baby birds

        I used to have a nest full of baby birds right outside my window. On the lucky days, I'd get to watch them when their mother came home with a meal. The whole nest would turn into craning, straining necks and cartoon-character mouths. There was only one thing on their little bird minds: feed-me. They never seemed to have more important things to do -- TV shows or meetings or newspapers or chores. I never saw them get side-tracked or lie back down instead, as if tomorrow would be a more convenient day for a meal. They were dying for food. They ate as much as they could every, single day, and after a while they learned to fly.        

Father, I can't feed myself. I don't know how. Feed me this day, and I will open wide my hungry heart. Amen.

"Open my eyes that I may behold wonderful things in your word." Ps. 119:18