Such a twitter!

Ruth Glover

Her fine-feathered friends had taken off, winging their way from British Columbia to South America, from the logging camp where they had spent a pleasant summer to a distant climate where they would spend another pleasant summer. I don't suppose they gave their wounded companion a backward glance as they left.

But someone cared. The news report didn't say who found her, or whether they knew she was one of only a dozen nighthawks to be counted that year. A rare bird, in the hand she was definitely worth much more than the proverbial two in the bush.

In spite of her name, "nighthawk", she isn't a predator, one that preys, destroys or devours. She was taken to a bird sanctuary where her wing was mended, and she was fed a mixture of finely chopped liver and eggs. Eventually, all sorts of people got in on the rescue operation--a veterinarian, a flight attendant, an ornithologist, airline and customs officals--all doing what they could.

The flight attendant offered to escort the bird to Los Angeles where she could be set free and, it was hoped, latch onto her faithless friends as they flew by. But before that could be done, emergency clearance had to be obtained from Canadian wildlife officials and from the US Department of Agriculture.

All this twitter over one insignificant nighthawk! You'd think she was a VIP (Very Important Person), not just a nondescript creature who moults, eats worms and prowls around at night, one who is described unflatteringly in Webster's dictionary as "any of several North American goatsuckers". That's hardly a description or a name to be prized. It is truly a bird only a mother could love. Or a Father.

Father? Yes! Not one sparrow (What do they cost? Two for a penny?) can fall to the gound without your Father knowing it (Matthew 10,29, The Living Bible).

Ah, you say regretfully, that's for the birds! "Never fear, you are far more valuable to Him than a whole flock of sparrows" (Luke 12:7). It's a thought to lift the fallen, cheer the hopeless, refresh the tired, heal the wounded, comfort the lonely and rescue the lost.

Broken wings, moulted feathers, tuneless chirps and all, you are valuable to your Heavenly Father. Put yourself into His hands.

Ruth Glover is a writer from the The Dalles, Ore.

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