“Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust.”
A baby bird somehow managed to find its way into my screened-in balcony. Exhausted from flailing against the netting, it sat on the railing with its mouth opened, gasping for air. When I got close to it, it spooked back into flight. I had no idea how I was going to free it; the balcony screen has only two small areas that I can open to the outside. As I walked toward the bird again, it shot past me and was gone. Thankful that it found its way out, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I padded into the kitchen to cook lunch. Standing at the counter chopping vegetables, a movement startled me. I looked up and there, on the window sill, was the bird! It hadn’t flown outside, but instead, it had flown into the cottage. It made a feeble attempt to fly away, but it was too weak. I took the flyswatter off of the hook on the wall and extended it to the bird. It hopped onto it but tumbled off when I turned towards the door. It landed on a whisk sticking out of the jar of cooking utensils by the stove. I slowly picked up the canister of utensils and walked it outside.
I sat the canister on the ground, but the bird still clung to the whisk. I took a few steps back and waited. It took a few moments, but finally, the bird found some strength and flew off. I thought about the bird as I cooked lunch—how it allowed me to help only after it had completely exhausted itself. Do I wait until I’m exhausted before I allow God to help me? Do I not trust Him enough to turn to Him first? I wondered.
I ate my lunch in the warmth of midday and asked God to help me turn to Him at the first sign of trouble. There’s no point in flailing about, exhausting myself, when God is right there ready and waiting. There’s no point in you doing that either.