At 5:45 this morning, I was awakened by the melodious singing of one of our wrens. A bit later, I heard a red squirrel chattering in its high, squeaky voice, and at the same time, a wren’s low, staccato chut-chut-chut-chut . . . the kind of scolding sound it makes if you walk too close to its home.
I went out right after breakfast to get some cultivating done in the flowerbeds surrounding the pond before the day got too hot. On the gravel, I made a gruesome discovery. Lying motionless . . . dead . . . face down . . . was a little brown wren!
Did I actually hear the terrorist attack taking place? Was it the red squirrel? Or was it one of those wretched trespassing cats???
When Lloyd buried its tiny body in the woods, he noted that one leg was missing.
We heard wren song now and then throughout the day, wondering how he/she could sing after such a tragic loss. Or was he/she singing–going on line, so to speak–because that is its only way to attract another mate?
Well, the gangplank is up at Cedar Shake on Black Pole Lane, and the nursery is furnished . . . waiting.
Question: Is a wren more valuable than a sparrow?
Jesus speaks in Matthew 10:29-31 – “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.”
Stupendous reality. I wasn’t the only one who saw the little wren on the ground. God saw it!
And while you try to comprehend that, Jesus continues with these words, which reveal His omniscient mindfulness of you and me:
“But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows.”