Knit and Pray

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Writing on the Back Porch

     It's been a busy week on our hill. Dear Heart's daughter from Dallas and his daughter and grandson from Ohio arrived to check up on their brother/sister-in-law/uncle's new home building site down the road from us. AND to breathe some fresh hill country air. The girls took in our County Fair and shopped downtown Fredericksburg while some of the guys took the boat over to Canyon Lake. All of us visited with each other, with neighbors, with relatives, and finished up with a hamburger cook-out in our back yard last night.
     This morning, some went to church and the Ohio family headed for the airport. With the kitchen sort of back together, lunch done, and the dishwasher in drying-mode, the house felt too quiet. Since the thermometer on the shady back porch read only 89 degrees, I settled there to think, give thanks, and make notes.
     While my laptop keys clicked, a dozen or so hummingbirds flited around, drinking peacefully and safely at the feeders. I paused to watch our little creatures and remembered the awe-filled event before last night's supper.
     During the pre-supper gab-fest on this very back porch yesterday, someone noted a hummingbird traped in the porch sky-light.

     Patrick, our teen-age great-nephew asked, "Can't we do something? He's going to kill himself hitting the walls." 
     Without hesitating, I sent him for the stepladder and when he was situated within arm's touch of the trapped being, I talked Patrick through finger by finger,silent, slow moves. The laughter around us quieted and the story-tellers paused to listen and watch while Patrick reached up and opened his hand more slowly than slow-motion. After several attempts, he released a sigh and whispered, "I've got it."
     Instinctively, Patrick learned in a split-second the exact technique required to hold the tiny creature securely in his hand without squeezing it's life away. He carefully climbed down the ladder and almost without motion, Patrick opened his hand and his young face beamed realizing he was not Captor, he was Rescuer.
     He stared at the tiny miracle of God's intricate design, it's soft colors glistening and sparkling in the afternoon sun, as it lay death-still in his hand nearly half a minute. Then, almost against his own will, Patrick gently flexed his hand and *blink* the miniature treasure darted away with sudden and shocking power.



     Today, I look up into the dirty skylight and remember long ago when I was trapped with no way to escape. But the hand that rescued me had been pierced with a nail and now, unlike the hummingbird, I give thanks as I tell the story saved by Grace.

     I pray you will have a week that is filled with God's perfect peace. Fly safely.   
Liz



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