Written by Colleen Houck
Hear how the birds, on every blooming spray,
With joyous music wake the dawning day.
Alexander Pope
Dedication
For my flock
I look forward to
Seeing you swim and soar
God lives in a sparkling, peaceful palace full of windows.
His windows are much, much taller, and wider than any windows on Earth.
Instead of glass, they’re filled with very special, very perfect, transparent clouds that let in heaven’s cool breezes and warm sunshine.
When He looks through them, He can view all of His creations, from the tiniest insect hiding in the craggy bark of an ancient tree, to the biggest whale swimming in the depths of the dark, blue ocean.
But the creations He enjoys watching most of all are birds.
Birds have special, happy souls.
When God created them, He gave them wings, so they could fly up to the windows of His glistening heavenly home and peek inside.
He allows them to visit whenever they like, even if their fluttering outside distracts Him when He’s working in His office.
On warm evenings, during the spring months, younger birds soar upward and perform their best aerial displays.
When they arrive, He steps out onto the porch to watch the colorful splash of feathered fireworks against the night sky and laughs at their antics.
Sometimes, just like on Earth, an unsuspecting bird rushes too fast toward God’s window, hoping to enter His house. Instead of injuring the innocent creature, the cushion-filled frame simply catches the winged visitor before ballooning out, gently setting the bird down on the heavenly ledge unharmed.
You see, as much as God loves the birds and enjoys their visits, He only allows them a glimpse of heaven.
That’s because they’re mortal, and they still need to sing and play and frolic and nest on the beautiful planet He created below.
It’s not yet time for them to join God’s Flock.
But sometimes, on a nice fall evening, or a peaceful summer morning, He’ll open His panoramic sliding doors, pull His Golden Throne out onto the very wide, very deep heavenly porch, and whistle notes only they can hear.
The birds on Earth immediately respond.
They rise in the air in great billowing clouds, trilling and happy, and soar up, up, up, through the blue, blue sky, and the puffy white clouds, following the echoes of His soft whistle.
By the thousands they land, tucking their fluttering wings against their backs, each species of bird making space for the other.
Both hunters and prey sit quietly together, for all are at peace when they’re with the Creator.
He cups the nestlings in His hands first. He’d brought them too, of course. They slip through His thick fingers and onto His tunic. He laughs as they cling to Him with tiny taloned feet, cheeping and squeaking and scrambling for purchase, each trying to climb up toward the warm spot just at the crook of His neck.
They hide beneath His beard and under His hair and in the crooks of His elbows. They cover His chest and His lap, tickling His knees, yank on the hem on His sleeves, and check His pockets for treats.
His Golden Throne is covered with peeping, open-mouthed chicks. If any fall, they’re caught up on the soft clouds that brought them to His home.
When they’re tired, the hatchlings sleep in downy groups on floating nests while God visits with their parents.
One by one, each bird or mated pair takes turns flying to His outstretched fingers, leaning against His chest, or burrowing inside His long sleeves.
Sitting on His wide shoulders, they whisper bird secrets in His ears, while He patiently listens, His fingertips touching and healing each bird in turn.
He strokes soft feathers and the goose, or chicken, or owl, or eagle, or vulture, or seagull, or raven, or turkey begins telling Him all about their day.
They tell Him the good, the terrible, the funny, the strange, and the mundane. It makes no difference to Him. He listens to it all.
Some talk for a very long time.
Some just want to sit close to Him and say nothing.
Some of them cry.
He holds each one.
Listens to each one.
Strengthens each one.
He knows exactly what they need, and He provides it for ALL of them.
When He is finished meeting with each bird, their sorrows and pains are gone and only their natural joy is left.
It’s effervescent.
Happiness bubbles inside them.
It makes them sing in gratitude.
If you listen, you can hear them singing for Him on Earth.
Each bird’s song is different.
Some birds are loud and brash.
Some hoot long and hauntingly.
Others have a piercing cry that echoes far and wide, stretching from one distant mountaintop to another.
And there are some very tiny birds, you may not even notice them, but they nearly burst with joy as they trill their warmest, sweetest, most special song.
He sighs contentedly when these birds sing.
But when all the birds sing together in a grand avian chorus, something special happens.
Those that chirp and hoot, those that screech and honk, and those that quack and cuckoo, somehow create a harmonious birdsong so lovely and grand that even the angels weep to hear it.
They sing for Him until they are so tired, that just like the hatchlings, they also begin to shut their eyes.
Some raise a foot, tucking it into their fluffy undercarriages. Others turn their heads over their backs, shimmying beaks down between their wings.
Parents settle down on cloudy nests with their young, tucking baby birds beneath warm feathers before leaning against each other in repose.
They sleep in great piles of down and feather and warm exhales as their Creator hugs them close, then He rests His eyes too, taking a much-needed nap.
When morning sunshine rays touch the Golden Throne shooting kaleidoscope sparkles across the Heavenly Porch, He sends the sleepy flock home.
Inevitably, a bird or two or three asks if they could take a strand of His hair to use when lining their nests.
He smiles and says, “Why don’t you go back and see what present I left in your nest instead?”
To thank Him, they crow, or cluck, or quack, or peep, or chirp, or whistle to welcome the new day.
If you listen at sunrise, you can hear them.
He watches them leave, leaping into the blue sky, stretching their wings, and fanning their tail feathers to catch the morning breeze.
Soon most of them are just dots on the horizon.
Some of them would return before day’s end.
He’d sent them back to Earth, anyway, understanding that many members of His precious flock would soon be facing pain.
God knows the mortal world isn’t an easy place to live.
Even creatures as beautiful and innocent as His birds would suffer.
He wipes away a tear, remembering that pain won’t last forever.
As if reading His thoughts, a tiny bird voice behind Him asks, “What happens when we die?”
Turning, God gestures to the young blue jay who flies to His outstretched finger. “You don’t need to fear death,” God answers. “It simply means you can finally come inside my beautiful heavenly house. Here, you’ll be a part of my heavenly flock and my angels and I can watch over you.”
“What does it look like?” a brown wren asks, from a hiding spot behind the Golden Throne.
“Much like the world below,” God replies, crouching down. “But in heaven there’s no sickness or death or pain or cold or heat. And all the birds live peacefully together.”
He describes a lovely place with trees and plants filled with nuts, berries, flowers, and seeds of all types. A sanctuary full of nests lined with soft straw and angel hair.
“There are no cages or hunters, glass walls or windows,” He adds. “The streams and rivers carry water that’s clean, perfect and pure, and I’ve built a sparkling pond with waterfalls where the water birds can live.”
“But what about my family?” asks a young conure. “Will my family be there too?”
God knew immediately that the young bird wasn’t speaking of an avian family.
As difficult as cages, farms, zoos, and mortal life had been, sometimes a bird or flock formed a special bond with human families.
He picked up the colorful creature. “Yes. You’ll see your family again, until then you can communicate through song.
“When you sing, it reaches across space and sky allowing your family to hear you quack or bup or peep or chirp or hoot or coo or cock a doodle doo. When a human mom dreams and hugs her pillow, she’ll feel the feathers of her beloved bird who lives in God’s Garden, and he, in turn, will feel the arms of his human mom wrapped around him, or her finger stroking his feathers, and he’ll know he’s missed and still loved.
“Will that do for now?”
Content, the birds chirped and headed back to Earth, reassured that God keeps His promises.
As for Him, God is tending to His flowerbeds.
Among other things…
He still watches over His birds.
And their human families.
He loves them all.
Bird and Human.
As He does all His other creations.
And wants them to be happy.
One day, they’ll die.
One by one, they’ll return.
One day they’ll be reunited.
In God’s Flock.
Houck Hollow 