I am thrilled to welcome Dr. Sissi Carroll – a long time friend, fellow endurance athlete and travel companion – to this blog project! Sissi is an unapologetic gleaner and has always inspired me to look for big things in the smallest places. Among her many accomplishments, Sissi is Dean Emerita and Professor in the College of Community Innovation & Education at the University of Central Florida. She currently lives in North Carolina with her husband, Joe.

From Sissi…

For years I have started the day in the early morning with a brief, quiet personal devotional time.  I read a short portion from my Bible, write a prayer, and listen for God’s instructions for the day.  I have to admit, though, during many of those years, that my career—and its calendar of obligations, deadlines, and opportunities—often distracted me and disrupted the fragment of time I had set aside for worship.  I mistook being, still, quiet, and receptive for being unproductive, disconnected, and empty.      

These days, however, I look forward to mornings with a new zest.  I still awaken before dawn to sit beside a large window or on the porch with a cup of hot coffee, devotional materials, and my old dog, Sunny.  And I am often distracted and disrupted from reading and writing. But the cause is no longer my job:  it is the birds that wing their way to the feeders on our deck and that flit in and out of the pines, poplars, maples, and hollies that surround us.       

I hear them before I see them.  Often first on the feeder, after a few clear monotone clicks, a bright, shy cardinal and his pale bride appear.  Both poke and open a seed or two, then peer down to survey ones that they drop onto the deck floor.  They tilt their heads toward each other like FBI agents investigating a crime scene, then the male, followed by the female, ignite into the limbs of a tall thick pine, where they perch and watch for their second turn.   

Next, a pair of chickadees synchronize their swoops in and out of the feeder from the roofline of the house, hopping across the inside circumference of the feeder as if riding mountain bikes while selecting favorite seeds and tossing the others around.  A Carolina wren and a sparrow peck at the deck rail and between the slats on the deck floor, where sunflower seed husks, peanuts bits, dried cranberries, and tiny millet and safflower seeds have been dropped by the early visitors, until the chickadees make an exit to cling to a nearby holly bush and wait their next turn.   

A few moments later, one tufted titmouse, then two, three, four, visit the feeder.  Their chests are lifted in almost-arrogance as they flick seeds, move to the feeder’s edge, and knock, knock, knock until the seeds burst open to reveal the treats inside.  Mischievous, bold, and bossy, the titmice are not shy.  They monopolize the feeder longer than the other birds, and somehow seem to enjoy their feast con brio.         

While the songbirds are busy at the feeder, I often hear a deep huuuummmm which means  ruby throated hummingbirds are visiting the sugar-water feeders.  The remarkable athletes return to the same feeders year after year, following a thousand mile journey from the south, including 600 miles of flying, without rest, over the Gulf of Mexico.  These are the only birds that I have seen fighting each other, becoming miniscule guided missiles accelerating to warp speed toward other hummers, in efforts to maintain dominance at the feeder.   

Does all this watching and wondering about the birds mean I have wandered away from times of personal devotion?  I don’t think so.  If I am receptive, the common birds that come to the backyard feeder teach me sacred lessons.  They speak in God’s language.  The cardinal reminds me that when I look for beauty in every creature, I will find it.  Cardinal reminds me, too that some people, like some birds, are frightened, injured, hungry, alone, and require gentleness, compassion, time, grace. 

The chickadees, wrens, sparrows, titmice, sing while they eat, and remind me that breaking bread together is wonderful and fulfilling; for people, it is more about the company than the cuisine, thank goodness.  The birds chirp to tell me, “Try it!  Feed your friends!”  When they peck around the deck floor, they also remind me that abundance might be found in unexpected places, places where few others are seeking it.   

Some days, I need to feel God’s very real presence in this shattered world. So I continue to pray large and small scale prayers…for the world and its people and environment, for the US, for friends and family and our needs.  I try to listen to God’s voice and recall that when asked, Christ said the greatest commandment is to Love God and love our neighbors.  But I need help, sometimes, to remember that God cares about even the tiniest creatures;  I need help to remember God’s incomprehensible goodness.  For those reminders, there is no prayer as potent as watching a cardinal, chickadee, wren, sparrow, titmouse, or a hummingbird.