Isolation made me
yearn for all the undone
to be fixed and put right and so I
put up homes and perches
for the birds,
my own sort of tuppence tossed
out the back door where the wee-est search
for breadcrumbs. They plead
with their broken songs to be
And we, safe inside our white house watch,
noses pressed to the glass
as they jump from branch to branch.
And still they sing,
the sparrows. Maybe they know
His eye is truly on them.
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.”Matthew 10:29 ESV
I’ve always love the number three.
The three best things of my whole entire life.
If you know anything
it’s that I adore my Dad and he is
He spent the time
my three sons
make these bluebird houses a few years back.
My part of the job was to find poles to mount them.
And I failed.
At least for a time.
Quarantine. Social distancing. Ruminating over past and present and things to come.
Somehow it all makes me want to finish
And so I found these precious birdhouses
and my boys
made with their own hands.
And finally we mounted them and we are grateful and
The bluebirds will come.
New life will come.
Healing and hope and seasons and gatherings and community and
will come again.
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness!Lamentations 3:22-23 TMV
Strongholds are hard,
to break the generations
of shame declaring the healing worse
than the barbed wire chains of pride
encircling the light-bearers like hawks
searching for the small, burrow-ers
making their way among the vines and weeds