“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” — Matthew 10:29–31
A glance at the thermometer just outside the window tells me all I need to know: my flowers need water and they need it now. Not even 11 o’clock and it’s already over 100 degrees. I fill the watering can and head outside.
A small pink ball catches my eye as I near the flower pots next to the latticed brickwork wall that shields the patio from the street. It’s lying on the ground next to the wall. I look closer, expecting to see that it’s made of rubber when it moves and turns toward me — a pink ball with an out-sized yellow-rimmed clown mouth. My heart stops. It’s a baby sparrow.
It’s obviously fallen from a nest in the lattice brickwork. I look in vain for signs of a nest, then glance again at the baby bird lying helpless on the hot cement, its mouth moving reflexively without a sound. It’s dying. If I don’t pick it up, it will cook out here in the heat. If I pick it up and take it inside, it will probably die, too. It’s so young, it doesn’t even have feathers yet.
Mother instincts take over, though, and make the decision for me. I gently pick it up and carry it in the house. I line a plastic sandwich container with Kleenex and put the bird inside. Food — it needs food. I remember having powdered baby bird food when my parrot Dino was a baby, and syringes to feed him. Pulling them out of the cupboard, I mix a small batch of the powder with water and load the syringe.
The over-sized clown mouth opens and I gently insert the syringe, trying to remember the right way to guide the syringe into the baby bird’s gullet. As I gently depress the syringe, I pray that I’m not choking him. He suddenly alerts and starts gulping at the syringe in fitful spurts. I continue to slowly depress the syringe until the mixture is nearly gone. Then I take a close look at the sparrow. He’s moving very slowly now, and his mouth isn’t gaping wide open any more. Did I kill him? I watch as he quickly drops off to sleep, then breathe a sigh of relief.
Now what? Did I just adopt a baby sparrow?
My husband arrives home that evening to find the baby bird on the kitchen counter in the sandwich container. After taking a closer look, he insists that we name him. I’d been thinking of him as “the other bird” to differentiate him in my mind from our parrot and cockatiel. Maybe an acronym? The Other Bird? TOB? Add a Y? TOBY? That works — mission accomplished.
Toby is an enthusiastic eater. Every hour he wakes up and starts chirping, softly at first, then louder and louder until I feed him. Then he goes back to sleep, and an hour later, the process starts over.
Although feeding him is time-consuming, it doesn’t present a problem the first couple of days. When Monday morning rolls around though, and my husband and I both have to go to work, I am faced with a dilemma. How do I feed Toby every hour?
Hoping my plan will work, I arrive at work with a brown lunch sack that looks like, well, lunch. I put the bag on my credenza and open the top. Toby is still asleep, but a glance at my watch tells me that I’ll need to be ready with the syringe within twenty minutes. And the tricky part will be getting him fed without too much noise. My boss’ office is right next to mine, and at this point I’m going to adopt the policy that it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission if I’m caught with a live bird in my lunch sack.
First feeding goes well, as do the remainder of the feedings that day. No one discovers my secret, although a couple of people glance in my office when Toby releases a few random chirps, but my innocent look kills any questions they might have wanted to ask.
I am amazed at how fast he grows. I am also amazed that he is alive and thriving. Within just a few days he has feathers and begins to look like a bird instead of a rubber ball. Within a week he can perch for a few seconds on the side of his sandwich container.
Toby continues to grow throughout the second week, and caring for him at work goes off without a hitch. Saturday morning rolls around — the two-week anniversary of the day I found him — and I decide to put him in a box outside on the patio for a little while to get some fresh air and listen to his bird family chirping. I am still trying to figure out how I can release him into the wild when he’s been raised as an indoor bird.
I settle in a chair next to the window to watch Toby as he enjoys the fresh air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an adult sparrow hop toward the box. A second sparrow joins the first. One look tells me that the first sparrow is an adult female and the second an adult male. As they hop closer to the box, they chirp loudly. Toby answers with a few loud chirps. The first sparrow hops up and perches on the side of the box. She chirps loudly, then hops back down from the box to the patio. To my astonishment, Toby hops up on the side of the box and perches for a few seconds before he also hops down to the patio and follows the two birds around the corner and into the bed of irises.
I sit, stunned. I had no idea that Toby could hop that high, but even more, I had no idea that his family would come looking for him, recognize him, and lead him home.
And that was the end — or rather the beginning — of Toby’s life as it was meant to be lived, as a sparrow, soaring through the evening air and chirping every morning as the sun rises.
“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” — Matthew 10:29–31
I always loved these verses in Matthew, and they always comforted me when faced with a difficult time in my life. After God gave me the blessing of Toby, however, these verses came to mean much more to me. Not only did God vividly illustrate the truth of God’s love to me, He also helped me realize the blessings that come with giving sustenance to the helpless. I came to realize that I gained much more from giving than I ever thought possible, and if I am so blessed by keeping a sparrow alive, how much more blessed I am when given the opportunity to help one of God’s children. This is our best and highest purpose — to serve and care for others as He does for us.
