This past Saturday night, as I was trying to put the finishing touches on my sermon for the next morning, I suddenly heard what sounded like a bird crash into the window next to where I was seated in my living room. I mentioned the noise to my bride in another room, and thought it was strange that a bird would just fly straight into our window. A few seconds later, I realized that a bird did indeed fly into our window, but it was from the inside trying to get out. 

Somehow, a few minutes earlier, when my bride was letting Rona the wonder dog out to do her business, the bird must have flown into our house through the open door. And now, that scared little feathered friend wanted back outside in the worst way. 

He flew back and forth into our walls a few times, leaving a trail of feathers (among other things) and got the dog worked up quite a bunch in the process. She loves to chase the birds in the yard, but wasn't quite sure what to do when one had invaded her home turf. So mostly, she just barked. Occasionally, the bird would land for a rest, to scope out its options--on the mantle, on top of the TV, and eventually on top of the kitchen cabinets.

Meanwhile, we had opened both the front and the back doors, and I had a broom to try to guide the little guy back outside, or, if necessary, to defend myself from a violent bird attack. (I still haven't gotten over seeing the Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds when I was a kid.) Eventually, with the dog yelping, my wife hollering and me swinging and missing, the bird decided that it liked life better outside, and our night of adrenaline and adventure was over.

But not before I had a spiritual epiphany that I tried to work into Sunday's sermon, though I just could not make it fit. It occurred to me that the poor bird had gotten himself into a predicament, just flying through what seemed like a very inviting door of opportunity. And now, he didn't know how to get out of the situation he had gotten himself into. He saw us, with broom raised in the air, and hair raised on the dog's back, as his enemies, when we were trying to help him get back where he belonged. We didn't want to harm him, and we didn't want him to harm himself. But that's not the way he saw it.

And I think many times that's how we tend to see the Lord, in times when we are flapping our wings, trying to fly freely, but we keep running into walls. We know we aren't happy where we are, but we don't know how to get out of it. So many people view God as the angry ogre who is out to catch us, swinging his divine broom to try to knock us out of flight. When, in fact, he is instead trying to guide us and push us toward the freedom we were seeking to begin with.

Believe it or not, God wants our best. All the time. Even His laws are intended not to restrict us, but to keep us from harming ourselves. He knows the trouble we are prone to get into, and wants to deliver us before we even get there, but we are tempted by an open door and we fly through anyway. So, sometimes there must be correction, or discipline, that seems to be scary, but still it is God's loving way of getting us back where we belong. 

I don't know which little birdies out there need to hear this this week, but you don't have to run from God, He is looking out for your best, even if sometimes you are not, and He is not trying to limit your freedom, but introduce you to a freedom you won't experience by chasing the world. He loves you more than you can imagine, and has demonstrated that love--even when you were sinning against Him--by sending His Son to die for you. (Romans 5:8)  

I hope you know Him, and that you will trust Him, even if you fly off the right path every now and then. He is waiting, in His grace, ready to guide you back. am praying for you, as I hope you are for me.

--Pastor Ken