If anyone reading this knew my dad, you may find it ironic to note that I do not like birds. They're not creepy really, except for those massive flocks that move like a black cloud with one mind; I just don't want them eating my vegetation, pooping on my stuff, or making noise. I don't buy birdseed because it would attract birds, and I can't see why I'd want to do that.

It was with this mindset that Saturday evening my son found a small mourning dove with a broken wing and brought it home to take care of. (side note: just because I don't like birds does not mean I can't identify them. Thanks, Dad.) Not knowing what to do for the bird or for my compassionate children who wanted to see the bird be alright, I helped them gently put it in our courtyard with water and cracker crumbs. After it survived the weekend, I bought a 5 lb. bag of birdseed, the smallest I could find. We have been faithful to check on the little guy, and my daughter prays for God to heal it so the bird "can fly away over the wall all by itself." It's a sweet life lesson for them, and for me as well as I am learning to care for one of God's creatures.

And then there was an incident today. The two year old opened the door to the courtyard so he could see the "buddie and the teedle" (birdie and turtle) but our gigantic dog rushed out and snatched the bird before I could stop it. She brought it inside shaking it like her rope, and I screamed. She slithered off to her crate, and I rushed to the aid of the pitiful, contorted bird in my floor. Not knowing what else to do, I got a shoe box from the closet (see, having a shoe obsession is helpful!) to use as a makeshift stretcher or coffin, whichever. The bird appeared to be barely clinging to life, and I thought it would be much easier for me to stomach disposing of it later if it were already boxed up. As soon as I got it in the box and back in the courtyard, I had to leave to pick up my daughter at school. On the way home I explained to her what had happened, and when she went to check if I had told the truth, she found the bird sitting upright, a vast improvement over his earlier state. I tried to reposition the distorted wing, and we configured the lid of the box to provide shade and still be open on top. Then my girl began to pray for the bird. "Dear God," then she made a raising motion with her hand and told me, "take the lid off so I can see what I'm praying for." Then she sweetly asked the Father to heal each injured body part.

Three hours later, we broke the news to my oldest on the way home from school, and all three rushed the courtyard to see if the bird was alive. He was, and in fact, he had hopped out of the box! I am amazed even now that the thing survived the rottweiler's grip, and I never expected to see it moving again after the shocking living room floor rescue.

God is stirred by the prayers of the faithful, especially little children who have yet to develop hearts and minds of doubt.

In the car tonight, my daughter started to tell me something, "when the bird flies away," but I stopped her to interject that the bird couldn't fly. Irritated by my helpfulness, she snipped, "quit interrupting! WHEN the bird flies away, we will have lots and lots of birdseed left over to feed more and more birds. We can help all of them!" Oh great, do you see what happens when you do nice things?!