During Lent, I’ve been contemplating a statement by Paula D’Arcy, “God comes to us disguised as our life.” If this is true, then nothing in the past, present, or future is insignificant or without divine purpose. Pondering this statement has dug up memories of all sorts.
As a kid, my mom woke us up for school by calling, “Time to get up. Let’s go!” If we didn’t obey, she’d start singing, “Good morning little yellow birds, yellow birds, yellow birds and how are you today?” Annoyed, we’d get out of bed groaning, “Ma! Stop!”
I’ve only sung that song once in my life. Undoubtedly, the occasion had a divine purpose.
Years ago, my sister was going on a week-long vacation and asked me to care for her precious albino finches, Rose and Bud. I gladly agreed and put the little cage on our kitchen counter. Their miniature food dish and water bottle needed to be refilled daily, and I thought our four boys would enjoy helping. But when they started playing catch in the kitchen with a lacrosse ball, I immediately carried Rose and Bud’s cage safely upstairs to our bedroom.
Each morning, I cleaned the cage, replenished their water and seed dish, and enjoyed watching them cuddled on their perch.
Unfortunately, on day five, I forgot all about Rose and Bud. This meant no water or food. On day six, I woke up and saw Rose and Bud keeled over, on the bottom of the cage floor, with eyes wide open.
I looked at their bodies to see if they were breathing. How could I have forgotten? I ran to the bathroom. Cupping my hands, I brought water to the cage and dripped a few drops on their heads and in front of their tiny beaks. Then, I sprinkled seeds around their bodies. They didn’t move.
Panicked and stifling tears, I closed the bedroom door and went down to get the two older boys ready for school. Of course, we missed the bus. So I loaded everybody into the car, waited on the long line of parents dropping their kids off, and headed home. Once we got back, I settled our two little ones with toys to occupy them as I contemplated telling my sister what I had done, or rather failed to do.
Crying, I called my husband at work. I knew he would say something helpful. Then I went upstairs to empty the cage.
Opening the door, I saw Rose and Bud sitting on the bottom of the cage. I thought I was dreaming! That’s when my mom’s annoying song popped into my head. Through tears, I sang, “Good morning little yellow birds, yellow birds, yellow birds!”
That song seemed to rouse Rose and Bud, because by the morning of day seven, they were back on their perch ready to go. When my sister arrived, I saw no reason to spoil her sweet reunion by recalling my near tragic negligence.
There was a divine purpose to the week with Rose and Bud. My takeaways are gratitude for second chances and a reminder to extend mercy to those who are negligent.
I did come clean and told my sister. Without words, her eyes said, “You’re lucky they survived!” By the way, Rose and Bud lived a good long life, as did the countless pets my sister and her family rescued over the years.
However mysterious, the statement is worth pondering: “God comes to us disguised as our life.”
