I think this was the first year in my life that I mindfully observed the process of birds building a nest. In early spring, I hung a birdhouse under the awning on my front porch. It was nothing fancy; a small wooden frame, unpainted, and it had a tiny round opening for an entry. I wasn’t sure that birds would actually make their home in it, but I liked how it brought spring to mind each time I opened the front door.
Before long, I started to hear the most beautiful and complex birdsong I’ve ever heard. I watched two tiny birds fly back and forth to and from the house throughout each day and evening. The pair tirelessly carried little twigs, blades of grass, leaves, and other pieces of nature. They often collaborated as one stayed inside, and the other passed their find through the small opening in the house. They sang and spoke to each other throughout the entire process. Day after day, for what sure seemed like quite a long time, I observed as the couple prepared the house for their offspring.
When the nest was built, the female remained inside, presumably staying with her eggs. The male continued to make minor adjustments to the nest. He often sat outside on the house’s tiny perch singing his lovely song while the female remained inside. Day after day, night after night, I watched the process and became quite attached to this happy and expectant couple. I was amazed at their instincts, abilities, and their attention to detail. Their routine was a true joy to witness.
Then something truly incredible happened — I began to hear the tiny cries of their offspring calling out for food. The activity increased tenfold. First, the male would go off alone to search for food and bring it back to the nest. He’d sit on the perch, and the female would stick her head out, take the food, and give it to the babies. Eventually, both parents left the nest to search for food. Throughout each passing day, I watched as they flitted to and fro with supplies for the nest or food for the babies.
One day a terrible storm blew through, and the tiny house with the nest and the babies blew violently in the wind. I never imagined this scene when I casually hung the house on a small hook and fragile chain several months before. I bit my nails and squinted my eyes with each passing gust of wind, praying that the house, the nest, and the babies would all survive. The mom and dad sat nearby waiting and wondering too. It was very stressful for all of us! Thankfully, the storm passed without any harm to the house or the tiny family.
Spring is long gone, and so too are the warblers. I miss their presence and their song. They were reminders for me of the miracle of nature and of God’s handiwork. I can’t seem to look at the birds, and all of nature, in the same way anymore, as if they are somehow less than me. Psalm 50:11 reads, “I know all the birds of the air, and all that moves in the field is mine.” All of nature reveals something of God to us (Romans 1:20); all is naturally doing its part in the way God intended.
They say that “birds of a feather flock together.” The warbler family reminded me that we are all part of God’s creation, flocking together on this planet Earth. They showed me the miracle of nature and the power of instinct. They reawakened my senses, which had been dulled by frequent encounters with modern technology, to the precious natural gifts that surround us. In their gentle God-given way, that tiny bird family called me to do my part to nurture and protect all of creation (Genesis 2:15).