Today I watched a drama unfold from my front porch. A baby bird decided he was big enough to leave the nest. Flying as far as our driveway, he got tired, and his baby wings weren’t strong enough to go any further. He desperately flapped, but he couldn’t get off the ground. All of the birds in the hedge were strangely silent—no calling, no chattering, no fluttering. It was as if they were holding their collective breath, wondering at the outcome. The bird’s mama was hovering and chirping and fussing around her baby as he feebly tried to take off.

He hopped, he rested, he flew, and so it went for what seemed like hours. He finally got close to the hedge—his mother accompanying him all the way—and flew into the relative safety of the lower limbs. My family cheered. The other birds resumed their chattering. Thankfully, our cat was otherwise occupied. All was well.

This little scene reminded me that soon my own baby birds will leave our nest. Will they be able to see hidden dangers, or in their innocence will they be certain prey for the enemy? Will I hover and chirp and fuss, unwilling to let them go? Will I allow them to make their own mistakes, knowing when to step in for a rescue or just walk alongside?

But this is God’s plan. All baby birds, including my sweet children, have to leave the nest sometime. I have to trust the precious jewels of my nest to His care and His plans. He, amazingly, loves them even more than I do.