There was nothing I could do to save it. I had the idea of possibility and held it in the palm of my hand as if it were a wish, I felt heroic.

Arriving back home, I searched every tree for an unoccupied nest. The object I’d held onto for the entirety of my walk was a tiny bird egg I’d found on the trail.

In my palm, I noticed the pale angelic blue. Only glancing as I set out to save it, I hadn’t noticed the sweet blueness.

What a grand thing, I thought, to save it would surely have significance! It would be a nod to my worth, the little bird I saved so very important, me too!

I found no nest in the backyard and hurried to the front to find the left behind nest of straw in the garage, a bird nest in the corner of a plastic box.

I opened my hand to settle it in the safe place and saw the glistening of the egg’s innards spilled out into my palm.

In my excited determination, I held on too tightly, I had finished the shattering of the tiny egg.

Naturally, I thought about it. What was I thinking that I in my feeble humanity could save a bird’s egg with an already cracked shell?

I loved the idea of it, not finding just another feather to hold up to the air. Instead, an egg and the eventual birthing of a bluebird of which I could say I was responsible.

I returned to the yard with the Labrador here for just a night. Nothing could fix what I’d broken, I moved on from it to check the blueberries.

And in them, found a grace of sorts. The bushes now four years old and this year, we will finally have a little crop.

Quiet in our yard as the day turned to dusk, I picked every plump one, leaving the pale lavender for later. My granddaughter will visit. We’ll pick more together.

Enough for a small cobbler I decided, a bowl full of berries, rich in a blue, a cobalt vivid color.

Deep blue like a treasure.

Sleepless around 4, I dreamt of water and woke to get a drink.

Unable to calm the beat of my heart, I adjusted the air and recited the 23rd Psalm.

My reluctant mind finally settled and when I woke I thought of the tiny egg and how I’d found and then lost it.

What is the lesson? I wondered. Should I have left its salvation to the mama bird who’d find it or just accept it had fallen?

Had not been meant to fly.

I turn to Psalm 23 to find my drawing in the margin, a border of blue sky and the idea of a tree.

I think for a bit about the teaching of verse three, the verse that assures us that God sees and knows our paths.

“He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He restores my soul again and again. The restoration I find on the paths of His making are not odd or unusual or silly.

Odd that I would believe it possible to save an unborn bird?

No, not at all because it led me to consider the Sovereignty of God, the lack of power of my own.

Who decides if the hydrangea blooms or dries up to brittle brown? Who decides if a bird is kept safe in the wing of its mama or if the wind or something other causes it to be separated from the nest? Who decides if the blueberries produce a yield?

Only God.

God only knows.

“You have made known to me the paths of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.’”
‭‭Acts‬ ‭2:28‬ ‭ESV‬‬

May you find the wisdom of God on your path today. May it be simple, so significantly simple.