Inspired by Karen and Steve: What would I blog about if I could blog today? I’d write about how this pair of birds, little swallows or swifts, not sure which, built a nest over my front door; how they had a family of five in June; and how they grew up and flew away to explore the world on their own. Then how, the same pair started another family in the same nest in July, but this time, one of the nestlings fell out of the nest one evening. I scooped it up in a paper plate, climbed a ladder and gently placed it back in with the others. It seemed happy to be home. The next evening, the little runt was again sitting helpless on the floor of the front porch. This time, I left the poor thing there thinking this was nature’s way, God’s way, to handle this undersized, underdeveloped, little bird.
Maybe I could write about my reaction to Doc’s post on why not to give charity to professional beggars and how it reminded me of this story about a man trying to save a scorpion. And how I feel guilty if I pass a beggar by averting my eyes and ignoring him, or how I sometimes still feel guilty even if I give him some money.
Maybe I could write about how the convenient excuse of “I don’t know what to do” doesn’t really cut it with Jesus.
Maybe I could write about how I called my daughter from work the next day to go find a shoe box and an old towel to place the little bird in, and try to find some kind of recipe on the Internet so that we could try to feed it. Maybe I could write about when I got home that evening and how we tried, but the poor little thing would not eat, all covered in tiny, little fleas and its eyes barely open.
Maybe I could write about how I almost threw up yesterday morning after finding this picture of Baby Malachi on the Internet, after hearing an anti-abortion person speak on the radio the night before, and how this one cold-hearted, “reasonable” weblogger denies that a fetus is a person, even if he or she looks like a person.
Maybe I could write about how I then found the baby bird dead in its shoebox and how I buried it before my kids woke up.
Or, maybe I could write about why I can’t stop crying this morning for that darn bird, Baby Malachi, the beggars on the streets, and that cold-hearted weblogger.