I’ve been thinking all year that I wish I had specific things to post on specific days, but I’ve had trouble thinking of topics to use for that. Well, now I’ve been inspired by my buddy Lisa at The Army Chaplain’s Wife. Interestingly, I’m feeling pretty grumpy today, so it’s probably a good time to write about things for which I’m thankful!

To start with, I’m thankful for this idea! Thanks, Lisa!

I am thankful for Psalm 91:14-16:

“Because he holds fast to me in love, [says the Lord], I will deliver him;
I will protect him, because he knows my name.
When he calls to me, I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will rescue him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”

I’m also thankful for the on-post lawn service – despite the fact that yesterday they left a note on my door saying they couldn’t mow my backyard because my gate was blocked (which it was not). They still save me what would be a lot of trouble of going down to the garden center, renting a mower, lifting it into and out of my trunk, putting it together to mow, doing the actual mowing and edging… What a blessing for the Army to provide that service while Hubby is deployed!

I’m thankful also for my Hubby who longs to be able to be with me and comfort me when I’m having a bad day. He doesn’t want to avoid me; he loves me at my worst. Thank you, Honey!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Birdy successfully distracted me from obsessing over the approach of R&R, and before I knew it Hubby was home and meeting Birdy himself. They took to each other right away. Birdy seemed to bring a sort of balance to R&R that might not have otherwise been there. We were unable to be too far away from him, as he was still dependent on me for feedings while he was learning to peck at seeds and drink water on his own, but we were still able to doo all the fun things we wanted to do. The only thing that got left out of R&R was something that would have cost us a large amount of money, and we weren’t so disappointed to pass up that opportunity, when it came right down to it. Birdy held us together. He brought us joy in the mornings as we fed him and in the evenings before bed. Hubby knew that sometimes, if I was tired and cranky, all I needed was a little dose of Birdy’s love to cheer me up. We even took Birdy on walks and took him in the backyard to fly. He kept us company at home as we played on the Xbox or watched movies. We were, in fact, looking forward to keeping him and having him around for a good 15-20 years.

However, Birdy’s story has somewhat of a bittersweet ending.

“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Job 1:21b (ESV)

The day Hubby left to fly back to Iraq, Birdy also left to fly away and make his own life. The Lord gave him to us for just a short time to meet needs in Birdy’s life and in ours. I was able to give him warmth and shelter and car when he needed it to survive, and before he left he learned to eat seeds on his own and drink water, to preen and to fly, and then he apparently no longer needed my mothering. I pray that he stays safe, and I grieve for the fact that he probably won’t live as long in the wild as he would in my home, but he is where he wants to be. And he is as much in God’s hands now as he was the day I found him weak and hungry, as much as the day he vomited and I was sure he was dying. The Lord has Birdy in His hands. And as I put seeds out in the backyard daily, I sometimes catch a glimpse of this one mourning dove who likes to return alone and peck around. I’m pretty sure it’s Birdy, stopping by for Mom’s free food.

This is our last picture together, just minutes before Birdy left the “nest.”

(Click for videos: Birdy Got Lost | Trying to Fly)
(Sadly, we didn’t take videos of Birdy during R&R, and I intended to start taking videos again when Hubby left, but I ran out of time, so all the videos we have are of his younger days)

Part 1 | Part 2

The first thing on my mind when I woke the next morning: Did he make it? I had to know if my baby bird had survived the first night. I was already unbelievably attached to him. If God had indeed given me this bird to distract me from my impatience waiting for R&R, well, it was working. And Birdy, as I began to refer to him, did indeed make it through the night! He greeted me happily with chirps and wriggling wings as I peeked into his box, and it brought me such joy. He truly became my baby. Though I didn’t birth him, I worried about him like a mother, and he was utterly dependent on me for everything.

I was worried, though. I hadn’t wanted a bird. I was just trying to save a life. Now, it seemed I was stuck. I had to keep caring for him, and it soon became apparent that he was bonded to me in such a way as would make it very dangerous to try and release him. Also, how would I get anything done between all the time spent caring for him? What had I gotten myself into?

But every time I fed him or spent time with him, it became a real joy. It was…uplifting! Over the next two days we settled into a rhythm of feedings and naps, and I found that I could find time for other things (chores) in between times. Birdy was happy to snuggle against his heating pad and rest in between feedings; he didn’t need me 24/7. I managed to learn how to better manage my time, and around this time I started to wonder just how God was using this. Maybe there was more to this than just distracting me for the time being. Maybe, I thought, this is actually a bit of preparation for motherhood? Maybe it’s preparation for the future, for keeping other birds – maybe even chickens – so that I won’t be afraid of them?

Each night, I put Birdy to bed and prayed he would make it through another night, and each morning, I prayed for the strength to give Birdy what he needed as well as do all the other things I needed to do. We continued to grow more attached to each other even as Birdy became more independent. There came a day when it seemed he no longer needed or wanted to stay in his little shoe box between feedings. I would sometimes put him in and close the lid so it was only open a crack and thus force him to rest a bit, but at other times I would set him on the windowsill to look outside, or he would sit on the open lid of his box and preen and watch me.

I got a lot of help and support from the members at Pigeon-Talk Forums, and it was a few members there that began to say that Birdy’s poops were not looking so good. He might be sick. I felt horrible! Birdy had just gotten past what I’d considered the danger zone and was finally seeming to thrive, and now he might be sick? I was told all kinds of problems that might be causing the bad poops, and I had to drive and call all around trying to find a medication that no one seemed to carry. Even once I found a store that would ship it to me overnight, it got delayed, and it seemed like I would never get it! After I received it and started giving Birdy his doses, his poops did not improve, and we had some more scares. He threw up his formula several times and was acting very lethargic, and finally I took him to a vet who very kindly worked us in between his other patients to check Birdy over and take some stool samples for testing. Birdy came out with a clean bill of health – such a load off my mind! Such a relief!

So many things could have gone wrong… There were so many mistakes I made in caring for this bird, and my efforts were so imperfect. He could have died from the mistakes I made in the first day alone! I fed him when he was cold. I left the formula out all day and reheated it, allowing bacteria to grow. I made the formula with hot tap water, possibly introducing bad things to him from the hot water pipes. I made his formula too thick sometimes. I fed him way too much some days, so he could have aspirated (this, in fact, is probably what was causing him to vomit his formula on occasion – overfeeding). I didn’t keep him perfectly protected from drafts in his box. And yet throughout it all, Birdy not only survived but actually thrived under my care. The Lord must have been protecting him from my blunders.

God seemed to reveal to me over time spent with Birdy that he really cares for all of his creation. Maybe the whole experience was less about me and more about showing God’s love, even for something as insignificant as a dove – one dove among hundreds just in my neighborhood alone. Or maybe he intended this to save Birdy, teach me about his love, prepare me for motherhood, distract me, keep Marty and me together and focused during R&R, and many other things… Maybe he provided exactly what I/we needed at exactly the right time, and used it in even more ways than I can imagine. That does sound like my God.

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”
Matthew 6:26 (NIV)

“Who provides food for the raven when its young cry out to God and wander about for lack of food?”
Job 38:41

“I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine.”
Psalm 50:11

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.”
Matthew 10:29

(Click to watch videos: Baby Dove Feeding | Friday Morning Feeding | Feeding Birdy 12 days old | Feeding 5/2)

Part 1

I started trying to research what to do with the baby bird I found before I even got home, but my phone didn’t prove very helpful. Once home, I hurriedly found an empty shoe box and put a rag inside. I put the bird down inside and grabbed by laptop to start googling. Was I going to have to dig up worms? Was it a grackle? A dove? The bird started to utter tiny, pathetic-sounding chirps, and my mind kept going back to the time my mom had tried to save a baby bird, but it had died within the first 24 hours.

I could find nothing helpful online, which isn’t too surprising, looking back. Different types of birds need different kinds of care, so most helpful information is found for searching for your specific bird type. I didn’t know what else to do but take the bird in his shoe box to Petsmart and see if someone there could help.

I wasn’t feeling very hopeful as I walked in to Petsmart and approached a young cashier who looked utterly bored with life. I showed her the bird in the box as I asked if anyone might be able to help, and at first her face seemed to be saying Are you crazy? We’re just a retail store.. We don’t actually know anything about animals. But that’s not what she said. Instead, she pointed toward the fish wall and said there was a girl over there who could help.

I had to wait as the employee finished helping another customer. Then, I showed her what was in the box. She looked the bird over, checking under his wings and all around to see if he was okay. She told me he was a dove, which surprised me. Who knew doves started out so ugly? She also said he was very cold and dehydrated and hungry. She was very helpful in telling me just how to warm him but make sure he wasn’t too warm. She showed me the baby bird formula and said there were instructions inside. She said to use a syringe and aim toward the left side while I’m facing the bird because otherwise it could go into his lungs. She told me it had to be warm enough that it digests correctly, but not warm enough to burn through the sensitive crop. She also said that, most likely, he wasn’t going to make it no matter what I did.

I thanked her and told her that I at least had to try. The formula was only $10, anyway. So, I bought it and headed home.

The first feeding was quite an adventure. I didn’t learn until later that I wasn’t supposed to feed him while he was cold. I thought food would be priority number one, so I didn’t bother to let him warm up on my heating pad before pulling out a clean syringe that I just happened to have gotten from the vet the previous week to help give my cat his antibiotics. The formula was mixed and warm, the syringe was ready… And the bird…would not…open…his beak.

Aren’t they supposed to gape when they’re hungry?! Why won’t he open!?

I didn’t want to touch it! Okay, so it wasn’t diseased, but… I admit it, I was a bit scared of birds. And I knew I should limit human contact if the bird was to have any hope of being released, which was my full intention. But I soon realized I was going to have to get over my fears or the bird was going to die. I wrapped him in the rag and began to try and open his beak with my fingernail.

Most of the formula from that first feeding went…well…everywhere but his crop. Quite a bit of it actually ended up in his eyeball, which kind of worried me. I had no idea how to tell how much he’d actually swallowed, but after having to reheat the formula 3 times, I decided it was time for a break. I put the bird in his box again to start warming up and drying off while I looked at videos on YouTube of other people feeding baby doves.

I gave him rather un-successful feedings again several times that day, trying the syringe and eye dropper methods, before I finally got one good feeding in with the plastic bag method. And then, as it grew dark, I moved him to the guest room with the door closed (to protect from the cat), covered his box with a blanket to keep the heat in, and prayed hard that he would somehow survive his first night.

(Click for videos of baby bird’s first day with me: Baby Mourning Dove and End of First Day…)

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.

Depression

Every time I come up against bloggers-block (ha ) it’s because there is something on my heart that I feel I can’t share, for whatever reason. I usually start blogging again when I realize that the best way past it is to blog about it, and afterwards I’m able to move on to other topics. So I’m going to try that now.

I tell myself, privately, that my struggle with depression will one day be a great testimony for the Lord. How he brought me through. Once I finally reach the other side. And, in the meantime, I tell myself, it must be secret. I have to push through on God’s strength, keep quiet, and one day I’ll be able to look back on these times and explain to others how God brought me through.

And you’re reading that, going, “Michy, that’s dumb. That’s not how it should work.” And I’d agree with you.

Why do I feel the need to keep my struggles secret? It’s not for God’s glory. It doesn’t make God appear any stronger or do anything to prove his power. It neither helps me nor does it help my friends. It’s pride. If I’m honest, the only reason for my secrecy is that I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that I’m weak, that I struggle, that I have a problem that my friends don’t have, and I hide it to protect myself, pride-fully trying to appear unflawed.

The other option is, of course, to open up and let my loved ones in – to help, to listen, or even just to pray. I would have to trust God enough to be vulnerable, to humbly admit that I’m not Super Michy. Just Michy. And that definitely goes against the grain.

Some Truths

So here’s the truth. I cry more than … anyone. I cry more than anyone should, more than anyone else does, as far as I can tell. I get depressed, and miserable, and it makes me feel utterly alone. Because I know that there is no way anyone else can understand. I know that really, only God can truly be there with me – understand me – and I feel alone. I feel helpless to explain, and I usually don’t even bother.

In fact, I usually scoff at people who ask “What’s wrong?” I decide that they don’t have, or care to have, the next twelve hours free for me to really make myself understood. And it seems so meaningless to just say I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m going through some stuff. I’m having a hard time. Those phrases don’t even BEGIN to cover it, and even if they did, someone would then ask me, “Why?” A million reasons! I can list a handful off the top of my head, but to you they will seem like nothing, and the truth is, they are nothing. Except that they are piled on top of a lifetime of other STUFF and they are viewed through my messed-up, depressed mind.

And the truth is I hate that I’m depressed. I see myself as weak and lazy when my depression interferes with my life, and I tend to feel like I need to protect myself from being seen that way by others. So act strong. Get mad, not sad. Crying is weakness. Smile. Pretend. Be there for others, but never make them be there for you. Because chances are they’ll fail, or even if they don’t, they won’t be ENOUGH.

Best not to try. And best not to be a burden, because if you are a burden you’re likely not to have ANY friends.

This is why I feel unknown: I don’t let anyone know me. I might as well tell God that He made me wrong. He shouldn’t have given me this flaw. It’s ugly; it’s meant to be hidden.

And as I try to hide, I lose something. I grow hard and harsh and lose my inner beauty and gentleness and… I can’t be genuine with people. And without that genuineness and openness, my relationships become shallow. I wonder if my impact on people, on the world… how different would it be if I were open? Vulnerable? Would people see God more clearly? Would they feel love more fully? Would my words and actions be more meaningful?

The truth is, I live with the chronic pain of depression. I struggle THROUGH it, constantly. And God helps me. He’s with me every moment, he gets me through each day. He’s the reason I don’t become self-destructive, the reason I can still love others, the reason I can still find joy (sometimes). I think my friends deserve to know that NOW. Because who knows if there ever will be an “other side” that I’ll reach, where it won’t hurt so much? If I keep waiting for that, I may never get to share my testimony.

Just some thoughts…

After going 6 years without seeing the dentist (5 years of no insurance and 1 year of fraidy-cat-ness), I was 99% sure that at least a third of my teeth would need to be pulled, at least 10 fillings would be needed, and at least 2 root canals. I tell you, I was afraid! Let’s face it, some of us just inherit bad teeth, and given the trauma my mom has been through, I’ve definitely got a legitimate concern here. I already have about a half dozen fillings even though I’ve usually been pretty good about brushing.

In fact, my worst years as far as tooth care were within the past five years, so if I had a half dozen cavities when I took decent care of my teeth, I was sure I’d have, like, twice as many from the years I spent neglecting them. If it weren’t for starting a flossing regimen this month, I would have had to answer “How often do you floss?” as “Annually.”

See this? That’s me. That’s how bravely I faced the dentist.

Granted, all they did was a little bit of poking and some X-Rays, but still.

And, thank God, the result wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared! One full-blown cavity and three baby cavities need filling. No root canals. *sigh of relief* And they referred me to a dentist who can give me laughing gas since I’m really freaked out about the anesthetic shot (those are painful)!

I’m so grateful for my insurance and for my teeth being healthier than expected! God is good to me, though I don’t deserve it.

(Photo via AFP/Getty from Treehugger.com)