Chickadees

     Last September I moved from South House to a house that belongs to my church, Joy Tabernacle, and is located two doors north of the church building. I share the house with four other men from the church and I rent a small – 10 feet x 11 feet – room. Like a good German, I’ve engineered the space for efficiency. There’s a loft bed; I think of it as an upstairs bedroom. Beneath the bed there’s a library, consisting of desk, chair, file cabinet and book shelves. The library is separated from the kitchen by a curtain my mother made me. Another curtain separates the kitchen from the dressing room/closet. Beneath the window sits a tiny round glass table and a chair. Here I take my meals.  

Outside the window chickadees light on the neighbor’s bushes as if to cheer, amuse and keep me company. Dozens of them. The other morning, sitting down to coffee, I was disappointed to find them missing, but within seconds the miniature maelstrom fluttered in, as if delayed by air traffic. They seem to respond to my movements. This afternoon I went over to the window to see if they were there. At first, it appeared they were not, but then they slowly emerged, blinking, from the bushes’ leafless interior. Oddly, they all faced forward, like a legion of tiny soldiers presenting arms, in little grey helmets with black visors and filigree chain mail bibs. I counted twenty-seven. We stood facing each other, rather than giving each other the side-eye, as we usually do, though presumably this meant they weren’t looking at me at all. They reminded me of my students, who sometimes appear attentive though their minds are far away. Other times, they appear distracted while gauging every move. Why attend to chickadees? “Nothing touches your life but it is the LORD God Himself speaking to you,” claims Oswald Chambers. “Upon the head of the righteous [Christ is our righteousness], blessings rain down,” says Solomon. Chickadees are a blessing.

     People ask me why I’m in Flint. The answer, first of all, is to be within chore-distance of my parents, who live 60 minutes away in Midland. Secondly, according to scripture, there’s much to be learned from the downtrodden (for example, Proverbs 28:11, Luke 6:20-21) and much to be gained in their service (Proverbs 19:17).

     People ask me how my parents are doing. They’re 82 and have been married 62 years. Last week, rather than enjoying our standing Tuesday dinner date at their place, we went to their church, St. John’s Episcopal in Midland, for their pancake supper. Afterwards, on our way back to their home, we all agreed the pancakes had been very tasty. “Yes,” opined my mother, “but all that frying makes your clothes smell.”

     “Well I would say to you,” returned my father, who moves with the speed of an energetic snail, “as soon as you walk in the house, throw off all your clothes.”