Monthly Archives: April 2026

Oh What a Gift!

27 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in Nature, MONDAY MUSINGS

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Who doesn’t enjoy a gift? No one; we all like receiving gifts. “Just what I always wanted”, or “Oh what a nice surprise!”, or “now, that’s different”, might be our comments upon opening a present, or a gift. The best gifts may not be wrapped at all. As my husband has prayed, “thank you Father for the air we breathe”, among other things we tend to take for granted. And sometimes — just sometimes — a whole day is one big gift. Such was today, Saturday, April 25, 2026, with a flawless blue sky, gentle breezes, and short sleeve comfort without being hot. As the day unwrapped itself, I figured out why gifts are sometimes called presents; to be fully present in a moment, we are able to see the gift in it.

For the previous 24 hours, I had the sinking feeling something had happened to our Eastern bluebird couple who are incubating six beautiful blue eggs in a box at the back of our lawn. First thing this morning, I waded the dew to check the box and found it still egg-filled, but no parents, just like my last box check last evening, and throughout the day yesterday. As I peered into the nest this morning, I heard a faint snap, snap, snap…but could see no birds nearby who might have given the warning snap. I carefully closed the box, and retreated to the patio to watch. As I sat down, I saw the beautiful blue-feathered friends perched on the electric lines over my potting shed. Relief washed over me as I looked upward whispering thank you, and found even my coffee tasted better without the thought of six orphaned eggs. Then, Mr. Bluebird flew to their box, looked in, then leaned in, and satisfied all was good, he backed out and flew to a nearby perch, and seemed to give a nod. Mama bluebird then took her cue and entered the box to sit with her soon-to-be family. I noticed daddy bird sat for a moment or two longer, then flew out of sight. What a gift to know nothing had happened to them, and moreover, to witness the careful attention they give to their nesting duties. The way he scans the area, and gives her the “all clear,” is a treat to witness.

Soon the air was filled with our Purple Martin colony as they began their winged feeding and demonstrating their unique aerial skills. Their calling is like a multi-syllable song that begins and ends with tapping and an alien-type clicking from the movie Signs. I have no better way to describe it. They are fascinating, and this year all 18 of our gourds are hosting these black beauties, thanks to my husband’s diligent efforts to fend off the offending house sparrows; not to mention 12 new and improved gourds that are easier to view and tend. Breakfast and a show!

A beautiful song directed my attention to the tip top of our Brandywine maple tree, where a Baltimore Oriole was perched, singing his morning melody. What a treat just to see and hear this one. I did have to look online to be sure of his identity as I had only seen him once the day before — and in the exact same spot. By this time, I was joined by my husband who has caught my birdwatching addiction. Nearer to where we sat, is a Hawthorne tree whose branches hold a wren house covered by a bent license plate. The hardworking wren (which I believe is a common house wren) had finally gotten a taker on his nest of twigs and he was singing his little lungs out. She (I have to suppose, because the male and female wrens look alike) flew in and out of the little house so quickly I couldn’t decide if she was feeding young, or adding her touch to his nest-building skills. These small quick birds make up for their size with their loud voices and tenacity. Other visitors to the back yard this morning were: song sparrows, two brown thrashers, a pair of goldfinches, a cardinal, the resident mocking birds, a cedar waxwing (versus a tufted titmouse, not sure), and a male house sparrow whose attempts at setting up housekeeping nearby were thwarted by the tenacity I just mentioned, of our wrens. For a bird watcher, these visitors were a gift in themselves, only to be topped later in the day by the king of birds.

As the day went forward, I made a visit to a neighbor who was recuperating, where I was met cheerfully by her dog. Cheerful was good, because he was quite active and rather large; as my mother would say, he was as fat as a town dog. He was as slick as a seal and just as playful. Obeying his mama, he retired to his crate on the porch while we visited, but when I rose to leave, Haney (the dog) came out of his crate to walk me out, so to speak. He then left me, only to return quickly with a stick of about 12 inches long, and promptly held it up for me to take. I did so, and thanked him for the gift; then threw it for him and he did the fetch thing and brought it back and placed it at my feet. Just one gift after another! I mean, this day just kept becoming more and more in need of a large bow and scotch tape.

Just before sunset, I was invited by hubby to listen for a couple of owls he had been hearing throughout the day. The owl makes a tone out of my hearing range and the man continues trying to get me to hear them. As we sat in an area between his equipment shed and an old stock barn, we suddenly became aware of a large presence coming over us. Looking up, we were surprised to see an eagle soaring overhead, (the king of birds I mentioned earlier). It seemed to just barely glide above the tallest shed, but you know how the memory exaggerates the contents of a surprise. He was, however, closer than I had ever been to an eagle for sure. Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, westward and away. Giving up on the hooting of owls, we turned toward our house, to see a parade of deer sauntering along the back of the field, toward our pond behind the house. We eased up the driveway and onto the patio to spend our sunset watching the deer. A group of four, we determined, and we watched as they took turns stepping up onto the pond bank, then downward out of sight to get a drink, and back up again. As the first one returned to her herd, the second one repeated her actions. Our attention was diverted by the evening birds on the lawn, as well as the eagle returning, and hiding itself in the oaks beyond our pond. We were feeling quite blessed by a day of many gifts, not the least of which is health good enough to be out and about, and the beauty of the day wrapped around us. But then — just as I was looking back out to the deer — I saw them startle and jump away from the pond bank. I looked in the direction they were looking. At that moment we had the joy of seeing the eagle mount up triumphantly from the pond with a fish, large enough we could see it in his talons. Carrying its supper away, it left my husband and me just open-mouthed in awe. Now, for many frequent lake-goers, this would not be a spectacular experience, but for an old farm couple in Hazel, Kentucky, who had only been spotting bald eagles high up and away for very few recent years, this was a thrilling evening. Sunset found us giddy with excitement — excited about life, and just being present in the day — a day of gifts!

More than ever, I felt the truth I had been hearing about being in the moment. I had experienced it the evening before as I walked my fur baby, letting him meander the roadside, and taking the time myself to touch, smell, and name as many of the wild plants as I could. In full bloom were honeysuckle, wild privet, and what I hope are blackberry vines. The cedar is laden with tiny light blue berries I enjoy seeing each year. None of this was new; it was new in a different way, as I forgot about hurrying back, or any other concerns. I didn’t even concern myself with the need to walk for exercise, as my guilty conscience usually thwarts the pleasure of any evening stroll. No, I just looked at each thing in our path with eyes only for that moment. There were scents of sweet, lemony, and evergreen; and a dozen different shades of green; with a symphony of calls and croaks. (Yes, I did taste the honeysuckle nectar. Several times. As sweet as ever!) Inhaling, seeing and listening — all those gifts of the senses God gave us — using them to appreciate the other gifts from Him, were helping me be present in the moment. This is the way to approach God’s word as well. I plan to be much more in the moment as I listen to God speak from His word — no distractions, just holding each phrase with an open heart, looking at it in it’s context, without trying to prove or disprove anything, and letting it connect me with God’s own heart.

In Gary Chapman’s book, The One Year Love Language Minute Devotional, he states, “Giving gifts as an expression of love is universal. A gift is a visible token that says, ‘I was thinking about you’ “. He points out that some people speak the language of gifts as they express their love. I can believe that, because the One in whose image we are made, gave and continues to give the very best gifts! “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning” (James 1:17).

Have a wonderful week! Perhaps we will have the gift of rain without a great deal of storm damage. Remember to be present in your moments. Trisha

Havens, Hideouts, and Heart of a Child

20 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in Encouragement, Faith, MONDAY MUSINGS

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

(I began these thoughts on havens last year as the field corn was growing tall, enclosing our lawn and giving us a feeling of seclusion. The rains had been generous. So, this weekend’s wonderful rain reminded me to bring out the draft and finish it.)

He calms the storm,
So that its waves are still.
30 Then they are glad because they are quiet;
So He guides them to their desired haven.
31 Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness,
And for His wonderful works to the children of men! Psalm 107:29-31

Often our memories from childhood can be evoked by a fragrance, or perhaps a glimpse of a thing, as well as by certain feelings. Sometimes just the smell of freshly mown grass can transport me to the Brunswick home of a young couple and their little girl. I am that little girl, and though I was less than five years old, I have a spot in my memory of a little green back yard, with a rabbit cage holding my white bunny, situated between our small white frame house and a wooded area. Sandwiched there between the back wall of that house and the woods, I was secure and happy, a memory so dim it’s actually only a feeling — safe, private, and mine. A haven is a haven, not because of how it’s constructed, but because of the shelter (real or metaphoric) that it provides, and the feeling associated with it.

Last summer, the feeling of a cozy, secluded haven or hideout returned to me in our open backyard; the kind of cozy you had with quilts stretched over the kitchen table where you lived under it in a tent… well at least until supper time. Time and place for feeling that kind of cozy, are few and far between in adulthood, but with a child’s heart, sitting in our backyard, I found memories creeping over me of clubhouses, tree houses, and a closet in my aunt’s house. It was a large closet, the size two six-year-old girls could stretch out in and color in their coloring books, with a cigar box full of old crayons and a new box of 64 Crayola crayons that made me about as happy as a little girl can be. With a wall of coats and clothing hanging over the perimeter, and the door closed, our little hideout became an artist’s gallery, or a spelling bee, and often a dueling arena as my cousin and I settled differences of opinions. My haven was in a house where I found acceptance, love and safety. Fast-forward to our backyard last summer, surrounded entirely by the lushly growing corn crop, where again I experienced the feeling of a private clubhouse, a haven, or an adult-sized coloring closet.

A ripened corn field, when it is dark and fragrant, is a magical place, surrounded by tall jade-green walls and a roof of blond tassels. Visited by members only — a deer who seems surprised to find anyone else in the clearing he had found; our resident rabbit who scampers from under the potting shed into an emerald room, and disappears into the walls. Music playing is that of the Purple Martins, a wren, the lonely call of a Bobwhite, and the chatter of the bluebirds. Someone forgot to turn on the climate control for this hideaway, so my stay is brief this day, but my temporary clubhouse would continue to entertain me each morning and each evening until the walls would come down in the autumn. It is a peaceful sanctuary, a private place, and it is a gift. A haven from the din and dilemmas of today’s world, it reminds me of the haven the Lord God promises as He quiets our storms and stills the waves of uncertainty. There — in God’s haven — we find a place of peace (John 14:27), a personal relationship with the Lord (Psalm 139:1-6), and a gift (Acts 2:38).

The evening before, after mowing clean our verdant clubhouse, the plan was to tend our adjoining garden, with a rototiller. Before the tiller came three steps out of the garage, a large cloudburst soaked the garden, again. The tantrum I could have had, was blown away by a gentle cooling breeze, and the freshly washed green of the backyard haven’s walls, their blond roof waving softly with praise for the welcome water. Weeks later, as we try to visit this magical place, a warm wet blanket wraps our faces after the sun penetrates our emerald clubhouse. But during the earliest morning hours, we would be entranced for a little while, reverting to a pleasant childhood frame of heart, and meditate.

In the Psalms, the writer by inspiration of God, reveals to us the haven of peace and security our souls have in the Lord. He reminds us there will be storms of strife and winds of hardship in the world; but that He is not of this world. He abides in that Haven of all havens, where evil cannot invade, and from where He sees all, and works in all — all of this world’s wet blankets — to provide a reprieve and safety in His arms for His children. When I humble myself as a little child; when I follow the Shepherd’s call of safety; when I allow the Savior to pilot my ship to calm water, I find the haven of peace and security. There I clearly see the difference between the wrestling of the world, and the haven of God’s heart.

May you find your own place of peace and quiet this week, for meditation and refreshing from the ways of the world. If you already have that little hideout, then you know what I mean.

Have an emerald week! Trisha

CHASING SPARROWS

13 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, The unexpected

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Do you ever get to thinking you’re chasing sparrows, more than accomplishing anything? I’ll tell you, I sometimes feel I spend half my life chasing down something I mislaid. The other half of the time, I’m chasing intentions and feeling hopelessly unaccomplished. As Saturday opened its front door of potential, I felt sure we would enjoy a quick breakfast in town, pick up a couple items and get a set amount of work done before enjoying some relaxing moments in the backyard. Ha! We spent the day chasing sparrows — sparrows of one kind or another.

It seems our lives consist primarily of our own interests, and more importantly, the interests of those precious blessings we call family and friends. The other elements in our lives come from the pop-in experiences, or the happenstance — some like the pair of welcome hummingbirds who just zoomed through; and some like sparrows. They (the sparrows) are not what we call desirable pop-ins; but as sure as life, they are there, and must either be ignored, or become a part and parcel of what we do.

My husband and I have been blessed with retirement years at home together; albeit, strewn with physical ailments of one sort or another. All in all, we get to enjoy some pretty good things. Some of those good things in our lives have been a backyard of beautiful and melodious feathered friends. I think God created these just for me (wink); well, for sure for people who aren’t chasing little league, or tournaments, or bucket lists, and such as that. Though we aren’t the best of landlords for the birds, we take great pleasure in providing good housing and we are learning as we go. They, in turn, provide great entertainment for us. I’d say the highlight of our day was a scene at the back corner where two young apple trees are blooming. In one, perched two goldfinches; in the other, a male bluebird. Wow! What striking colors! So, instead of chasing things to do and buy and want, we chase sparrows. Literally. If you know, you know.

I have had several successful years of chasing away the house sparrows from my bluebird boxes by hanging a shredded shopping bag over the box as soon as they have lain the first or second egg. Not too attractive, but it works. Two years ago we had 14 fledglings total, to successfully leave the nests. The bluebird parents will not allow a flapping plastic bag (called a sparrow spooker) to stop them from finishing their family. Whereas, the sparrows, persistent and tenacious as they are, do not yet have the family attachment to the box, and are frightened away from invading the nest as they are otherwise prone to do. Yesterday I discovered, sadly, this will not work against the wrens. In the past, I have had enough wren housing to keep them occupied. This year, I missed the mark — forgot the wren houses and the rest is too sad to relate. So, I am on a chase: watch for the next bluebird egg in whichever box they choose, hang a spooker, and count incubation days; watch the two wren houses I just repaired and hung where they’ve nested in previous years; and help my husband, who is working feverishly to keep the sparrows chased out of his Purple Martin gourds! We have torn out at least eight house sparrow messy nests since the martins arrived in mid-March. This will be a never-ending cycle because you CAN. NOT. STOP. NATURE. Thank Goodness; and I wonder if we have lost the good sense He gave us, for even trying.

As a matter of fact, should anyone have driven past our peaceful little patch of earth today, they’d have seen a woman in her pajamas, being hoisted up in a backhoe loader, taking a messy nest out of a gourd, with a flock of fussing martins soaring back and forth waiting for their territory to be vacated of its intruders. Such is the life of a sparrow chaser. In hardly any time at all, we will be chasing European starlings, and hawks, as we strive to protect the future Purple Martin young. There is a balancing act in knowing how much to get involved and when to stay out of their business. Not so different from interacting with the rest of the world, is it?

Like many other pop-up or pop-in facets of our lives, the house sparrows make an awful mess. Not only do they invade and destroy young song birds, they build in rafters and make a mess all over your vehicles. And so, we chase. Very few of these sparrows will meet any demise so not to worry, but perhaps we will have aggravated them enough and chased them enough that they will end up in your neck of the woods. Not likely.

All this chasing causes me to stop and ponder — does God approve of our chase? Is my chase benefitting anyone or anything; or am I spinning my wheels in the dust of deadwood? Can I better use the time and talents given me? It all depends. Moderation in all things is highly recommended. If I can pursue a beloved hobby, and continue to use my resources to help another; if I can work in my life’s objectives, and stop to appreciate the blessings; if I can indeed enjoy those blessings and still stop to praise the Creator and Giver of it all, then surely I will have His approval. Lately, I have been tempted to go over-board (if only I could just get through the landscaping ONCE) so I needed the pop-in aggravations of the day to remind me not be too focused on my own agenda. To my own interests, I need to add those of another, and be keenly aware of priorities.

As one example of too much chasing, take this small writing table — full of writer’s paraphernalia, such as my journals, pens and pencils, dictionary, bibles, an Instant Facts book, and a laptop. Also by my laptop, is the sun visor and pair of gloves I used in landscaping yesterday. A bag of dog treats for one very important part of my life is accompanied by a plant, rooting in a jar of water, just begging to be transplanted. So much to do! Hopefully, I will see the cards hanging above the table from sweet friends, so I am reminded to be thankful for them. Also, there’s a box of cards I might use more often for jotting down notes to those needing encouragement. At hand too, is the study bible and devotional books just for a daily walk with Jesus. Life gets messy, and it’s important to keep the resources nearby to deal with it fruitfully.

As for our Saturday plans: the breakfast, a bust. The errands, one took forever and the other, no-go. The few jobs, still to be done. Some days are like that, and we just keep chasing. Someone once said, life isn’t interrupted by the unexpected; life IS the interruptions. I agree. I hope I can keep chasing the sparrows out of our loved ones’ lives, and keep finding a better and better me as I run along.

“to knowledge (add) self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love. For if these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 2 Peter 1:6-8

Have a beautiful fruitful week! Trisha