To you, that one weary from caring

“Mommy, that bird!”

Heidi ran down the stairs to the center of the driveway, bent over the broken feathered friend.

Truth be told, I had already seen the bird. But I was eager to finish my walk, I was weary from so much brokenness already, and my compassion-well was bone dry. Besides, it was a bird.

I walked a little closer and it was clear what had happened — just a few feet away our housemates’ cat crouched, ready to finish the job. Heidi placed herself between the bird and the predator.

“His wing is broken, we have to help!”

Compelled by compassion, she swooped in, urging the bird into a bucket, something to keep him safe. But of course, we all know what happened:

Whenever you move toward the wounded they flail, flee, fearful of the very one who offers safety.

Blind to the greater danger just out of sight. 

The cat came nearer, creeping ever closer … Heidi turned toward it, ready to defend the weak:

“No, go away!”

With greater intensity she prodded the flailing bird into the container, trying to be gentle but also recognizing the danger of leaving this little creature alone.

Time was of the essence.

Even as I leaned in to help, I saw the bird resisting her nudges, moving against her. I could only imagine if that bird could articulate how he felt:

Ouch! Don’t poke me! You’re doing it wrong! Stop! I hate you. You’re the problem! Leave me alone!

I blinked back tears.

The cat kept close. Ever ready to pounce. The bird, unaware, kept fighting. 

Once the bird was out of immediate peril, Dutch and Heidi quickly created a nest, a safe place, in a cage we had on hand.

The cage, those parameters, weren’t meant to confine or control, they had to keep that broken bird safe.

Oh, little bird, you aren’t in trouble, you’re in danger. 

Ever eager to help, they quickly researched eating habits, how to best help this thrush.

Consumed with compassion, they gave all their effort to helping it heal. 

Heidi happily dug up worms. Every few hours, she’d return to the cage, feed her feathered friend.

His well-being was never far from her mind.

I watched. Wishing with everything in me that this might turn out well.

The next day, the thrush died.

Thankfully, Heidi took it well. Better than me in my own broken-bird situations.

Hadn’t I just sat, tears blurring my vision, pouring out heartache over all the wounded ones? A complicated mixture of frustration, hurt, grief, ache, sorrow. Tinges of hopelessness mingled in, a little bit of wanting to give up.

Why help the broken, when all you get is a broken heart? 

After drying my tears, I walked downstairs, saw Heidi sitting there caring for her own kitten. Her compassion still flowing freely, untainted by the previous day’s loss. Sure, the thrush had died, but were her efforts wasted?

Of course not. She’d done right. Done well. I was so proud. And, her heart grew in the process.

Every time we love, truly love, we grow. Our capacity widens, deepens, heightens, reaches farther into the dark crevices and undoes the Evil One’s work.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. (1 Peter 5:8)

Remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the error of their way will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins. (James 5:20)

And I thought of you. You who are weary of helping and being blamed in the process. You who are tired but get back up and try again. You who are quietly bearing burdens. You, silent wife, who are trying to honor your husband but your eyes cry out pain louder than any words can say. You, faithful mama, who agonize over what’s best for your kids, and wonder how to heal their hearts. You, aging parent, who watch young ones from a distance and wish you could swoop in and save. You, bereaved one, who move outside your own pain in order to selflessly serve others. You, friend battling disease, who aren’t defined by your diagnosis but who chooses to fight every day. You, faithful non-profit worker, who quietly works behind the scenes so others can thrive.

You, who care. You who pick up the broken-winged birds. Who dig up worms and visit cages.

You who carry the wounded on your heart all day long. 

There’s a whole army of you out there, I know. And you are seen. The God Who Sees (Gen. 16:13) has seen and He is never aloof. He never gets compassion-fatigue. He never runs out of grace and peace and mercy and patience and if you will slow down and sink into His presence, He will fill you afresh.

You get to be part of the Fellowship of the Brokenhearted.

This isn’t to make a hero of you, of me, it’s just to say: Don’t give up. Draw again from His well, His unlimited supply, His eternal resources extended to us if we ask. Don’t attempt all this in your own strength. Roll ever burden, all over again, onto Him. And if you are hated in the process, remember, He was too.

There’s nothing you will face that He hasn’t already. 

Don’t let the darkness win. Light always overcomes. Keep wielding the light, dear friend.

Oh, and take a nap too. That’ll help. 

{Thanks for reading.}