Moms and dads everywhere sharing the same fears and calling on the same Father
By George Valadie
Looking back, I think Madge moved in back in late January. The process took longer than you’d think given the fact she had so little to bring. We definitely had plenty of room; we weren’t using the particular spot she had picked, and since it was kinda cramped anyway, we had no such plans for its future use either.
And until she got everything in its place, I have to admit we weren’t really sure where she’d been staying at night. She didn’t share much.
A year or so ago, we had also opened our home to a cousin, Larry, though I doubted that was her name. And as it turned out, Larry was definitely a her. But Nancy was convinced. So, I went with it.
Turns out Madge was married—kinda. Though we never got his name. Just Madge and her man living out back.
For most of the move, he seemed absent, leaving the heavy lifting to his bride.
As her hauling went back and forth, Madge was meticulous in arranging every stick of furniture just so. Because, well … every stick of furniture was just that—a stick. Or a leaf. Or a twig.
After all, you can’t be willy-nilly about the nest that will be home to your babies—even if only for a short while.
As you have figured out, Madge is a bird, a robin to be specific. Obviously expecting, she unexpectedly adopted us to be grandparents. That’s how it felt anyway. Because all her preparation efforts provided a bit of familiar energy and anticipation for these two empty-nesters.
In actuality, we don’t really know her name, but my wife decided she looked like a Madge. After all, Nancy had studied her, keeping a daily watchful eye on all the proceedings as they unfolded, eagerly reporting to our daughters in our daily text chain.
“Hey, guess what? We have a new bird’s nest right outside our window. We need a name for her? She doesn’t look like a Larry.”
“What about Loretta or Edith?”
“I like that. But I’m vetoing Edith.”
“What about Bernadette? Or Bernie?”
“I’m going with Madge.”
They humor her sometimes. And then talk about her on a separate chain.
We couldn’t make out much from our vantage point down below, but then one morning on our back deck, we were suddenly greeted by the high-pitched chirping of triplets.
Life is a miracle, no matter the species.
You have to feel for this mom. As if childbirth and single-handedly building their new home wasn’t labor enough, try feeding triplets when every mouthful requires another trip to the store. Literally.
The spot this momma bird had picked seemed perfect for her new family of five. Some 12 feet above the ground, in a tucked-away corner, under the eave of our house in the crook of the downspout just before it turns toward the ground.
If you’re looking to hide from the elements or any area predators—those that fly nearby or our dog who thinks the backyard is his—it seemed to be the perfect location.
Until …
Until the storm. It blew in furiously sideways in the middle of a Sunday night. Winds and tree limbs noisily battering the backside of our house. And sadly, we awoke to a dislodged nest resting upside down on the ground below. And no more chirping.
“George, please, you gotta go check. Their nest is down. The wind blew it off its perch.
“And I just don’t know if those babies are ready.”
Don’t ask me why but while I was heading out to investigate this tragedy, her words echoed in my ears.
“I just don’t know if those babies are ready.”
It washed all over me because our houseguests were indeed awfully young to be thrust into the unknown. There was that—and the fact that we were also just days away from graduation season, forever my favorite part of working in schools.
Our diocese has 10 schools of such graduates. Some will graduate on to first grade. Or on to middle school. On to high school. On to college.
And my Facebook is full of so many of our alums who are simultaneously celebrating the pinnacle of their college careers.
Degree earned. On to life.
Blessed beyond measure, most of these kids have moms just like Madge. A mother who prepared a nursery for months in advance, selecting each piece with care. A momma who gave birth to them, hovered nearby, provided every meal, and shrieked at anyone or anything that seemed a threat.
It’s what we do. All of that and more, while slowly, carefully, adding in a few lessons and a small dose of independence now and again. Fully aware the day is coming when they will fly away from the safety and security of what they’ve known.
Thankfully, Madge and all her young’uns survived. I don’t know how. But all escaped the storm and none were found in or among the aftermath.
I’m not sure how it all went down, but I do know parents can do incredible, seemingly miraculous things when their children are threatened or in need.
For us humans, there’s something else we moms and dads do whenever our kids face an uncertain future.
We pray. Beg might be a better word. Calling out to the Father, asking Him to go where we cannot, to protect when we cannot, to give strength that we cannot.
And to bring them safely home.
Because first grade can be scary. So can life.
Dear God—Sometimes parents do too much, say too much, hover too much. But we can never love too much. Thank you for showing us how. Amen.
George Valadie is a parishioner at St. Stephen Church in Chattanooga and author of the book “We Lost Our Fifth Fork … and other moments when we need some perspective.”