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The morning wasn’t extraordinary other than I had awakened earlier than usual. The night had not been my friend with constant worries. Would today be the same, I wondered, recalling unexpected events. If only I had quick reassurance that all would be fine, I thought. With a freshly brewed cup of espresso, I headed onto my veranda, realizing I may be able to catch the sunrise. Bundled up inside my robe and slippers, I stepped onto the tile, the brisk late autumn air stealing my breath a moment and pushing steam upward from my cup to swirl in patterns that any artist would be envious of. “Thank you, Jesus,” I whispered before sipping my first taste from the mug. This little verbal ritual was one I’d learned from my hard-working Italian grandfather, who every early morning before firing up the ovens of his Brooklyn bakery, would pause to thank the Lord for another day. Today, though, as I said the words, my voice sounded faint. Sighing, I stared toward the somber horizon, aware that it may be a while before streaks of red and orange burst through. So cold, dark, and silent right now, I thought. Just like my emotions today. Where were the birds and their happy chirping this morning? Glancing at the lilac bush next to the full bird feeder, I frowned. This bush usually acted as a haven, housing many sparrows all year long. This morning, however, not one feathered friend occupied its barren branches. Disappointed, I turned my attention back to the horizon, noticing spots where vibrant hues of orange had finally broken through. When the magnificent bright orb popped just above the horizon’s line, my breath caught. Spellbound, I watched and pondered, aware that it seemed as if some sort of message called to me. But what? Turning back to the bush, I noticed how the reddish-orange glow of the rising sun spread across it like ocean waves, first throughout the top branches and then to its roots until the entire bush was fully illuminated by a sunburst of color. It was then when I noticed them. No less than fifty sparrows had been there all along, perched on and beyond the knotted bare branches, their brownish colors camouflaged into the backdrop until the sun’s radiance had revealed their hidden places. In awe, I watched them. Dozens and dozens of sparrows perched quietly on branches, relatively motionless as they basked in the warmth of the rising sun. Not one sparrow flew to the feeder. Not one sparrow flew away. All were so still; it was as if I could reach my hand out and gently snatch one away. They stayed that way a long time, seeming so content as they absorbed the sun’s early light. When the sunrise’s orange glow had melded into full sunlight, it was then that they finally became active—engaging one another, singing, and taking turns at the bird feeder. Now, I am not a bird expert, and maybe it was just this odd day that so many sparrows chose to fill that massive bush, but for some reason, as I stood still, cold but mesmerized, my lesson unfolded. And within that lesson, peace. You see, like many people of faith, sparrows remind me of the scriptures against worrying. Yet in the past, every time I read those specific scriptures in Matthew 6:25-27, I envisioned the Lord doing the reassuring about how not to worry. He was the one performing the main “action.” But this morning, these charming, feathered friends were modeling for me an important step that I could make when fearful, and it wasn’t only quoting a scripture. Instead, it was the sweet, essential state of being still, of absorbing and basking in a higher power’s light until that beauty warmed me inside, filling me with a trust in something much more capable than I. Oh, but that sounds too simple, doesn’t it? Especially since this message is nothing that many haven’t spoken of or written about for years. Yet, today, as the risen sun evaporated the frost upon the green earth, and the sparrows fluttered and flew all around creating a precious fullness to the air, I grew encouraged to relax and to trust once again in a God who cares and hears our deepest longings. What then was there to fear? Earlier I had stepped outside on a whim, and I’d been met with wonder and unexpected encouragement. But now, going forward, I determined that each new day I would seek the quietness. I would pause and breathe deeply, then wait in expectation and certainty just like the sparrows had done knowing that something much more powerful than I would arise. Smiling, I realized that my grandfather and mother had known this tender secret of faith all along. I, on the other hand, hadn’t grasped its full meaning until now. Until I had stood outside on a cold morning, watching common birds that others may think unremarkable, but knowing that these brown feathered messengers were anything but as they showed humankind their simple wisdom. “What the Sparrows Know,” I whispered excitedly. “The title of my next story.” Heading back inside the house, I brewed a pot of coffee then sat at my desk, picking up my pen while fully aware of a curious little messenger, a lone sparrow, who appeared outside my window as if to cheer me on. ~Karina Garrison
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