On a cold morning I had decided I’d most likely stay home, I felt compelled otherwise. I had no creamer for my coffee, black coffee for me.
I woke with much need for more.
I’d be the only one to go, others sleeping or with other plans.
I hurried, barely read or journaled and only skimmed the passage marked for the day, the one devotional with which my day begins.
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? Matthew 6:25-27 ESV
Barely let it sink in as I hurried to make the early service, early on a January Sunday morning, cold and a little lonely.
My car pushed forward with resistance, warming too slowly going to church. I ask God to open my heart and mind and so I go, I go towards what I am certain must be meant for me to hear.
Otherwise, I would justifiably stay home, the week had been challenging, more obligations to come.
The neighborhood was sleeping, the ground silver colored and frosty, I continue and I notice.
Sparrows rising up, a fluttering upwards and I say to myself
“Look at all the little sparrows, must be 40 or more!”
Then decide for myself, I must surely be a writer because I’m quite certain not everyone notices the sparrows and fewer still would pause to think of them, to speak of them in such a way!
To write of the beauty of Jesus speaking, of his comparing us to birds and lilies and of the way he positioned them to meet me as I rushed my reading and moved intentionally to seeking.
To have my morning interrupted by sparrows, 40 Sparrows
Worth so much.
So very much more.
Otherwise, he’d never made the morning and never orchestrated the intersection of the sparrows, the timing of us three to meet.
To remind me of the waste of my imagination on worry,
when imagination is created by God our father for so very much more.