By C.L. Beck
Just to give a short recap ... there were a couple of Stellar’s jay fledglings that couldn’t fly, hopping around my yard several weeks ago. Two of them made it back to the nest relatively easily, but one had a terrible time. It made me realize there were great gospel applications in what was happening. When he finally managed to flutter back into the tree, I rejoiced and said a prayer of thanks.
Then I went inside thinking, all is well, all is well. But was it … really?
The next week there was no sign of the babies. Not one. I fretted and worried. What if CAT had gotten them? What if they were so scared from the experience that they’d died of fright? I’d heard of wild animals doing that.
What if I were somehow to blame for their demise? I fussed and stewed, checking the yard every day for evidence that CAT had found the chicks and all that was left of them was a pile of feathers.
Whenever I walked under the pine trees, the parents would make a racket. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Didn’t that mean the little ones were still alive? I just wasn’t sure. Every day hope grew dimmer and guilt that I might have somehow caused their death grew stronger.
Then on Friday, I looked out the window and saw a jay hopping around in the yard, eating bugs. Only he was a pint-sized jay. Was it one of the fledglings?
I ran outside in my pajamas. Oh my land, there were two of them. Two squawky, hoppy, pint-sized jays, eating bugs and doing the things that almost-grown birds do. Their white eyebrows had come in and their down feathers had been replaced by sleek black ones. Their Prussian blue tails looked beautiful in the sun … even if they were still a few inches short of being full-grown.
I wanted to run over and hug them. But you know, birds don’t usually go for that kind of thing. So I just watched with pride as they chattered, bounced about and then flew from treetop to treetop. No more fluttering from one patch of lawn to another. Now they were soaring.
As I watched one glide from the elm tree to the pine, it dawned on me. That’s how it will be for us one day. Some day we’ll get the hang of it. We’ll grow from telestial fledglings to celestial beings. Heavenly Father will hug us and watch with pride as we no longer flutter about with telestial attitudes, but soar with celestial purpose.
What a wonderful concept, the plan of salvation. And who'd have guessed that I'd gain a better understanding of it from a couple of downy chicks?