"Always say your prayers before bed."
Your words are nailed to the bedposts of my mind
so large that I can’t go to sleep unless a prayer has been said
and I get it.
I know what you were trying to do
when you raised me to say my prayers,
but that still doesn’t really mean
that I get it.
Out-loud, in my head, even the ones that are left unsaid
just make me feel more alone instead.
You told me praying should be like a telephone call,
a dialogue between two friends.
But the one I’m talking to doesn’t respond
and I think the phone I’m using is dead.
Day after day I try again
and it forces me to ask the question:
Is anybody even there to answer,
or do I just have bad reception?
You told me that faith is like a little seed,
as if it could be held between my fingers.
But a seed can’t grow unless it’s buried
and lost till nothing lingers.
But is it really that simple?
Can it really be done?
Because an invisible God is a lot harder to see
than the burning rays of the rising sun.
If it’s against the rules to produce evidence,
how can I find proof of God’s true presence?
He’s here, He’s there, He’s everywhere,
but nowhere too - how does that make sense?
So where is God?
I ask myself the soul-searching question
as I walk along a mountain creek.
O’er rocks and moss, ‘neath lush green treetops-
all evidence of what I seek.
“But it’s not enough,” I tell myself,
as the thought makes reason stare.
“The world is just a rock in space,
it doesn’t prove that God is there!”
But then I heard a splashing sound
not far from where I stood.
A frantic, tiny, splish-splash, splashing
from somewhere in the woods.
I turned to find it, scanned the water,
up and down the brooklet-by
until I saw it - a hummingbird,
trapped within the moss o’er nigh.
Struggling for life, this tiny creature
must have fallen from its tree,
then in the bog, became entangled,
till it was found by me.
I leapt across the rocks and branches
to aid in this bird’s rescue
with sticks and twigs, Swiss-army scissors,
anything I could think to do.
Fending off ants from her eyes
I shielded her from pain,
till her wings and feet were finally free
from that sticky, mossy chain.
And then, with her little chest heaving,
eyes shut tight and feathers drenched,
I placed her there right next to me,
and we sat upon a bench.
In this moment of charity
I gazed upon my newest friend,
and then some words from my upbringing,
as if from a seed, began to stem:
“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?”
(Hardly a penny’s worth to bother!)
“Yet not one of them shall fall
to the ground without your Father.
The very hairs of your head are numbered,
so please, try not to fear,
for the value that I’ve placed on you
was worth the life of My Most Dear.”
The word of God had come to me
as if from a long, forgotten talk
that I had had with my own father,
while out upon an evening walk.
Now with an understanding heart,
I turned back toward the feathered critter
and began to speak with tender words,
no longer sore or bitter:
“It seems to me that Someone knew
that you were out here in the pond -
Who heard your silent birdie prayers,
and wanted to respond.
I had come out here to look for God,”
I said, “but how can it be true?
That instead of coming down to me,
He brought me to you.”
And with that my little friend
ruffled up her velvet plumage.
With wings that were now finally dry,
she took off into the foliage.
And with a sense of clarity
I pondered on my question.
"Is it true? Is this my answer?
Did I finally find reception?"
Well I don’t know yet if it’s true,
if I’ve a Father up in Heaven.
But I hope I do, and that at least
helps me to be driven.
Pushed forward by the words you nailed
upon my mind’s bed frame,
encouragement every day to call
upon the Holy Name.
And the more I hope, the more I believe
that He really might be there,
and I remember the hummingbird
caught in the mossy snare.
If God can answer her little prayer,
why not mine as well?
Even if it’s with a total stranger
picking me up when I fell.
Like the seed that’s been pounded beneath the darkness,
I’ve no idea if the sun is real.
But with relentless energy I want to know,
to see, to hear, to feel.
So I push and claw, I cry and gnaw
my way out from beneath the soil
with nothing more than a little hope
that light and life are beyond the toil.
And every once in a while I catch a glimpse
of the rays of shining light
peeking through the dark debris
of my pathetic, mortal plight.
Little miracles, here and there,
evidence of God’s Word -
like the day I was His instrument
to save His hummingbird.
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