It was just a little more than a year ago, on a fine spring day, when I was driving along a pretty, tree-lined parkway somewhere in the Highlands neighborhood of Louisville. Traffic was light. In fact, there was only me in my lane, and one oncoming car. We were both driving at about the speed limit, thirty miles an hour.
A sparrow flew down from an overhanging branch and, having misjudged its flight, was struck by the oncoming car, on the driver's side. I watched it tumble onto the double-yellow stripe in the center of the roadway. It didn't look good.
As I continued to approach the scene of this little accident, a second sparrow flew down from the same tree, and posted itself about eighteen inches from its injured partner, in my lane. It seemed to me like it was warding me away. I slowed down a little, and eased a bit to the right.
As I passed the pair on the pavement, missing them by five or six feet, the second sparrow stood its ground. The first sparrow, the injured one, was on its back, and extending one wing upward in that kind of ghastly stretch that I have seen more than once in injured birds. I passed by, and went on.
I looked back in my rearview mirror.
While I watched, I saw what to me was an amazing thing. In a single short moment . . . both sparrows flew off, together, to a tree on the other side of the road. The coast, as you might say, was clear.
This entire little true story took place in not more than fifteen or twenty seconds. I have not forgotten it, nor am I likely to. I think my mind turned something like a corner.
"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows." -- Jesus Christ.
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Your thoughts, as always, are most welcome.