As I walked out to our car yesterday morning, I saw a sparrow in the driveway. The sparrow wasn’t moving and I worried that it was injured. As I walked toward it, it fluttered away slowly. If a sparrow can limp, it was limping. It was obvious that something was wrong. But it fluttered slowly to a neighbor’s back wall and I was unable to see what the problem was.
Every summer we see injured sparrows. Perhaps it’s normal. Perhap’s it’s a city hazard – too many man-made things interfering with these tiny creatures. My neighbor tries to rescue them. We’ve gone out with cloth in boxes to gently transport them into her home. Her heart is kind toward sparrows and people. Sometimes these rescued sparrows live, other times the injury is too acute and they die.
I thought about this as I drove away yesterday, the fragile sparrow on my mind. Truth is, I’ve never thought much about sparrows — until I began to see those that were injured.
I know so many who are injured at this time, so many who need both physical and emotional care. I know so many who could use a neighbor in their lives; a neighbor who will put cloth in boxes and gently transport them through the injured season.
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.*
I have heard these words from the Gospel of Matthew since I was a little girl. As my faith has faltered and wavered through the years, the meaning has become more precious.
The hairs of my head are numbered.
I am worth more than many sparrows.
God sees the injured sparrows – he knows these seasons.
Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.
As I watch those that I love go through injured seasons, I cling to these words, desperate to believe them.
Desperate to know the Father cares.