Mom! The cardinal family is out!"

And they are out there even now, with the baby looking more bird-like today, a little more

mature, with its crest more visible. "Oh, Mom!" my lovely teenager cried. "It's learning to sing!"

And just maybe, so will I.