Lessons from a House Finch

Couple years ago, our family noticed this banging on the front door of our house.  It wasn’t constant, just occasionally.  But when it happened, it got your attention.  Our front door is mostly made of glass, and the noise was enough to make you get up from a perfectly comfortable chair in front of a perfectly fine flat screen TV to see what was going on.  Turns out it was nothing short of remarkable.

Some tiny house finches were building a nest inside a small basket of artificial flowers my wife had placed on the door as decoration.  And why not?  It was up high from the threat of neighborhood cats, and even under shelter in case of bad weather.  And you know when it comes to house finches and nests; it’s all about location, location, location.

Within a matter of days, the whole family was hooked on the miracle taking place right before our eyes.  I mean, I love Discovery Channel and Animal Planet, but this was like the live stage version.  The female was rather plain and gray, as house finches often are, while the male had a splash of color and I think what they called a pompadour back in the day.  Together, they would work tirelessly, building their little home of twigs, pine straw and sticks, mixed in among the best artificial flowers Hobby Lobby can provide.

Soon enough, eggs appeared and the watch was on.  My wife stretched tape across the back of the door, so no one would go out the door, and more than one delivery person was redirected to the garage door, so the birds and their eggs were undisturbed.  And then it happened.  One, two and three tiny baby birds hatched right before our eyes.  You’ve seen the pictures.  Sleeping most of the time, but when mom and dad came back with food, tiny little heads with alien eyes and chewing gum necks stretched up to the sky.  We checked on them constantly, trying to avoid the mother’s watchful eye, and amazed with how the father not only stuck around but took an active role in their nurturing.

And then, one Friday night, another commotion at the door.  The chirping was louder than normal.  So, ma in her kerchief and I in my cap got up to see what was going on.

The parents were strategically stationed in a crepe myrtle, only a short distance in front of the nest, calling to the babies.  It was time for them to fly.  The first one up was brave and bold.  He was ready, but then again, not so fast.  He would move to the nest, beckoned by his parents’ chirps, but then back away, as if to say “Wait a minute, how does this work?”  Finally, a literal leap of faith, and he flew to mom and dad in the crepe myrtle.  We were concerned, checking to make sure he found his parents in the tree.  Night was falling, and we could hear thunder in the distance.

The next morning, the show was on again.  Parents and baby together in the crepe myrtle, calling to the others.  Then the next one, and then the next.  All of this took the better part of a Saturday morning, but we didn’t mind.  It was fascinating.

This was nature --- created by the one true God --- at its finest.  And once they were all settled in the crepe myrtle, the parents flew to another tree, calling them again to follow.  And just like that, we were empty nesters.  Literally.

Last weekend, we took our oldest daughter Holli to Anderson University in South Carolina where she began classes today as a freshman.  Some parents call this the “drop-off,” but it was so much more than that.  We had two great days at this amazing university, which is a small private school that humbly calls itself “intentionally Christian.”  When we arrived Saturday morning to move her into the dorm, student volunteers with smiling faces appeared to help us carry all of her stuff into the building.  The next morning, there was a freshman family worship service and the “Archway Walk,” where all 600 freshmen marched down Boulevard, shook the President’s hand, and entered into the next chapter of their lives.

From the front lawn of the school, my teary eye fell upon a house finch, shuffling through some pine straw, and I thought about our little friends from a past Spring.  In much the same way, we were helping to call to our daughter, encouraging her to fly higher and higher, as she pursues her college degree two and a half hours away from the nest and 17 total turns, according to MapQuest, but who’s counting?

Thanks to the miracle of facebook and texting, Holli is never far away.  We will stay in touch more than most families do living under the same roof.  But I am thankful for the experience of last weekend, and the confidence the faculty and staff at Anderson gave to my wife and me.

My encourager through all of this was Emily, our younger daughter who at 16 is a junior at Woodstock High School.  When I started to feel the tears coming on when it was time to say goodbye, she calmly reminded me, “Dad, think about baseball.”  It worked, thanks to Chipper’s recent problems and talk of retirement.  But even with Emily, a driver’s license and steady boyfriend mean she’s away more and more of the time.  The seasons always have a way of changing.

So many of our friends have younger children, and we’re far from old.  But we remind them all, that tapping on the glass at the front door is a sign of things to come.  Enjoy the view while you can.  For soon enough, it will be time for them to fly away.