Tags
Easter, Faith, Family, gratitude, Life, Little things, Springtime
Standing cross-armed beside the small hummingbird feeder, I watched my Yorkie walk through the grass to do what little doggies do. Suddenly a faint buzzing blew past me and the owner of it hovered at the feeder. Not even an arm’s-length away, a ruby-throated male hummingbird began stabbing the plastic blossoms, drinking the nectar inside, and holding me captive – and captivated. It probably lasted no more than a minute, but it was a nice long southern minute, and I enjoyed it immensely. As they say, “it’s the little things”.
Inside an old weathered wooden bluebird box, are five little helpless baby bluebirds. I watched the parent birds build their neat little nest; then I soon counted one, two, three, four, and then five beautiful little aqua blue eggs, one egg per day. Fifteen days later, I raised the door to look inside, finding five scrawny fuzzy little heads barely bobbing about. Since then, I’ve looked inside to find tiny beaks wide open, awaiting the anticipated meals delivered so faithfully by the parents. They are too near fledging time for me to look inside now, for fear of causing premature fledging; but I feel pretty sure we will see an empty nest soon, and the world will be blessed with five little beauties looking for their place in the wild. I cannot keep myself from sending up a little prayer for their safety. It’s the little things, you know.
My husband has been on a frenzied mission lately. With an old badminton racket in hand – sometimes a battery-powered insect swatter – he is determined to get the carpenter bees before they riddle the framework of his outdoor buildings. Sitting on the front porch where the little buggers have tunneled through my swing, he is totally distracted from all else by these little things. I hope he wins. I like my swing. Little things – some good, some not so good.
It is only the end of April and I am about to start thinking all is not well with springtime. Just before a rain, during the rain, and after the rainfall, a trail of misery finds its way into the kitchen. By way of the minuscule crack where woodwork meets the wall, or under the baseboards, the tiny black crawling invasion makes its way onto any surface attached to the floor. The dog dishes are the first to be attacked; next, the countertop becomes their goal. Ant traps, spray cans, and constant cleaning seem to occupy way too much of our time. It is, sometimes, the little things that bother us most.
We enjoyed a lovely Easter weekend. I kept thinking of the big things – our daughter and son being near enough to spend the time with us; the table full of food and the ability to prepare it; the big-beyond-words sacrifice God made in allowing His perfect son Jesus to be the atonement for our sins; and ultimately, the enormous and wonderful morning of resurrection, making eternal life possible for all. “He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the pace where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6) NKJV. For all this, I am truly thankful. The big things genuinely are amazing. But what I found myself commenting on most, was the beautiful weather – a seemingly little thing. Rain had been forecast for the weekend; what we got was sunshine and a good breeze. Something unexpected – even something small – can be such a pleasure that we just can’t stop mentioning it. I guess it’s the little things that keep us pacified and occupied, while the big things – the strong important things – hold us up and carry us through. Could be, we are all just a bunch of little kids, being pacified and occupied; and God looked lovingly at us, and said, “It’s the little things that count.”
Have a great week! Watch for the fascinating little things.
Dreary describes the weather today, Easter Sunday, with another cold Kentucky rain. Memories flit through my mind of sunny breezy days with young children running through grassy tufts, peering into shrubs and up the downspouts. Baskets of brightly colored eggs swing on their arms; plastic eggs with coins or jelly beans rattling inside, some hard boiled eggs dyed and decorated the day before and some cellophane-wrapped marshmallows. I never have understood the connection between egg-laying rabbits and the resurrection of Christ. Nor do I get the connection between baby chicks that were dyed pastel colors and curly paper grass in a basket. Still, I did all of it. From brand new patent leather shoes to a pair of white gloves, my memories run strong in the wake of Easters gone by. 
Trisha's Coffee Break 