My husband has built a personal aviary outside our living room window.
We sit and watch the birds each morning over a cup of coffee, delighting in the varieties, the habits, and the newcomers we haven’t seen before.
We have a camera set up on a tripod and take pictures upon pictures of woodpeckers, gold finches, dark-eyes juncoes, doves, blue jays...even sparrows. They are a bird too, no matter how common.
I only post this pic of two doves from my phone because I am too lazy to download all the other pics off the camera.
Honestly, I am too frozen to do much of anything. I woke up today and remembered all the tragedy. There is this giant grackle feeding on all the good thoughts in my mind, leaving nothing for joy or peace.
I sat on the couch and stared at the birds this morning, my unease pouring down my cheeks...and I am not sure if it’s fear, gloom, or just anxiety...but it’s here, just in my peripheral, flapping it’s vulture-wide wings. My husband comes up to me, sits beside me with his coffee, and rubs my back.
And I think what a crappy witness I am to him. What a terrible lack of faith I have right now, when I could stand tall and strong in this spiritually-mismatched marriage amidst this global pandemic. But I can’t pretend. Not with him.
“You know, I read somewhere that even the birds are taken care of. You are too.” He smiled.
“Are you quoting Scripture?” I laughed amidst my tears.
“Hey, I am just saying what’s true. There are things in there that are true.”
So, my atheist husband ministered to me this morning, digging deep into the Bible-rich foundation that he unanchored himself from years ago.
And I know why he did it. I am not foolish to think that he’s reconsidering anything, I cast that idea off years ago, after the millionth hope crumbled. I know that he spoke it because he loves me, and he wanted to comfort me.
But he brought up Scripture...for me. I sit in the warmth of that. In the comfort of that.
This pandemic really is turning everything topsy turvy. Isn’t it?
