Releasing It All To God

A quick flutter caught my eye.  I turned to look, but couldn't tell what I was looking at.

I was in the garden checking for the first ripe snap peas when something rustled in the compost pile by the fence.  A little, messy ball of brown and tan and ... wings.

A baby cardinal!  Trying to get through the chicken wire fence.  Trying to get back to the place he belonged. 

I bent down and gently scooped him up, speaking soothing words of "You're okay.  I've got you."  He struggled and screamed, straining to get away.  But I had to help him because there's no way he could get out of the garden on his own.  He was barely old enough to fly or run or grip onto a branch.  (There was a big storm the day before.  I wonder if he fell out of the nest.)

My 12-year old son loves wildlife.  He has a tender heart for creatures and loves showering care on anything that is in need.  So I called him out to look.

We both got to hold him (I say "him" but it could be a "her") as we figured out what to do.  We weren't sure if the parents had abandoned the baby or if they were even in the area.  We weren't sure what to do with a bird that young and incapable.

After a couple short minutes, there was a flash of wings in the tree line.  The mother.  She was nearby and watching, trying to figure out what to do, wondering why I was holding onto her baby and wouldn't give it back.

We decided that the best thing would be to put the baby in the back tree-line of our yard where the nest most likely was and where there is lots of brush to hide behind and lots of small shrubs where he could practice his climbing and flying skills.  He may have fallen from the nest (or just fledged too early), but maybe he could get enough practice to grow strong and capable.

So we set him down by the undergrowth and waited to see if the mother would reclaim the baby.  Once we backed away, it didn't take long for the anxious mother to swoop down next to the baby and call him further into the tree-line, away from predators and away from us.

My son is like me; we both worry about these creatures, wondering if they will be okay, if we did the right thing, if we should have done something differently.  

But as he bemoaned his fears about if the baby cardinal would be okay (and he prayed about it!  He brings every concern to the Lord in prayer.  And he's only twelve.  What an example!), I told him this:

"That baby cardinal is in the best place he could be - with his mother.  We don't know how to care for a baby bird, but she does.  She'll know best how to feed him and train him.  She will look out for him and protect him.  His best chances are with his parents."


But as we watched the baby cardinal clumsily hop toward the mother and get lost in the undergrowth, I thought about how I really wanted to keep him so that I could take care of him and make sure he was safe.  I didn't like releasing him back into the wild where there were so many dangers and risks.  I was afraid that something would attack this helpless baby bird on the ground.  But if he stayed with me, I could keep him safe and chase away danger better than a mother cardinal could.  I didn't like just letting him go, not knowing what would happen to him, not being able to watch over him, having to trust the mother cardinal to care for and protect him.

For the briefest moment, that baby cardinal was my responsibility.  I had to determine what to do with it: to keep it or release it.  But I knew that a baby cardinal didn't belong with me.  He belonged with his mother who knew better than I did how to care for him.

As much as I wanted to take care of him myself, I let him go.



As I watched the mother jump around the branches above the baby, swooping down near him and then back up into the branches again, I realized what an analogy it is for life, for how I deal with the fears and concerns and trials of life.

I always act like my fears and concerns and trials are better off in my hands. I hold onto them tightly, as if I can fix them or take care of them or keep them manageable, as if I know best what to do with them.

But I don't.

Over time, I have learned how incapable and scared and weak I am, how much I need the Lord to help me on the journey.  

My concerns are like that baby cardinal.  I want to hold onto them myself, thinking I know best how to handle them and fearing that if I give up the control to someone else then they might not get properly taken care of.

But God is like that mother cardinal - nearby and watching, knowing what to do about every concern I face - how to handle the trials and fix the problems and help with the things that make me afraid - and yet wondering why I hold onto them so tightly and won't release them to Him.  



A baby cardinal is not mine to take care of ... not when the parents are right there, capable and ready and willing to take care of it.  No matter how much I might want to hold onto it and make sure it works out okay, I have to release the baby to the one who knows best how to care for it, trusting that the parents will know what to do and when to do it.

And if I want the best help in handling my concerns and fears, I need to let them go, to release them to the Lord who is so much more capable than I am and who is ready and willing to help ... if only I would trust that He knows best how to care for me and that He will help me know what to do and when to do it.



While I didn't like giving up control over that baby cardinal, a baby cardinal is better off with its parents, the ones who know best how to care for it. 

And while I struggle with giving up control over the concerns of life, my concerns are better off with the Lord, the One who knows best how to care for them ... and for me.


The best thing we can do when we don't know what to do is to release it all to the One who does.