Rasta Dog (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent) flushed up a wounded bird on our walk today. Cities are hard on birds. Not because of why you might think- the obvious lack of trees and green space. I think they do just fine with building nests in the nooks and crannies of tall buildings. It’s because those same buildings which give them shelter can spell their doom if they fly into a window six stories up. I have seen three dead and one wounded bird in the last few weeks. It makes me feel sad.
And then it stirs another curious sensation. Every time I see one of these fallen birds I immediately think of what Jesus said about how not even a sparrow falls from the sky without Him knowing about it. I think then I extrapolate. I ponder how many birds there are in the world and how many died today. I consider how many hairs there are that fell today from the how many heads there are in the world. I think and then doubt. How in the world could God possibly know all the birds, all the hair, all the heads and all our thoughts? At once? Seriously? Not possible.
I have been a Christian long enough to have had many wrestles with my intellect concerning God and the Bible. I remember struggling with the account of Jonah trapped in the fish belly for three days. Not possible, said I. Gastric juices would have eaten him from the outside in.
As I matured so did my doubts. Casting a legion of demons into swine? Why? Why not just send them to the dry and arid places and leave the poor swine owner his livelihood? Why make a paste of spit and mud when you can speak a word? Why didn’t You heal my marriage God when I prayed for so … many … years? Why? Why? Why? I don’t get it, Lord. Why?
I have been a Christian long enough to know that wrestles of the intellect end in one place- with a bowing of my knee. My brain is just not capable of grasping in entirety God’s power and might and sovereignty nor understanding His purposes, reasoning, will or plans. At the end of the day, after playing with my doubts the way my tongue plays with a rough new filling, I bow to His majesty and give up the need to understand and mysteriously the doubt turns to, “Of course You know all the sparrows that fall. Why wouldn’t You … You’re God!”
Rasta Dog didn’t hurt that fallen bird pathetic in its attempts to hop/fly away. I had mercy on the wounded bird and played God for a minute and used the fact that I have many pounds on Dog to pull her away and today, I may not have done much, but today I saved a bird. The bird fell and I saw it and I cared. Why shouldn’t I believe that God knows and cares about all the birds that fall and knows and cares about all of us even more?