When I was growing up in Nebraska, my parents loved almost any bird that showed up at our home. Mother and Daddy tried to provide the birds with a sanctuary where they could sing and have safe homes. Their favorite bird was the House Wren – which I describe as small, tightly compact, plain brown, but cute as a button with an out-of-control tail that usually sticks straight up. Wrens are as peppy as tap dancers on too much caffeine. The male has an effervescent voice which he generously shows off from early morning until late evening. His song is unique, bubbly, and loaded with energy. Once you’ve heard that song, you will always recognize it. And he can’t help himself – he just can’t stop singing another cheerful song.

Perhaps wrens are so interesting to me because they seem mischievous and playful as they zip through shrubs and low tree branches. They love to build nests in birdhouses, old boxes, planters, anything that might be laying around. I’ve had wrens build nests in the wren houses I provide in my backyard every summer, and they often produce two sets of families a season.

One summer as I was sitting in my backyard having a cup of coffee, I saw the mother wren tantalize and cajole five baby wrens (as big as her) to leave their little house. It must have been terrifying for those birds to depart from a snug little house with siblings surrounding them and to leap into what must have felt like the Grand Canyon. The last bird almost had to be pushed out of the nest; it didn’t want to try out its wings or fly. It screamed bloody murder as it began its free fall – and then miracle of miracles, its little wings fluttered and it was launched.

A few weeks ago, I stopped by to see my friends Jane and Lou Gropp, who told me their wren story. They were so excited when they discovered that a family of wrens had chosen their vacant birdhouse, which had been hanging on a tree for years with not one family taking up residence. But when Jane pointed to the birdhouse, it wasn’t there. Unfortunately the house had fallen from the tree and was lying on the ground. Jane and Lou were devastated. The next morning they went out and started to pick up the house only to find that there were six live baby wrens inside. Wanting to do the right thing, they took the birds to the wildlife refuge where the vet told them to put them back in the house and hang it on the tree. If the mother wren didn’t come back to start feeding them, then they were to bring the birds back to the refuge. So they hung the house – with the baby birds inside – back on the tree. Within minutes, Momma and Pappa Wren were back on duty feeding the little ones as though nothing had gone wrong. Last week the birds were big enough to leave the nest and fly away.

Yes, another tiny miracle of miracles – and a lesson in hope and of never ever giving up.

Creator of all things, thank you for birds – especially for those high-energy wrens who charm us with their songs and their activities. What a gift they are to us. May we take a lesson from them and learn not to give up and to hold hope always in our hearts.  Amen.

Joy Carol
www.joycarol.com