I love the birds that come to the feeder outside my kitchen window.  Unassuming, tiny, fragile creatures flying recklessly into God’s expanse of sky, dependent on someone to feed them.  I wonder if they know they praise Him with their wings and songs.

My favorites are the pair of doves that come in the early morning and evening, with their tiny gray heads, and smooth wings mottled pink and white and charcoal, their voices trilling soft and throaty. They walk on the ground under the feeder, content to pick up the seed others have dropped, never flashy or quick, nor loud and cheeky, or even quick to startle– humility in bird form– more aware, as if they know to Whom they belong and are content to be in His care. Sometimes they sit right down in the grass in calm contentment, the quiet, serious contemplative souls of the bird world. “Blessed are those who dwell in Your house; they are ever praising You….blessed is the one who trusts in You.”

I wonder if King David, the songwriter, watched the birds too, and marveled.  “Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself…a place near your altar, Lord Almighty, my King and my God.” On the days when all I can see is all the ways I don’t measure up, and I wish I were more, I remember the little birds, and the doves especially. I wish I could fly the way others seem to, and they make it look so easy with all their bright colors and strong wings.  But maybe it is enough to just be in His care, when you are quiet and unremarkable. Maybe humility is accepting that you can praise Him best just being how He made you, never mind what everyone else can do, and being content to walk before Him faithfully in each ordinary day. “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty. My soul longs, even faints for You. For here my heart is satisfied, within Your presence. I sing beneath the shadow of Your wings.” Maybe there is a freedom there, that I am barely glimpsing, a wide expanse of grace and love that is bigger than I know, waiting to be explored if I could let go of these measuring sticks.

The king knew well where he belonged, sang from a heart that had learned lessons the hard way: “Better is one day in Your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.” (Psalm 84:10) Even for a king, the best place was sitting quietly and contentedly in God’s presence, like the smallest of birds, and maybe fly free in unexpected ways.

Here I am on Your doorstep,
With all my earthly belongings–
Nothing more than daily graces;
All I have is Yours,
And this my only Home.
I’d rather stand on Your porch
Than go build a palace of stone:
I am dust to dust, clay to clay,
So I will stand before You,
Clutching grace with both hands,
And be satisfied with Your presence.