So there I was, anxiously awaiting the day when we would finally receive R&R dates and driving myself crazy with both the impatience and with the stress of super-cleaning the house and making everything perfect. I’d had to back off from my hour-long, fast-paced, daily exercise walks because of pain in my ankle (and knee and hip) to the point where I was only walking slowly for about half an hour, maybe 3 times a week.

Usually when I walked, I would put some thought into where I was going and what path I was taking. But this particular morning, I took off with barely a thought, in a direction that I don’t frequently walk. I tried to walk carefully, with good posture, so as to increase the amount of time I could walk before the pain set in. I expected my ankle to start hurting at any moment after the 15-minute mark, but it didn’t. So when I had a choice in which path to take – cutting it short and heading straight home or taking a longer, round-about path that would prolong the walk – I took the longer route, going a direction I’d only gone once or twice before.

Shortly after turning onto that path, the pain started to set in, and I had to decrease my pace. In my mind, I started planning my route to get home. And then I saw it.

A baby bird. In the middle of the sidewalk. Dead, I thought, as I walked past. But something made me stop and turn around. Was it dead? I tapped it ever so gently with my shoe, and it moved, slightly. Not dead! A baby bird, and it was alive.

Hmmm. Alive, but not looking so good, I thought. In fact, it looked pretty ugly. I had no idea what kind of bird it was, and I worried that it could be diseased. I decided it must have blown from its nest, as we had had very high speed winds over the last few days, and even some tornado watches. Not sure what to do, I started looking around. There were tall trees – way too tall for me to reach any of the branches – but they were pretty far away, and this bird obviously couldn’t fly – maybe couldn’t even walk. The closest tree was the most likely place for a nest, but I couldn’t find one. I looked all around the immediate area while the little bird lay low on the ground and tried to brace itself against the wind.

I squatted next to it. What could I do? I nearly convinced myself to walk away, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave it. I knew the bird’s mother could be watching me, but I also knew she couldn’t very well lift it back into the nest. It was defenseless, and it seemed in bad shape, and I couldn’t just leave it. I knew that it would die, if I did.

Afraid to actually touch the bird (both because it looked diseased and because I partially believed the lie that the bird’s mother would abandon it if a human touched it), I found two little twigs on the ground and carefully slid them underneath its body. The little bird weakly gripped the sticks with its feet, which helped me to lift it onto my lap as I knelt on the ground. I pulled out my shirt and set the bird on it and set off toward home, trying not to jostle it too much. The little bird quietly moved so it was upright and rode with me. I walked so slowly, trying to make the ride smooth for the bird, that it took a good 45 minutes or so to walk the mile home.