I easily cupped him in my hands and in a comforting way, began to talk to him in a soothing voice while trying to figure out what was wrong. Had he fallen from a nest? Was he sick? Obviously something was amiss and I so wanted to help him. Here I was at six in the morning, trying to run through my extremely limited knowledge of how to take care of a sick bird.
With the finch in one hand, I lowered my bird feeder with the other so that I could get a few seeds to feed him. Meanwhile I called to my husband asking him to find an eye dropper so that we could get liquid into him. Gosh, I just didn’t know what to do and was grasping for whatever solution I could come up with. Could I find him a worm and mash it up? Would he eat it? Would he drink water from the eye dropper???? I just didn’t know what to do. In the meantime, we discovered something wrong with his beak so my husband took the tweezers to dislodge whatever seemed to be gluing his beak together.
And with that, my sweet little finch, took a few rapid, frightened breaths and died in my cupped hands.
This sounds so silly but it seemed like a Biblical moment.
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.
With the sweet finch in my hands, I talked to God and asked him if he had taken the little finch home. And in my heart, I knew the answer was “yes”.