A sparrow story
By Heidi Wallenborn-Cramer
At first I thought there was a mouse under the covered barbecue on the verandah.
I'd gone out to move the little tray of birdseed I keep near the door so I can enjoy watching rosellas and finches singing and dancing, with me as their private audience.
A pattering sound caught my attention. I spied a soft grey body, little beady eyes, then a flutter and flopping barely visible under the edge of the green canvas cover. I moved closer; a flurry of tiny wings stilled me.
Hesitant, I tiptoed forward then gently lifted the cover and spied a little bird. It twisted and turned, frantic to take flight; its leg was caught in a crevice of a double wheel.
I called to my husband, Steve. He gently held the sparrow. He felt her little heart beat a tattoo under his palm. Her foot was caught, held fast in the wheel's grip.
Several years ago I battled depression. A "house sparrow," I stood one morning in the bathroom of our second story home in a forest in Washington. Gazing out the window, I contemplated the death of my nearly 20-year marriage. It was late autumn and most frost-bitten leaves had pirouetted to their end, carpeting the forest floor. But one lone, yellow leaf caught my eye. It hung on a bare branch, stubbornly refusing to fall. It spun in the breeze, hanging on by a tendon. Despite the grey drizzle and cold winds, it stayed suspended between its summer haven and a loamy grave.
Sometime later, I looked for that stubborn, yellow leaf--it was still there. In fact it stayed for quite awhile until a severe, wintry gale knocked it loose. I was disappointed when it fell. I'd taken a few baby steps to change my future and had so much hope from such a little thing; I was on my way up, instead of falling down and rotting.
As Steve carefully handled the frightened little bird with one hand, he pried open the wheel with a small tool in the other. The sparrow's mangled claw dangled, useless. She peered at us through the top part of his fist and we discussed what to do. With tears in our eyes, we decided that neither one of us wanted to "put her out of her misery." I remembered some time ago seeing a bird hop around on one leg, and told him so. So he amputated the claw cleanly. He sent the tiny bird soaring over the verandah rail; as she took flight, I prayed.
Perhaps I'm still a bit like that house sparrow; maimed by life and a little crippled.
But I can still fly.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Hope gained
This summer morning, as I look out onto my view from my "treehouse office" at parrots flying low and a moon sailing over pine trees to its rest on the western horizon, I am reminded of Proverbs 13:12, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
Perhaps my lighter heart this morning is in response to a number of good events over the last few days. Maybe I'm setting myself up for yet another emotional disaster that hope deferred brings.
But this morning, I feel good. Really good.
Getting married and moving to Australia in January 2007 was a bigger life change than I realized.
There were a lot of highly charged emotional things going on at the same time back in the States, and adding to the mix, the marriage isn't as easy-peasy as I thought it would be.
There were also roadblocks and other outside forces to deal with here that I had no idea were lurking around the corner to ambush me...a steady drone for years.
I finally talked to a professional about some of these things. It felt good to be validated and listened to and understood, and to know there is help available for me without prescriptions, and most of all there is hope.
I'm done with the guilt of feeling like Jesus should be enough, why isn't He? He is...and sometimes He uses other people as His hands throwing me a life jacket.
The biggest source of my joy this week were three week-long visitors.
My step-niece Josie and her 1-year-old daughter, Sienna, along with a friend's daughter from the US, Stephanie, are here.
They are young, fresh, and interesting in conversation (when we aren't chasing Sienna) and easy, enjoyable companions. For being perfect strangers, the two young women are getting along like a house on fire, and adventures are planned for the week.
When I started writing this morning, I felt peace. But now, the household is up, getting coffee, tea, and brekky, Sienna is banging plastic on the floor and squealing, and I realize that to this peace is added a quiet joy.
Maybe this longing fulfilled of a peaceful, hopeful life will become a strong and mighty tree in me.
Perhaps my lighter heart this morning is in response to a number of good events over the last few days. Maybe I'm setting myself up for yet another emotional disaster that hope deferred brings.
But this morning, I feel good. Really good.
Getting married and moving to Australia in January 2007 was a bigger life change than I realized.
There were a lot of highly charged emotional things going on at the same time back in the States, and adding to the mix, the marriage isn't as easy-peasy as I thought it would be.
There were also roadblocks and other outside forces to deal with here that I had no idea were lurking around the corner to ambush me...a steady drone for years.
I finally talked to a professional about some of these things. It felt good to be validated and listened to and understood, and to know there is help available for me without prescriptions, and most of all there is hope.
I'm done with the guilt of feeling like Jesus should be enough, why isn't He? He is...and sometimes He uses other people as His hands throwing me a life jacket.
The biggest source of my joy this week were three week-long visitors.
My step-niece Josie and her 1-year-old daughter, Sienna, along with a friend's daughter from the US, Stephanie, are here.
They are young, fresh, and interesting in conversation (when we aren't chasing Sienna) and easy, enjoyable companions. For being perfect strangers, the two young women are getting along like a house on fire, and adventures are planned for the week.
When I started writing this morning, I felt peace. But now, the household is up, getting coffee, tea, and brekky, Sienna is banging plastic on the floor and squealing, and I realize that to this peace is added a quiet joy.
Maybe this longing fulfilled of a peaceful, hopeful life will become a strong and mighty tree in me.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Hello again
I don't know if anyone reads this anymore...it's been several months since I wrote anything...on here, and at all.
But I want that to change. I want to write, I need to write, and I have suffered because I haven't.
So, if you read this, leave a note if you can. I'd appreciate the encouragement, the comments, and anything else you'd like to say.
But what it comes down to is this...these pages are my thoughts, for better or worse, and a place for me to be me. Whether anyone sees or not.
Thanks. Heidi
But I want that to change. I want to write, I need to write, and I have suffered because I haven't.
So, if you read this, leave a note if you can. I'd appreciate the encouragement, the comments, and anything else you'd like to say.
But what it comes down to is this...these pages are my thoughts, for better or worse, and a place for me to be me. Whether anyone sees or not.
Thanks. Heidi
Hanging on a Line
Warm winds puff,
lifts damp hair off my neck,
swirls my shirt around my body.
Sleeves cling to my sweaty arms
lifting sheets to a clothesline
secured with an orange peg.
If not for that breeze
the hot would oppress
with its humid breath.
I think of Australian women who have gone before me
those who hang laundry in other climes:
sticky tropical, dusty desert, verdant hills.
I picture time-worn faces,
cracked and defined by age and fickle weather
and circumstances and life.
I imagine gnarled hands that grip
lids of jars of harvested peaches and apricots,
and put clothes and sheets on lines in the sun.
I'm not an Australian woman;
But I see her in my neighbors, at the post office
and driving her beat-up ute to market.
As I ponder, black clouds break open,
the wind shifts like a compass needle
and hot rain thunders down on freshly laundered sheets.
lifts damp hair off my neck,
swirls my shirt around my body.
Sleeves cling to my sweaty arms
lifting sheets to a clothesline
secured with an orange peg.
If not for that breeze
the hot would oppress
with its humid breath.
I think of Australian women who have gone before me
those who hang laundry in other climes:
sticky tropical, dusty desert, verdant hills.
I picture time-worn faces,
cracked and defined by age and fickle weather
and circumstances and life.
I imagine gnarled hands that grip
lids of jars of harvested peaches and apricots,
and put clothes and sheets on lines in the sun.
I'm not an Australian woman;
But I see her in my neighbors, at the post office
and driving her beat-up ute to market.
As I ponder, black clouds break open,
the wind shifts like a compass needle
and hot rain thunders down on freshly laundered sheets.
Monday, September 28, 2009
When the lights went out
Just before communion in the humble church I attend, the power quit.
We'd been inundated for several days with storm after storm of wintry blasts from the South Pole...thunder and lightning, hail and rain, wind and stronger wind. Temperatures hovered around the 40s during the day and 30s at night.
On the way to church that morning, my husband and I marveled at how much standing water there was, in a land plagued with drought the last 15 or more years. Creeks flooded, and paddocks looked like grass-fringed lakes with ducks circling and flapping in the frigid air while sheep sought higher ground.
As we entered the 150-year-old town hall in Buninyong where our little Baptist congregation meets, I noticed everyone was rugged up in wooly scarves and warm winter coats. This time last year we celebrated the arrival of warm weather, constant sunshine, and blooming flowers. Steve and I found a seat in the rear of the hall with our backs next to heat emanating from ancient radiators shaped like curvy Christmas candy painted forest green.
We settled in, sang some hymns and modern songs, the offering was taken, and then it was time to remember Jesus' sacrifice, as scripture tells us to. The body broken for me, the blood shed to cleanse my sins and make a way for me to be in God's presence now, and forever.
Then darkness descended in fits and starts as overhead bulbs flickered on and off. The high windows near the ceiling in the old-fashioned building are painted, so no light came in once darkness won the fight for light. Our pastor's wife had a penlight so an elder leading that part of the service could read his Bible out loud, and so I could take my turn at the pulpit reading Bible verses out loud that our pastor had chosen to go with his sermon.
I thought the topic he'd chosen was apt, in light of losing power and light. He spoke out of Exodus 32:7-14 and Exodus 33:12-16, which describes a heartfelt and honest conversation Moses had with God. Moses even argued with God a bit, and talked Him out of destroying a nation He had rescued from the Egyptians and a life of slavery because they were so ungrateful, wayward, and stiff-necked.
But the kick-in-the-pants verse for me was out of Matthew 15:8-9, "These people honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me. They worship Me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men."
Ouch.
How easily distracted I am away from God's heart. I tend, sometimes, to focus on what I think is expected of me from others as a Follower of Christ, rather than what the Bible clearly teaches me, in the Old Testament and New, but also in the example Jesus set for me..."Follow Me," he said. Not others, not the way they think and the rules they make.
Sometimes I think that the reason God became man in the form of Jesus was because He understood that life is confusing, people are confusing, people are sheep needing to be herded and led, and in His compassion, He came to say, "Okay, my beloved children. THIS is what I want you to do, THIS is how I want you to love me, THIS is how much I love you," in the form of Jesus. His Way, His example to live and be, is clear in the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
Why do I forget that? Darkness descends and fights with the flickering light in my spirit.
Pastor Tom asked two questions, both of which I pondered all of yesterday, and still into today: "What is hardest for you in your life to trust God in?" and "At the end of your life, looking back over the years, what would you change in your walk with God?"
Wow. That brings me to the nitty gritty. I struggle with trust...in general. My whole life has been a struggle with trusting people, and I guess that brings me to trusting God. What would I change? To trust more, and to be less stubborn in wanting to hang onto my own "safe" way of doing things, for a start.
As the service ended, we sang another hymn with older and younger voices raised, no electric keyboard, and we prayed. We mingled, we laughed about how there may not be hot water for instant coffee or teabags; but it was a subdued crowd of 30 or so...not because there was no power, but because we recognized something in each of us that we struggle with, and we are all on the same journey.
And then the light came on.
We'd been inundated for several days with storm after storm of wintry blasts from the South Pole...thunder and lightning, hail and rain, wind and stronger wind. Temperatures hovered around the 40s during the day and 30s at night.
On the way to church that morning, my husband and I marveled at how much standing water there was, in a land plagued with drought the last 15 or more years. Creeks flooded, and paddocks looked like grass-fringed lakes with ducks circling and flapping in the frigid air while sheep sought higher ground.
As we entered the 150-year-old town hall in Buninyong where our little Baptist congregation meets, I noticed everyone was rugged up in wooly scarves and warm winter coats. This time last year we celebrated the arrival of warm weather, constant sunshine, and blooming flowers. Steve and I found a seat in the rear of the hall with our backs next to heat emanating from ancient radiators shaped like curvy Christmas candy painted forest green.
We settled in, sang some hymns and modern songs, the offering was taken, and then it was time to remember Jesus' sacrifice, as scripture tells us to. The body broken for me, the blood shed to cleanse my sins and make a way for me to be in God's presence now, and forever.
Then darkness descended in fits and starts as overhead bulbs flickered on and off. The high windows near the ceiling in the old-fashioned building are painted, so no light came in once darkness won the fight for light. Our pastor's wife had a penlight so an elder leading that part of the service could read his Bible out loud, and so I could take my turn at the pulpit reading Bible verses out loud that our pastor had chosen to go with his sermon.
I thought the topic he'd chosen was apt, in light of losing power and light. He spoke out of Exodus 32:7-14 and Exodus 33:12-16, which describes a heartfelt and honest conversation Moses had with God. Moses even argued with God a bit, and talked Him out of destroying a nation He had rescued from the Egyptians and a life of slavery because they were so ungrateful, wayward, and stiff-necked.
But the kick-in-the-pants verse for me was out of Matthew 15:8-9, "These people honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me. They worship Me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men."
Ouch.
How easily distracted I am away from God's heart. I tend, sometimes, to focus on what I think is expected of me from others as a Follower of Christ, rather than what the Bible clearly teaches me, in the Old Testament and New, but also in the example Jesus set for me..."Follow Me," he said. Not others, not the way they think and the rules they make.
Sometimes I think that the reason God became man in the form of Jesus was because He understood that life is confusing, people are confusing, people are sheep needing to be herded and led, and in His compassion, He came to say, "Okay, my beloved children. THIS is what I want you to do, THIS is how I want you to love me, THIS is how much I love you," in the form of Jesus. His Way, His example to live and be, is clear in the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
Why do I forget that? Darkness descends and fights with the flickering light in my spirit.
Pastor Tom asked two questions, both of which I pondered all of yesterday, and still into today: "What is hardest for you in your life to trust God in?" and "At the end of your life, looking back over the years, what would you change in your walk with God?"
Wow. That brings me to the nitty gritty. I struggle with trust...in general. My whole life has been a struggle with trusting people, and I guess that brings me to trusting God. What would I change? To trust more, and to be less stubborn in wanting to hang onto my own "safe" way of doing things, for a start.
As the service ended, we sang another hymn with older and younger voices raised, no electric keyboard, and we prayed. We mingled, we laughed about how there may not be hot water for instant coffee or teabags; but it was a subdued crowd of 30 or so...not because there was no power, but because we recognized something in each of us that we struggle with, and we are all on the same journey.
And then the light came on.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Aha!
So this is why: "...writing itself is a mixed blessing. We, who are addicted, berate ourselves and feel guilty when we don't write, at the same time put it off and hunt for diversions. Why? Because the thing that makes us happiest is also tedious, frustrating, and hard. Writing makes us crazy; not writing even crazier." --Marcia Preston
Such is the stuff of my life.
How do I help a non-writer mate understand that?
It's beyond my scope of capabilities.
I pray.
That's all I can do.
And I write.
Such is the stuff of my life.
How do I help a non-writer mate understand that?
It's beyond my scope of capabilities.
I pray.
That's all I can do.
And I write.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Homesick on a rainy day
I wish I could write about happy things,
funny things,
things that make people laugh
and smile
and giggle and
ponder.
But it seems that when I get deep
inside myself
there isn't a lot to laugh about
lately
or giggle over
and ponder with a smile.
Funny thing is,
there are no funny things
that make me laugh
or smile or giggle
that I want to write about
to anyone.
Sad, isn't it?
Maybe it's just a phase I'm working through
A by-product of living
life in a country not mine
whose people are not mine
whose language is not mine,
at all.
History tells me that this phase will end
and my heart will rebound
as it usually does;
With the coming spring
rampant with flowers and birds and sunshine
I will be resurrected.
funny things,
things that make people laugh
and smile
and giggle and
ponder.
But it seems that when I get deep
inside myself
there isn't a lot to laugh about
lately
or giggle over
and ponder with a smile.
Funny thing is,
there are no funny things
that make me laugh
or smile or giggle
that I want to write about
to anyone.
Sad, isn't it?
Maybe it's just a phase I'm working through
A by-product of living
life in a country not mine
whose people are not mine
whose language is not mine,
at all.
History tells me that this phase will end
and my heart will rebound
as it usually does;
With the coming spring
rampant with flowers and birds and sunshine
I will be resurrected.
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