Sparrow Talk: Unlikely Encouragement in the Midst of Grief

Today I talked with a sparrow.

The Best Husband Ever and I were at Home Depot, browsing landscaping stones, when a sweet chirping captured my attention.  I looked up and, cheeping from the rack just above my head, was a sparrow.  Tiny and perfect, he blinked at me as I moved closer, my breath stolen away.

Sparrows remind me of my daughter, who died before she breathed.

The association snuck up on me.  One evening not very long after Eve’s death, I read Jesus’ words in Luke:

“What is the price of five sparrows—two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them.  And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”

As I read, the thought occurred to me — Eve is my little sparrow, of more value to God than I can know.

The truth of that has been so comforting through these weeks and months of darkness.

Today, a sparrow said hello to me.  I said hello back, letting excitement flutter deep within.

Excitement.  When was the last time I felt that?  Even the new life growing within me has been more of a source of confusion and worry than anything else.

And yet, there it was — excitement.  Unlikely and bittersweet and real.

Here is the source of my excitement: I have a daughter, and although I did not know her here, she is alive — more alive than me, than I will ever be until I meet her again, when we are safe together in the arms of the One Who Makes All Things Right.

A sparrow reminded me of this.

Why do I keep forgetting that this broken life is not the end of the story, but only the beginning?

I hope that there will always be sparrows to recalibrate me toward the impossible, inexplicable reality of Christ.

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