[The LORD] makes springs pour water into the ravines; it flows between the mountains. They give water to all the beasts of the field; the wild donkeys quench their thirst. The birds of the air nest by the waters; they sing among the branches. He waters the mountains from his upper chambers; the earth is satisfied by the fruit of his work. . . . How many are your works, O LORD! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. (Psalm 104:10-13, 24).

A hundred years ago, mass media communication was in its infancy. So most folks here in Michigan would have had little knowledge, if any, of disasters such as the devastating tornadoes this spring. Life for them would be going on as normal, their tending to day-to-day chores and attending to nature outside their own back doors. Now, because of the constant and oppressive flow of bad news from the world, we often need to deliberately take our minds of the crises, take out the lawn chairs, and sit down to absorb the joys of creation outside our back doors.

One who did that well was inspirational writer, poet, and bird watcher Margaret Clarkson (1915-2008), writer of the beloved missionary hymn “So Send I You” put to music by the late John W. Peterson. Take a break with me, sit down in that mental easy chair, and let Margaret help rest your mind and soul:

Sometimes I like to take my boat and wander off to parts of the river where variations in habitat make it possible to see or hear birds not commonly found along my own stretch of shore. Early one June morning I glided into a shallow backwater surrounded by deep forest. As always, I could hear more than I could see; I was soon aware of the presence of wild things not to be found in my own light bush and rock-strewn, swiftly flowing waters.

With a startled squawk a great blue heron rose on silent wing, disappeared over the treetops, flying with long, slow gracefully measured beat, head drawn back on his breast, long legs trailing. The nasal “Yank! Yank! of a red-breasted nuthatch sounded urgently from afar; the hollow wooden clucking of a black-billed cuckoo rattled eerily from some alders by the water.

High overhead a warbling vireo burst into song, his lovely, liquid phrases incredibly beautiful. Hidden in the forest floor, an artless wood thrush poured out his fluted melody, his pure clear, clear notes mounting into the air like ever-increasing arcs of pure gold. The bold, bright whistle of an oriole rang out to his nesting mate as he rejoiced again and again in the wonder of new life. From far away came the plaintive serene sweetness of the song of a white-throated sparrow. In a clearing on the edge of the wood a purple finch sang in an ecstasy of abandon, as if all known joys were his and must be expressed in his song. And high in the branches overhead the shy, sweet piping of a reflective chickadee mingled with the soft rhythmic tapping of a wood pecker.

I listened for an hour, then started home. Why are the finest singers always somewhere else? I mused as I passed an open stretch alive with the music of indigo buntings and goldfinches. Why did my rocky acre seem to have so little of the glory that had refreshed and delighted me here?

As I turned into my own little cove and moored the skiff, suddenly a song sparrow at my side released a rivulet of sparkling crystal song on the morning air. Again and again he sang, as if his little heart would burst: “Sweet, sweet, sweet, oh sweet, sweet!” he caroled. “Sweet, sweet, sweet!” What could have been more beautiful?

My heart was filled with shame. Here he lived, at my very door, singing his vibrant, heartwarming song from dawn to dusk. A tiny brown creature, so drab as to be almost invisible among the twigs and grasses where he makes his home, he lives modestly and happily in almost any terrain, ceaselessly ministering grace to all who have ears to hear.

Every habitat must by its very nature exclude many of birdland’s most gifted choristers. We must travel about from spot to spot if would hear their magnificent music or hope to view their vivid, flashing wings. But the homely song sparrow with his tiny, throbbing throat spreads beauty and joy, courage and hope almost everywhere.

We may not all have the opportunity to thrill daily to the songs of nature’s most exotic singers, but God has left few of us without His song sparrows. May we become aware of them and learn to listen to their message with gratitude and thanksgiving!

[Margaret’s story and photos at Wheaton College]
[Look up and listen to all the birds Margaret refers to at the online Cornell Bird Guide]

Thanks for this important message, Margaret!