God's Little Sparrows

Mama Sparrow had warned him over and over again. "It's too risky and dangerous. You just mustn't fly too close to the edge of the forest," she'd scolded. But look at him now, she thought. Mama just knew, by the way he was winging in around and through other branches to their oak tree home in the forest that her young son had done it again.

"Again!" she sighed. "He's flown to the edge." As he sailed in closer, she saw the wind tossing his feathers every which way in his effort to hurry home. Mama watched his tiny wings, weary from beating as fast as they could go. And now his sweet but very tired-looking eyes were in clear view.

"That one!" she muttered aloud, shaking her head. But her eyes crinkled with joy, and she chuckled about the pleasure her young son had always given her.

In her mind she recalled how special he was to her. He was the only one of her four babies who had made it through a wintry storm that had thundered and swooped into the forest during the first few weeks of spring.

That storm, unexpected and terrible, came only a week after the babies were born. It was devastating... heartbreaking. Fierce winds ripped through the forest, uprooting most of the bushes and trees in its path. Both she and Papa were fearful their home would be the next to be blown away.

Desperately, Mama and Papa Sparrow settled as far down on their nest as they could to protect their four little screeching babies. Together, they hung on for dear life. They had never been so frightened! Nor had they ever seen or felt such a violent storm. Then, when showers of hail began pelting their nest and their feathery bodies, they were sure that neither they nor their babies would live through the night.

Suddenly, already wet and shivery, Mama and Papa were dumped out of their nest. On the ground, they huddled together watching in horror as the wind lifted their nest with the babies off the oak tree branch and blew it away into the darkness.

In the end, it had only been Papa's quick thinking, his grabbing Mama and catching one baby that had saved them. Papa simply had refused to let go of them until the storm died down. Finally the winds and rain stopped, and the morning sunrise shone through their oak tree branches. They were glad the storm was gone. But… so were three of their babies.

Now, months later, a shudder went through Mama. The memories of that terror filled night still set her feathers to quivering. But as she watched her tiny son flying in, she found her heart swelling with love and was grateful for the one who did survive. She always felt a great love for her baby, her only child, and affectionately she called him, "Darling Son."

Quite winded, he bravely managed to chirp out, "Yep." He hoped she hadn't worried… and that he wasn’t in trouble. Breathlessly, and very excited, he began telling her all about his really cool day!

Son Sparrow's head was fairly spinning with the wonder of his travels. “Oh, Mama, I had a great morning. I didn’t know how wonderful it was to fly and… stretch out my wings.” He resisted the urge to tell her about the scary thrill of pacing his flying speed to see just how far he could go without stopping to rest.

In his heart he guessed that Mama wasn't all that happy about his flying so far away or staying out in the forest so long. But wow! I love trying out my wings, seeing what’s around the next tree or finding out what is going on in the meadows or valleys.”

"Mama," he blinked his brown eyes at her. "It isn't that I'm anxious to grow up and leave you and Papa...it's just that, well, I like an adventure and...besides, I just have to know about things." He had gone through this with her before, but now in an effort to really put across his point, he explained once again. "You know, I just have this need to know! And oh, Mama, it's so big!”

"What’s so big? ” She glanced at him sitting on an oak tree branch and at the trees around them.

"The whole forest," he said, with a faraway look in his eyes. "Today I flew and flew, and still there was forest." Pausing a moment, he asked, "Does it stop somewhere?" He cocked his head, looked at Mama and waited for her answer.

"Does what stop?" She asked, pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about and went right on pecking around in the soft, downy feathers under her wing.

"You know, Mama, this forest beyond our oak tree...does it stop?" He was getting impatient with her. Besides, he thought, there are so many things out there I really need to know!

With an air of indifference, trying to act as if it didn't matter a whole lot, Mama tossed her head toward the right side of their tree and answered, "Well, there's a river over there...a high ridge where the Eagles live up there, and..." Her voice trailed off.

"But Mama," Son Sparrow pleaded, "What about the other way...over there. What's through those trees?"

Ah, Mama thought. She wanted so to shield and protect him, but she also knew she couldn't lie to him.

Quietly, slowly and almost sadly, she said to her baby, "Darling Son, out there..." She bent her head slightly toward where the sun went down each evening, "...that's where the forest ends near…That place."

Mama met her son's steady gaze head on and, as sharply as she had ever spoken, said, "That place…the city! And believe me, it would be best for you not to fly too close...

"Yes, yes, Sparrows and a variety of other birds live there...” Now Mama was getting impatient with him. And like all mothers, she was wondering just how you tell your only child about the dangerous things lurking in the city. She pondered about the value of explaining to him about little boys with BB guns, large gray or yellow-striped cats, and about those mysterious fast-moving objects that took the lives of so many city Sparrows.

Mama heaved a sigh, shook her feathers, and trying to convince him that she knew what she was talking about, chirped, "Trust me, Darling Son. You'll be safer in our oak tree, here in the forest with all your friends. No one will hurt you here, but out there...it’s a very dangerous world, especially for young Sparrows."

"Aw, but Mama," Son fluffed out his feathers and sat up as tall as he could, "I'll be safe wherever I go because I can fly fast and every day I get stronger so I can fly farther." He saw a frightened look gathering in his Mama's eyes. "Now Mama, please don't worry. After all, I'm almost full-grown… and I just want to see and learn about everything."

Mama gave him a quick peck on the white stripe of feathers that topped his tiny brown head and was about to outline the dangers of that edge of the forest when Papa winged in.

Whew, just in time, Mama thought. But before she could signal him, Son Sparrow cried out excitedly.

"Papa, Papa. Tell me about the city... What is it? Exactly what kind of Sparrows and other birds live there? And how come Mama says I mustn't go there? Huh, why not...huh why?" He was bursting with questions as he chirped on and on and hopped about from branch to branch. Papa rolled his eyes towards the treetops and then shot a What's-going-on? glance at Mama. Shaking his head and stretching out a wing, Papa chirped, "Wait a minute. Hold on there, Son...I just got home. Now give me just a moment."

"Papa," his son’s voice was pleading again, "Papa, I just need to know. I want to know everything about everything!"

"Son, you will know about everything soon enough." Papa's voice was kindly, but there was a sad gruffness in his words that Son had never heard before. He wondered what that was all about.

Mama had heard enough for one day. Taking matters into her own hands, she cleverly changed the subject and chatted with Papa. But what caught her eye, and her heart as well, was the keen look of disappointment on her son's little face. So, hoping to lift his spirits, she changed her mind and went back to his "need to know."

"Well, Darling Son,” she prodded, “when you were out flying today, whodja you meet?" But he only lowered his head and looked away.

Papa tried. "Son, come on. Tell us, did you fly with someone new? Or maybe you saw something…huh?"

When he couldn't hold out a moment longer and with his eyes lighting up, he bubbled, "Oh Mama and Papa, it was all so cool! For a while, in the morning mist, I hung out with the Blue Jays in the grove of elm trees. What a loud bunch they are!" He shook his head and flashed his parents a quick smile.

"Eight, no nine." He smiled and shaking his head added, "Those Blue Jays are the scrappiest families I've ever known!"

"Course, that's not saying much," put in Papa, "seeing as how you don't know a whole lot of bird families." He winked at Mama.

Now as they were settling down on a branch of the large oak tree they called home, Son Sparrow just couldn’t help it. He went on and on, entertaining them with one story after another about his spectacular day in the forest.

Mama raised her eyelids, leaned over to take a closer look at him, and Papa hopped towards him urging, "Go on, Son, we're listening. Tell us more about your day and the Blue Jays." Papa waited a moment but his son was so silent, he prompted, "I'm sure you saw some of our Sparrow families, too. Right? You know, you've got a lot of cousins…"

But the young Sparrow didn’t even look up. He was just as still as the tree branch he sat on.

After what seemed like a long time, with only the soft twilight sounds of the forest humming around them, Mama brought up the Blue Jays again. Son Sparrow sighed and then very quietly, he said, “It's not the Blue Jays, Mama…it's ...it's the Nightingales. I met several of them just before I came home tonight.” Mama and Papa momentarily stopped eating and waited.

Looking over at her, he asked, "Mama, have you ever heard the Nightingales sing?" He looked up at the treetops and strained to hear them in the gathering dusk.

She nodded, "Of course, many times, Darling Son."

"Aren't they just great? I couldn't believe them today. The melody, their songs. You know," he continued on braver now with his enthusiasm rising. "Nightingales don't just 'chirp, chirp, chirp.'” He said, his eyes round and bright. “They’re different and their voices are awesome! And Papa, there was one Nightingale maybe a little older than me, but when he lifted up his head to sing, out of his throat came...the most beautiful sounds! His voice was so strong it was like he filled the whole forest with it. I mean, wow, Sir, I never heard anything like it...Sparrows can chirp rather well, but..” he pulled his head down into his neck feathers, “but we don’t sound anything like the Nightingales.”

"Oh I don't know," Mama smiled and said rather wistfully, "Your Papa used to sing some pretty wonderful songs to me when we first met. I was quite impressed. I could listen to him for days."

"Cut it out..." Papa responded with a twinkle in his eyes, nudging her with the tip of his wing.

"But you know what I mean." Son was intent on making his point. "Sparrows like us can sing, sure, but Nightingales...they can really sing!" He tilted his head to the side and to Mama Sparrow’s heart, he looked terribly sweet.

"Mama, you know what? I wish I could sing like them. In fact," taking a deep breath and running the risk of offending them, he blurted out, "Sometimes I wish I wasn't a Sparrow. I wish I was a Nightingale. I wish I could just put my head back and out would pour the cool sounds like the Nightingale songs I heard today."

From the corner of his eye, Son Sparrow saw his Mama's look go from dismayed to more than mildly upset. And it was easy to see that Papa's expression was somewhere between shocked and disgusted. Even Papa’s feathers were starting to ruffle. He’d seen that look once or twice before, and it came to him that he had probably crossed a line, said the wrong thing, and was about to get it!

Though Papa was close to shouting, he regained some measure of control and said gruffly, "What do you mean Son, you wish you weren't a Sparrow?"

Okay, I'm dead. I’m going to be batter dipped and fried, he thought. And Mama will probably say that thing I hate to hear most, “Son, we need to talk.” Those were the scary words that always set his feathers quivering, his tummy growling, and his voice reduced to croaking like a frog.

"Papa, please," he quietly pleaded. "I just meant that I thought most birds sang like us, you know, the way we sing songs. But then I heard the Nightingales..." His voice faded off.

He thought for a moment he was about to get knocked clean off the tree branch. Papa pulled himself up to his full height, flexed out his wings for a show of strength, and shouted, “You listen to me, young Son…we Sparrows go way back...our family tree is filled with noble birds, which, I might add, includes many different kinds of Sparrow families. We’ve been around for a very long time! In fact, Sparrows are even famous in some circles! And we have our own wonderful songs!"

Son had his head down, examining the branch under his feet. Papa raised his voice and yelled, "Son…Son, you look at me when I'm talking to you!” Son snapped his head up, looked his Papa in the eye, and instantly replied, "Yes, Sir!"

As he hopped back and forth on the tree branch, Papa went on. "Oh sure, Sparrows aren’t up there soaring around the high cliffs and ridges like the Eagles. And Sparrows aren’t brightly plumed like the scarlet Cardinals. And Sparrow feathers are not the color of sky like the Blue Jays, and we aren’t streaked with the sunshine yellow of the Finch families, but by thunder, our Creator made Sparrows just as he did all the other feathered friends of ours in this forest! And I'll not have you bad-mouthing Sparrows just because we don't sing like Nightingales!” He gave his son a piercing look. "As I said, we have our own songs! And they are pretty good, if I do say so myself!"