Regular Guy Russ

I have a confession to make.  I broke an unwritten rule last week.  Please do not judge me too harshly or think less of me, but I need to put this incident out there.  I played Christmas music BEFORE Thanksgiving!

I know, it’s borderline unforgivable. I was working on a project in my office and as I was listening to Pandora streaming, my thumb inexplicably moved to select my station that I had set up for traditional Christmas music. Streaming music can certainly be cool for things like that. Those classic Christmas songs had me singing along and before I knew it, my project was completed.

As I was thoroughly enjoying the songs being played and at the same time feeling like I was getting away with something, it hit me. I began to realize that the “Traditional” Christmas songs were all simple musically and the lyrics were all painting pictures of times that were special yet simpler.  No vocal runs or gymnastics, no complicated lyrical patterns to decipher.  Just songs about family, enjoying each other and the weather, and a longing to simply be together.

My blog is filled with multiple posts where I opine about simpler times and getting back to basics. I am admittedly an old soul in a now not so young body. However, there is something to “the way it used to be”, “when things were slower and simpler.” Our classic Christmas songs remind me of that.  Songs like “I’ll be home for Christmas”, “Frosty the Snowman”, “Jingle Bells”, the list goes on including all the traditional hymns. All centered around family, peace, and thankfulness.  As Andy Williams would croon, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

Today, we have technology that allows us to video chat with those who are far away and then log onto any number of sites, order the perfect gift and most likely have it on the doorstep the next day.  These are great things, don’t get me wrong.  From someone with a previous career in retail and thus an automatic aversion to a store this time of year, I am an easy adopter of the tech.  Somehow though I feel we’ve lost the simple times of just gathering with family and friends, when stores and businesses would close, and we would truly enjoy the holidays.

Obviously, this is the time to celebrate the best gift of all.  The gift of our Savior, Jesus Christ, stepping into this world to deliver us.  Even the Christmas story echoes simplicity.  Born in a stable, visited by Shepherds, raised by a simple carpenter from a small village.  His message was even simple, summed up in John 3:16.  Often in our churches we debate and parse verses and doctrines but sometimes in doing so we forget the simple message.  God incarnate loves you and gave himself for you to repent and turn to him.

So, use your technology to blast out some traditional Christmas music this Thanksgiving on your Bluetooth device from your Smartphone as you shop online! But please be sure to truly listen to those words. Take time to tell those around you that you love them and care about them.  Be thankful for the resources you have.  I pray that this holiday season you find yourself with at least 1 “Silent Night” to reflect and in that still, quiet space and time you make it a “Holy Night” as well.

Not too much.  Not too little, but hopefully just right.  No, this is not going to be a blog about the 3 bears.  It’s summertime in the Southeast.  I try each year to grow a good-sized garden.  More often than not, these 2 things do not go together.  That is, without rain.  That fact has had me thinking a lot about rain lately.

I’ve written a few blog posts in the past about things I have learned while toiling in the garden.  This year has been an odd one when it comes to weather. I planted most of my garden about the same time I usually do, around mid-May. Then it happened, dry weather.  I found myself doing an evening ritual of watering to try and keep the soil moist so the seeds would germinate. Then we got some much needed rain.  Cooking with gas!  That is until the week of June 19^th. Torrential rains for an entire week.  Several inches worth and temperatures in the 50’s.  Less than stellar weather for a budding vegetable garden.

“Just not the right amount” I thought to myself as I watched the standing water stand for days.  Got me to thinking about life and how the rain scenario plays out there.

We seem to have floods and droughts in life as well. Dry times financially where we worry about paying the bills or maybe a drought appears with a health crisis or family issues. Then sometimes we see times of prospering or blessing that can sometimes overwhelm us with too much good rain.  Sometimes that raise at work seems just what’s needed until we find ourselves owing more taxes because of it.  Or a welcome promotion seems to answer so many problems until you find yourself working many more hours or traveling more.  “Just never the right amount.”

Look no further than Job in the scriptures.  He was wealthy, flooded with blessings if you will, until he wasn’t.  He lost all, including his children, in a trial of his faith. Ultimately Job was restored and given even more than he had.  Job leaves us with this thought in Job 2:10 “. . . shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?”  Why do we sometimes suffer drought in our lives?  Why do we have those periods where we seem to be getting too blessed?  Job understood that there are times of rain, even too much rain, and times of drought in life.  As a believer, we understand that God has a plan, a plan that often doesn’t make sense to us.

You see, God controls the rain, and it usually is not according to our forecast, but His.  So, the next time you are dodging a downpour of blessings or maybe find yourself suffering through a dusty dry spell, remember God has the measuring cup of rain for our lives in His hand and His forecast is never wrong.

Have you ever been stressed or anxious about something so much that it has affected your health? Maybe your blood pressure was up, or you felt nauseous or had headaches?  

He was 100% God and 100% Man. No, he was not anxious about what was to come, he knew exactly what would happen. He was however grieved, and his heart was heavy for what he was facing. It started earlier in the week. On Monday we know that he wept for Jerusalem and its people. On Tuesday he delivered his powerful Sermon on the Mount. By Thursday he was back in the city and celebrating the Passover meal at sundown. During this evening it begins. One of his own deserts him and he explains to the remaining what is about to occur, but they are confused. He goes to the quiet space of the Garden to pray to the Father. Heavy with the physical suffering he was to endure but more importantly the spiritual burden of having every sin of every person placed upon him which would cut him off from fellowship with the Father. Mine. All my wrong doings. Every time I sin. He saw me and he saw you. We know the burden caused him to sweat profusely like it was blood dripping from him. Possibly even so much that the capillaries under his skin began to rupture and blood began to mix in. He was beginning to dehydrate. 

Have you ever been let down by friends or family members? Disappointed in them, hurt by them?  

He is perfectly obedient to the Father and what is to come. He looks for support from those closest to him only to find them sleeping. They have disappointed him and will do so many more times in the coming hours. I have disappointed him today and every day. Yet he encourages his followers to pray. 

Have you ever been caught off guard by an accusation from a friend or coworker or maybe even a family member? Have you ever been pulled over for a traffic violation you felt certain you were innocent of? 

Soldiers approach. He knows they are coming. He knows who is with them. A friend, a follower. His name is Judas. But it might as well have been Russ. Betrayed. By Judas, by me and by you. Taken away as a prisoner, he will not know freedom again until his purpose is accomplished. He has been up for over 24 hours now. He is weary and dehydrated. It will get worse. 

Have you ever been poked in the eye by accident? Ever had something or someone hit you in the nose? Ever fell and hit your mouth on something? 

He is taken to a meeting with the High Priest. He knows that nothing he says will alter the course of events. It begins here. Physical abuse. Punched, slapped, and spat upon repeatedly. Only he is blindfolded. He can’t tell when or from where the next blow will come. No way to brace himself. By guards, grown men. No punches will be pulled tonight, only mocking fury. His face is now bloody and swollen with multiple bruises. He’s probably having difficulty seeing and speaking. 

Have you ever been to a place where you get the run around? Try the office down the hall, take this form and go across the street. Come back tomorrow and speak to this person. 

Weary and beaten he is shuffled between 6 different appearances as Friday dawns. The High Priest, the Sanhedrin twice, Herod and then Pilate twice. At the last meeting with Pilate those some souls he prayed for and wept over on Monday now turn on him and demand his death. A murderer is freed in his place. The emotional suffering continues. 

Have you ever needed stitches for a cut? Perhaps suffered a broken bone or had to have major surgery?  

Purposeful torture. The Flagrum or in Latin Scorpio gives a better picture. Romans were experts at torture and discipline needed to keep their sprawling empire in line. His weakened body would have easily been wounded. Lash after lash delivered by a professional soldier. Metallic balls are designed to bruise and act as a meat tenderizer. Metal fragments and shards of sheep bones are designed to rip and tear the flesh. The blood loss at the scourging post would have been massive. In his state vital organs such as lungs, kidneys and liver would be visible from the back at this point. Me. I did that. I caused every one of the painful strikes. 

Have you ever been bullied, taunted, or made fun of? 

As he is prepared for the Crucifixion, the soldiers continue to enjoy their assignment. They place a purple robe around him. They fashion a crown of large, dense thorns and then hammer it into his skull so it would not fall off. The scalp is rich in blood vessels. The flow of quickly depleting blood now covers his face and drips to his shoulders. Me. I hammered those painful thorns upon his head. They laugh and taunt him, and they rip off the cloth robe. The robe had by this time begun to adhere to the massive open wounds. Pain and fresh blood would be forthcoming again.  

The end is near. He has been without sleep for well over 30 hours now. Nothing to eat or drink. His vital organs are in shock and already beginning to shut down. He is forced to carry the instrument of his death. Likely not the full cross as often depicted. Executions were done regularly. The upright posts were most likely left in place and only the horizontal member or Patibulum which weighed over 100 pounds would be carried. Depending on the exact location this journey was probably over ½ mile.  

Have you ever had a staple or tack stuck in your finger? Have you had severe muscle spasms, cramps or ‘Charlie Horses”? 

Exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually he arrives at the place of the skull. He is slammed down onto the rough and splintered wood likely stained with the blood of previous executions. Hand wrought iron spikes are driven through his wrists between the two bones, the Radia and the Ulna. This location is specific as it needs to support his weight. Then most likely the same type of spikes are driven, one in each foot, through the arch area, knees slightly bent. He is offered a drink solution to dull the pain, but he declines. He is now “Crucified.” By me, by my sins. 

As the cross is raised, his body weight now rests on the spikes holding his arms and legs. This begins to put pressure on the median nerves of the feet and legs as well as the arms. This causes enormous nerve pain. He tries to pull himself up to alleviate the nerve pain, but his dehydrated and compromised muscles rebel and he finds himself in a torturous cycle of spasms and cramping. This continues for some time. Eventually the pectoral and intercostal muscles of his chest stop functioning. This means he can draw in short breaths but with no functioning chest wall he cannot exhale. Carbon Dioxide begins to build in his bloodstream. 

For 6 hours this goes on. He is dying. Because of me. Painfully. But even then, he is thinking of me and sees me in his infinite view. He even asks the Father to forgive me because I helped place him there. 

Another crushing blow. The Pericardium Sac around the heart begins to fill with serum. It begins to choke his heart. Psalm 22 told us that would happen. The compromised heart, the tortured lungs, the muscle spasms, the blood loss. Finally, his body can take no more. He cries out it is finished and asks the Father to receive his Spirit. He is dead. I have assisted the soldiers and am found guilty.  

The day is ending, and Passover must not be defiled. Soldiers break the legs of the other 2 being crucified which means they cannot push themselves up to breath and soon suffocate. They come to him. He is already gone. But to be sure they pass a spear under his 5^th rib which pierces the pericardium. Blood and water flow out. He has died of heart failure, because of me. 

It is done. He suffers no more. Events happen at the temple. There are earthquakes and storms. He is deserted by all his followers except a few who take his body and find a burial place.  

But a burial place for HIM is not needed. As gruesome as his final hours were, his victory over death is even more glorious. It changes history. There is hope, there is a way. While he suffered and paid my debt, because HE LIVES, now I CAN LIVE! 

I have a pretty predictable writing style when I write my posts. Usually. I have a life experience that gets me thinking, I throw in some corny humor and hopefully tie it all back to a spiritual truth. Usually. Occasionally I step outside of normal and break the rules. This is such a post.

Last year at Thanksgiving time I wrote a post called “Empty Chairs.”  It was a reminder that we lose folks dear to us and that Holiday meals and gatherings may have an empty seat this year due to those losses. It was a good reminder, and you can scroll down through the blog to read that post.

This year it’s a little different. I know that we all have so much to be thankful for and I am certainly not trying to minimize the blessings or dampen the Holiday spirit. I have even started a thankfulness journal so I can remind myself when I get distracted by problems of the good things in my life.

I have been thinking a lot in the past couple of months about the chair Beside the empty chair. People who are heading into the upcoming Holidays with heavy hearts because they KNOW the chair beside them will be empty. That special spot always reserved for their dearest friend, favorite cousin, Aunt, Uncle, Parent, Child, or Spouse. The empty chair can often bring a grief that can be overwhelming.

Thanksgiving is my favorite time. I love to cook, and I just so happen to love Turkey, mashed taters, gravy, and green beans. Throw in that Thanksgiving week meant opening of deer season in West Virginia and it’s a winner! But I have talked with some dear friends recently that are dreading Thanksgiving Day. They know it will be a stark reminder of their loss.

My dear friend who lost a spouse a couple of years ago. She is aging and often feels alone. Her tears told me this wasn’t a day she was looking forward to. My friend that I have known for over 20 years from 2 different jobs and has lost both parents in just the last year and a half. There is no family left to gather around the table. At least 2 folks I know have spouses that are suffering from the horrible disease of dementia, and they can’t even remember any of the joyful holidays they’ve shared.

Then there’s me. And others like me. This will be the 29^th Thanksgiving without my mom. More than I had with her. The years are starting to fade those few precious memories I have of the Holiday season with her and that brings its own grief.

Some folks don’t talk about it much. Seems to be how I handle it. Some grieve silently when alone. Some use social media to help express loneliness. Others seem to nervously chatter about their experience. Some find their grief coming out in anger or depression during these next few months. We have all experienced losses, and we all deal with the empty chairs in our own way.

So, this Holiday season, give Thanks. Please take note of the empty chairs but more importantly look to the right or to the left of the empty chair and see the person struggling to get through the day. Hug them, comfort them, be patient with them. Send a card or an email. Buy them a coffee or hot chocolate and just Be There.

Be intentional to share Psalm 91 with someone this season. It’s a beautiful and brief passage about God’s love and protection over us. The psalmist reminds us that when we seek refuge in God, He is our fortress and that He has angels watching over us.

Find someone to be a Holiday Angel for this year. It may mean everything to them.

I’m getting older. There I said it. The gray hairs when I get a haircut can no longer be hidden or explained. The pulled muscles from getting out of the truck wrong is even more evidence. Father time catches us all.

But this isn’t a blog about my aches and pains or growing old. As I come to terms with my increasing number of candles on my birthday cake, I often find myself questioning how did it happen? It seems like yesterday I was studying for finals in college or helping Michelle plan our wedding. I know the answer is obvious but often in our human experience it seems like we’re cruising along in life and then suddenly it all changes or at least that’s what we perceive. What are those points in our lives where we don’t see it coming but something happens and when we look back we are able to say there’s where it all turned?

I just recently returned from spending a few days at our farm in West Virginia. As I visited with friends and relatives and observed the post Covid world we find ourselves in, I began to think about those turning points. You see several members of that very small, rural community have recently passed. A lot of the conversations centered around what happens now? To the farms, to the lives and families? I thought as I visited the small, historic cemetery tucked quietly on the ridge top of the many generations that were buried there. Where did it all change for their families?

It would seem that one day a family is deeply rooted in a place and then the next day generations are gone and a house sits empty and abandoned in disrepair with grave sites unattended. There are several old homesites in the area that have simply been abandoned. Evidence of the houses and barns are clearly there but no human presence has been there in a very long time. There was a point, a time or an event that turned that rooted family home into an empty shell to be all but forgotten.

We can’t stop them, these events. The Creator has a plan for all of us and that plan moves according to His timing. My point here is that we miss these events, these “Turning Points” sometimes because we aren’t looking. I am guilty of marching to the rhythm of work, church, etc. and when a shocking event happens I find myself saying “wow – didn’t see that coming!” But did I?

Being present every day. Knowing those times comes and doing my very best to close the day fully aware of my friends and family. You see there was a turning point for those early followers of Christ. His death. He told his friends about it- a lot. But they didn’t hear or understand him. Kind of like the farms whose families just assumed someone would always be there. Jesus’ disciples got it after his death. They got it enough to change the world.

What if we got it? Got that we need to be ready for the unexpected. Got that what feels normal today may well be gone or changed tomorrow. Just what if we got those things a little sooner, understood the “Turn” would come when least expected and perhaps in ways we couldn’t imagine? Perhaps if we held our family and friends a little tighter and worked a little harder to stay in the moment, what a difference it would make.

Young folks today will never know the pain. Trying to find just the right spot on the cassette where your favorite song started. Nothing was more of a downer than to be primed for the most awesome Air Guitar solo ever only to have skipped ahead too far and when you hit the play button it was in the middle of a sappy ballad!

Ah yes, technology – the ease and convenience of digital and on demand music. Gone are the 8 tracks and cassettes. But this isn’t a thought about longing for old school musics devices. It’s about an encounter I had at the park the other day and it’s had me thinking about fast forward and rewind.

I recently started a new job and fortunately there’s a large community park just a few miles away. I go there most everyday to eat my lunch, get out of the office for a bit and I try to walk around the ball fields on my journey to better health.

As I made my normal laps and was walking back to my truck I found myself suddenly caught in a time warp or so it seemed. The parking lot there is like most, divided into rows of spaces on the left and right as you drive in. I usually look for a spot under a shady tree and it seems several others had as well. As I turned the corner and walked down the parking lot aisle I found myself walking in between 2 very different groups of people.

It seems a small group of retired couples had chosen to take advantage of nice day that wasn’t the approximate temperature of the sun and less than 1000% humidity as it often is in North Carolina and had gathered under a spreading oak tree and were having an impromptu tailgate party, complete with chairs and good conversation. “Cool” I thought as I approached, “that sounds like the place to be today.” As I continued walking, I looked to my right and immediately across from the laid back tailgate was 2 young moms, complete with strollers, working feverishly to get some very uncooperative children out of their car seats and ready for some “fun” at the park. Their conversation didn’t seem quite as enticing to me and brought back memories of struggling with a fussy toddler to do something that should have been fun.

“Strange time warp” I thought to myself as I reached my truck. Total opposite points in life for sure. I began to think a lot about the 2 groups from the park as I drove back to the office. While I’d like to think my walking down the middle of those 2 events showed I’m right in between both, the increasing battle against gray hairs and sore muscles tell me I’m moving closer to the tailgate side. I began to wonder for each of those groups who would like to move forward or backward?

We often just assume that the seasoned tailgaters would love to rewind back to youth and young children again and that the moms would never give thought to being able to join the retirement tailgate, but is that really true?

Perhaps the more experienced folks looked across the parking lot at the young moms and had some fond memories but maybe their experience and wisdom did not have them wishing to go back to those times anymore than I want to give up telling Siri to play my song whenever I want to.

And maybe the young moms glanced across the aisle and gave some thought to where they would be when they reach the tailgaters age and where their fussy babies might be at that point.

It’s well documented here that I wax nostalgic often and have a hard time moving forward. But thinking of that scenario was perfect for me. Looking back at being younger, looking forward to aging gracefully, but more importantly I was walking, moving and not holding to the past and not fearful of the future.

Scripture tells us in Psalm 8:4 “Who is man that you are mindful of him . . . “ and Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us that there is a time for everything. Young moms at the park and retired tailgaters included.

As you read this, ponder where you are in your walk of life. Maybe it’s at the fussy toddler car or maybe you’re seated at the tailgate discussing life. Maybe you think of rewinding or fast forwarding from time to time. That’s OK just as long as you remember that you are here in the now, created for a purpose and remember to hit “Play.”

The fabric ones in different sizes and shapes are OK.  Balls are the absolute best!  Especially rubber ones with good bounce.  Squeaky toys that is.  Our Reilly dog is what many would call “Obsessed” with squeaky toys.

Ever since he was a pup Reilly dog has been a fetch fanatic.  He will literally play fetch for hours if we let him.  We often have to take the ball from him and make him rest or get a drink.  He’s pretty smart as well, knowing Tyler or I usually have time to play with him in the evenings, he will excitedly bounce between us looking for the sign or listening for the words “play ball.”  And a rubber ball with a good squeaker in it, well that might as well be a Ribeye to this pup.

So why are you reading a blog about a dog’s obsession with squeaky fetch balls?  Well, as normal in my writing I had an experience a few weeks ago that has had me pondering Reilly dog and his squeaky ball focus.

Like many dog owners, we have 2 dogs or they have us, not sure which. Our other dog Maize is also a Rat Terrier and her and Reilly come from the same breeder but they are completely opposite in style. While Reilly is a fine-tuned athlete and I truly believe he could give Usain Bolt a good run in the 100 and jumps 4+ feet from a standstill, Maize is smaller and certainly not athletically gifted, preferring slower walks and softer laps to runs and jumps. So imagine our surprise a few weeks ago when we had her in the yard and she sprinted off in chase of a rabbit. Sprinted right through our woods and off of our property, disappearing from site.

Of course, panic set in and if you have experienced a lost pet you can understand the fear.  I quickly grabbed Reilly and told him to go find his sister.  I also grabbed a squeaky toy in the hopes Maize would hear the sound and make a path back home.  As I stumbled through the overgrown areas of our woods and all while squeaking the toy I also was telling Reilly “Go find Maize, Find her Reilly.”  Several minutes into the panicked search I noticed something.

Reilly was following me.  Closely and very intently.  He wasn’t doing his Bloodhound work to track her or his Lassie like hero efforts to rescue her.  Instead, the reason he was closely following me through brush and obstacles was the squeaky toy I realized.  Every time I squeaked to try and attract Maize, Reilly would inch closer, gaze focused on me and the ball, oblivious to branches and briars. Michelle finally located Maize in an open lot, a little scared but no worse for wear. I tossed the squeaky toy into our yard and Reilly quickly sprinted like normal to grab it. 

I thought a lot about that as our fear and panic eased. What in my life am I that 100% focused and locked in on like Reilly that not even rough obstacles distract me or the panic or stress around me deters me? Are the things that I am locked in on the right things?

Like so many of my posts the focus should be pointing us all to the important things.  My family, my faith, those around me.  Hebrews 12:2 speaks of “looking to Jesus , the Author and Finisher of our faith. . . “ If anything should have my focus and attention then someone who is my author and finisher should have it.  But I often find myself more like Maize, content to plod along and then without warning, wandering offtrack on a wild chase and find myself lost in the woods.

Think of Reilly dog locked in on a squeaky ball.  Think of what and where you can focus, obsess even, like him and make sure it’s the right place. Oh, and next time you see a good squeaky ball let me know and I will add it to Reilly’s collection.

I opened the drawer and there they were.  I knew they were in there, I just had been putting off dealing with them until I had to.  Headphones. It was decision time for me and them.

Sounds odd to write a blog about headphones especially since it’s been quite some time since I posted anything.  I mean who even uses headphones anymore?  Everyone has some sort of Bluetooth ear mabobs (yes, that’s a word) or wireless speaker these days.

Well, in all honesty these particular headphones were for work.  It’s not like I was at the gym with these ginormous (also a real word) USB headphones on.  But man did they do the job (no pun intended) for work.   Hours and hours of conference calls, virtual training sessions, virtual meetings, all kinds of uses. 

I had them 2 jobs ago now.  These headphones had journeyed with me through the virtual world of Covid and stayed with me as I moved to a different company a couple of years ago and found myself still in need of their service.   Thus, we arrive at decision day.  I was fortunate enough to have another job opportunity recently and was doing the necessary desk clean out when I realized I had to deal with them.

So, just take them with you for crying out loud!  I hear you all yelling as you read this.  Sounds simple except for an important point.  The headphones didn’t work anymore.  You see one fateful day a few months back I accidentally rolled over the metal USB connection with my office chair.  A workplace injury you might say. I tried in vain to bend them back into working state but no luck.  So I threw them back in my desk drawer and bought a replacement pair.

What gives with the old broken headphones you ask?  Well since I just couldn’t bring myself to toss them into the awaiting trash can I realized that they had become more than just headphones. They were a symbol of my journeys through many work and life events.  My little security blanket.  I also realized it really wasn’t about the headphones since they had already been replaced.  Rather it was what they symbolized and the meaning they held as I reflected on the journey they had taken with me.  I’m guessing you’ve had or have a similar thing.  The symbol far outweighs their use.

I really struggle with letting things go sometimes.  Transparent moment.  Thus, housing broken headphones for months or the boxes of items from high school or college in the attic.  But as I sat there holding the headphones and pondering their fate, I remembered the words of the Apostle Paul in Philippians 3:13-14.  He talks about forgetting what’s behind us and moving forward towards the goals that matter – the goal of the Gospel especially.  It’s not bad to remember our experiences and we all have memories we treasure for a lifetime.  But at some point we have a higher calling and the future needs our undivided attention.

I still couldn’t carelessly toss them in the trash.  I brought them home, took a picture of them, and thought for a moment of all the years and events they represented.  I then put them in the recycle bin and hope to sit on the park bench they will one day become. 😊

So next time you may find yourself hanging on to seemingly worthless items, remember that what lies ahead is important and needs your attention. Cherish the moments and like Paul press on to the higher calling!

Chirping.  It can mean different things to different people believe it or not.  You can “Chirp” someone when you want to give them a hard time especially in sports.  Like, “Only losers like the Boston Bruins!”  That’s an excellent chirp.  You can also mean that someone is upbeat and cheerful.  Like, “Alex is really chirpy today.”  But enough with the grammar lesson.  Let’s just think about chirping like most people do – a bird’s way to communicate.

It wintertime and even here in the South it’s been cold and we’ve had a few days of snow and ice recently. It’s that time of year where the grass is brown, the trees are barren and what little daylight there is often ends up being gray and gloomy.  It’s just the way it goes weather wise this time of year.

Not so uplifting so far, I know.  It was with this backdrop that I heard it the other day and it’s had me thinking a lot about it.

The Chirp that is.  I was leaving my office building a few days ago after a particularly long and stressful day.  As I walked to my car in the drab and dreary gray and cold, I heard it.  A chirp and then a full song.  At least the chorus anyway.  It certainly seemed out of place.  A cold winter day with no food for a bird to be seen and certainly no reason to be chirping.

I spotted him quickly.  No leaves and the only creature making a sound makes that easy to do.  I’m no bird watcher so I can’t speak to what kind of bird it was.  Doesn’t really matter.  He was Chirping.

As I enjoyed his brief musical serenade and continued my journey to my car, I thought to myself “what’s he got to chirp about?”  Then it hit me.  Exactly. I was feeling none too grateful that afternoon and just assumed every other creature must be feeling the same way.  But they weren’t.  So, what gives with Mr. Happy McBirdy Face?

Well, he was doing exactly what he was created to do.  Live his daily life searching for some food and using his voice to communicate with other birds and to say, “It’s a good day and I feel like chirping.”  Kind of made me realize my grumpiness was not required. 

You see Jesus himself tells us in Matthew 10 and in Luke 12 that God knows about every sparrow and that not even 1 falls to the earth without His knowledge. So why wouldn’t this little guy sing on a dreary day?  He is fearfully and wonderfully made and is God’s hand. Just like us.  In fact, it’s in those same verses that Jesus is assuring us that if God knows the sparrows wouldn’t he care even more for us, his best creation?

I’ve been thinking a lot about Mr. Chirpy the past few days and it’s led me on a journey to be more thankful.  We’ve been so blessed with so much that it’s often easy to find ourselves grumbling when things aren’t perfect.

So next time you hear a chirp, think about that little bird. God knows exactly who he is and what he needs.  If he can care for the little birds, I’m sure he will take care of me and for that I can “Chirp” for him as well!