My Sparrow, I Love You

Your wilderness journey led you straight through a desert, taking years to cross. Your provisions dwindled; toes worn down to nubs. Bone-dry thirsty, malnourished, desperate for replenishing and decent covering from the scorch. You need a complete change of environment and nutritive balance. And here, you’ve not crossed the desert at all; you’ve only gone in circles. Rearranging the same old nest conditions in different patterns, just to survive—or give the appearance of survival; a place to tuck and rest your weary head. Around and round you go in the barren land of choked streams, stuck in a wash-n-dry cycle called The Agitator. The thorns of the desert cacti have shredded you, making the agitating stings more abrasive. Fear you carry isn’t that something bad will happen; it’s the dread that things will stay the same, that nothing will change.
 
“God, are you even there?” you ask.
 
“My Sparrow, I love you.
Have I not said, ‘I am with you always, even unto the end of the world?’”
 
“God, what do I do?”
 
“My Sparrow, I love you.
‘Be still, and know that I am God.’ Just be in me.”
 
“God, do you still care?”
 
“My Sparrow, I love you.
Has it not been written, ‘Give all your worries and cares to me, for I care about you?’
I care so much that ‘I’ve kept track of all your sorrows. I’ve collected all your tears in my bottle. I’ve recorded each one in my book.’ Not one will be forgotten. Not one goes unnoticed. Trust me to handle your life in the best way, my way. I will carry you with my wings.”
 
“I feel forgotten, useless—” You think you hear a faint melody.
 
“My Sparrow, I love you.
‘Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.’”
 
There’s a pause.
 
“My Child, I Love You. Isn’t that enough?”

---

​🎶 His Eye is on the Sparrow… 🎶