What I learned from a dying baby bird, Part 1

Three tiny baby birds fell just beyond the threshold of our back door Monday morning. Ali saw them first. One lay motionless in the dirt, covered with ants. The other two handed landed on our concrete patio. Their eyes were shut, and they had no feathers, but under their translucent skin we could see their lungs bulging in and out. They were alive

Ali immediately began covering the birds with leaves and talking to them. I looked for a nest nearby but could find nothing. I remembered the day my siblings and I had found a nest of baby birds on the ground; we tried to help, but all the babies died during the night. Hopeless, I gathered my own babies and took them inside. The boys cooperated, but Ali cried. "We can't leave the birds, Mommy. I can help them! I can make a nest. I can catch some worms in my worm trapper to feed them. I know I can help them!"

Through my own tears I tried to explain there was nothing we could do. "Baby birds can't live without a mother." We talked about Luke 12:6-7 and asked God to help the birds. Then Ali called her daddy to tell him the sad story and ask what we should do. He tried to comfort her and then tried to comfort me. We hung up the phone and attempted to go on with the day.

Why? I kept wondering. Why does something so sad have to land on our back porch? I'm already overwhelmed with dishes and laundry and meals and weeds and emails and errands and four little people who need my constant attention and affection. Why add this?

Before I expected one, an answer would come.