An offering for the Spiritual Journey group, comprised of faithful friends who gather on the first Thursday of each month. Today’s theme is “all things new.”
Spring arrives, clad in rich new vestments of green. Every day, more of the color ripples across the landscape. Here in the central part of North Carolina the Bradford pears have already exchanged their ethereal veil-clouds of wedding lace blossoms for something more matronly and verdant. A whirlwind ceremony, that five-minute flowering of pear.
The birds began preparing back in winter. Flashes of electric blue on my back deck; a brilliant bluebird, dropping by like a friendly neighbor. Darts of fiery red across the road while I’m driving; cardinals, making me stress over potentially ensnaring them in the grille (why DO they fly so low?). Today, a darling brown Carolina wren on my back deck—clearly doing Deacon of the Week rotation with the bluebird—singing its heart out, full-throated, unrestrained, magnificent. How can such a small bird have such a big voice? Bocelli can’t hold a candle to you, Little Wren. From the pines and budding hardwoods, bird choirs swell, as in the song “The King is Coming”:
Regal robes are now unfolding,
Heaven’s grandstand’s all in place,
Heaven’s choir now assembled,
Start to sing “Amazing Grace!”
All in earthly bird language, naturally… but no less celestial.
All but the finches, that is.
For several consecutive years a finch family has built a nest on my from door wreath and raised generations of little broods. I’d find a total of three baby-blue eggs in the nest, sometimes four, laid precisely between seven and eight o’clock every morning. My family has been treated to an insider’s view of the whole process, from nest-building to egg-laying to the hatching of tiny pink things so frail and helpless that a person might think they can’t possibly manage to stay alive; yet in no time they’re fledglings working on flying lessons. We’ve even had a batch of babies in the spring and another in summer; that makes for a long time of roping off my front-door bird sanctuary.
Then, with the advent of COVID-19 last March, a curious thing occurred. As the human world reeled, and became strapped in the strange straitjacket of pandemic, as businesses shut down, as hospitals and mortuaries overflowed, spring came anyway. Nature, in fact, outdid herself with resplendent finery. The finches came to build their nest as always and this little act of constancy lifted my flagging spirits: At least there will be baby birds to watch while we are all under stay-at-home orders.
But there were no eggs last spring. The nest remained empty all season. The finches… they vanished. No warning, just—poof!—gone. I didn’t see when, how, or why.
After a while, bereft, I quit looking for them.
I didn’t take the wreath down until late fall.
I saved the little unused nest.
I didn’t have the heart to throw away such a labor of love (you can say instinct all you want but the perfect craftsmanship of nests amazes me).
With the return of March, I waited for the finches to join the rest of the avian throng having revival beyond my windows. Every day I looked.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then, day before yesterday…on the top of the wreath, one lone strand of grass, lying in a telltale curve…could it be, could it be…?
And yesterday…
“THEY’RE BACK! THEY’RE BACK! COME SEE!”
My family humored me with only a slight rolling of eyes…my granddaughter, at least, seemed interested. She made my son hold her up high for a better, bird’s-eye view.
I marveled at the greenness of the nest. Is it just me, or is this how they always look? This green, this fresh? I do not think so. No, they have never been so green before.
And today…
Almost complete. Look at that leafy lining, so carefully placed.
By Easter—dare I hope?—we might have an egg.
A tiny, age-old symbol of rebirth and resurrection.
I marvel at this fresh greenery, this new grass, this preparation for new life, the hope that’s in it. If not for the birds, then for me. Especially after the year that’s passed, marked by so much bleakness and loss, down to the former little nest that contained no life.
I recall the promise of Christ: one day there will be no more death, mourning, crying, or pain. Behold, I am making all things new (Revelation 21:4-5, ESV).
Every spring hints at it. My personal winged messengers, harbingers of blessed assurance.
A little foretaste of glory divine.
Hymns of the heart. I step outside, away from the constraints of the house, watching the two finches take flight, zigzagging skyward, sunlight gleaming on their sandy backs, calling, calling, calling, how sweet the sound.
I come to the sanctuary in the cool of the day to behold
these moments of Earth’s remembering, an altar call where I
respond, walking the greening aisle just as I am
to a fanfare of wingbeats and music-making.
Holy holy holy, I surrender all
in wordless doxology on the returning. Let all things
their Creator bless, with ancient morningsong, yet ever new.
*******
Update, Thursday evening… first egg!
Holy Week blessings to all.
*******
with thanks to Karen Eastlund for hosting today’s Spiritual Journey
and also shared with the writing community on SOS – Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog, in response to the open invitation to write around the many meanings of “spring.”
lit bits and pieces 
Beautiful, Fran. Your descriptions of birds, the bright blue, the red… and the nest and hoped-for egg. I wish you many hatchings this year, as well as peace and health and… well… newness. Blessings!
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Many thanks, Karen…and an egg arrived today!
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Ah, yes. The finches return. Like our wood ducks. Your golden shovel is a hymn. My favorite line invites me to sing, “Holy holy holy, I surrender all
in wordless doxology on the returning.” The returning of new. The returning of spring. The returning of life.
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I was hearing those songs as I wrote, Margaret – and guess what? We have an egg!
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What a wonderful reflection and story and poem. Love that line, “walking the green aisle.” I drove through NC yesterday — headed north. The flowering pear are all finery here. I will keep my eye out for your finches. What a wonderful hope for Easter.
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Thank you, Linda – hope you enjoyed traveling through our Old North State. And – our first egg arrived today!
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Wow! Such a wonderful story, and I hardly dared to hope for the ending! (Well, the ending of this part of the story. Keep us posted!) Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
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Ruth…there’s an egg now… just added the photo! I will post about the babies when they arrive.
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I love it when you post spiritual writings, Fran. Your language is always so clear, so beautifully crafted. My heart sank to read about the finches going away last year – even though, I think, you’ve posted about them before. It still saddens me to think that they were a metaphor for this world. And look – they are! Here they are, coming back amid a celebration of life and rebirth. Wonderful.
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It is strange, how those little birds vanished last year after having prepared a nest that was never used. It was like a final little layer of sadness and loss in our deeply-disrupted world, one more bit of joy sucked away. I’ve come to see these finches as a symbol of hope (Dickinson, anyone?), so when they vanished…of course, I acknowledge that I’m overly attached to the little creatures! To me they are wonders. Their cheeping at my front door is so bright and cheerful (I hear them as I write this), and then there’s the awe of watching new life coming into the world. A gift. As are your words, Lainie, especially in regard to the spiritual nature of the post. Incredibly meaningful. For – I know you know this! – above all, writing is a spiritual activity. Thank you ❤
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I loved reading your story.
Wonderful lines –
“My personal winged messengers, harbingers of blessed assurance.
A little foretaste of glory divine.
Hymns of the heart.”
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Many thanks, Loralee.
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What a wonderful reflection on spring, and birds, and the making of things new. I love how green is threaded throughout the post. Isn’t it such a glorious color? Thanks for sharing your “moments of Earth’s remembering” with us. I also love how you wove hymns of the heart into your post. An ever-present solace and comfort. And hallelujah for that egg! We’ll be waiting for updates.
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The “greenness” of this green amazes me, Ramona. It’s so rich and bright. The nest remains this color. So unexpected. I hoped people might hear those hymns as they read… and, as of today, we have three eggs!
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Oh, how delightful!
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I was hoping, hoping, hoping throughout your exquisite piece. I admit I shed a tear in the showing of the blue egg. It was such a marvelous treat. Your words sing of your love for our Creator and this great gift he gives to us. Easter joy to you. Thank you for ringing in the spring, the newness, and the hope of our risen savior. XO
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Thank you for your words, Nanc, and always for your bright, believing heart! ❤
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I loved reading this story, Fran! So happy your finches have returned. I remember a couple of summers without my bluebirds, then suddenly they were back! Such a joyous reason to rejoice. Happy Easter!
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Thanks so much, Rose – ongoing Easter joy to you!
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Fran, thank you so much for sharing your finches with us! What a beautiful reminder of renewal and rebirth, right there at your doorstep. Meanwhile, my doorstep is littered with dirt that squirrels have dug out of my containers–not so beautiful, but it will be used in my belated spiritual journey post today.
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Thank you as always for your thoughts, Chris – and I’ve read your powerful debut post. So much food for thought there … lots of digging, indeed, but what a metaphor for faith, these squirrels!
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Such a beautiful reminder to the precious hope of this season. That poem was the perfect ending.
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Thanks so much, Julie!
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It’s lovely the way you wove the words, through different genres and creating newness with the old. I admire the way your writing makes me feel that faith is real.
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Many thanks, Ruth.
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Circling back to SJT and can’t believe I did not read your post until tonight. Life has been more hectic than I thought these past two weeks so time is not my own. Spring has brought its own set of blessings for you, Fran. The photos of the nest are beautiful and that egg, solo and bright! All Things New is captured here through pictures, prose, and poem. Blessed Assurance is a favorite song of mine.
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Thanks so much for your thoughts, Carol – these have been hectic days, and for you, especially! There are five eggs in that nest now! Yes, so many blessings for which to be grateful.
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