Of pigeons and plans

Yesterday I was waiting at the crosswalk. A pigeon was scampering by the curb, foraging for scraps and skittering back and forth from the outskirts of traffic. He found a bit of meat and picked at it. I noticed how small he was, in comparison to myself, and how tiny his head was in ratio to his body. His brain can’t be bigger than a pea, I thought to myself. Oblivious to my casual estimations of his cerebral powers, the bird found the bit of meat a bit too much for him, and opted to consume it by tearing off one small piece at a time. It’s really quite stupid, I mused (matter-of-factly, with no ill will towards the bird). After dragging the meat about and hopping around the way pigeons know best, tragedy struck. Mr. Pigeon’s lunch descended into the dark, inaccessible depths of a grate. His face didn’t register any expression that illuminated his feelings on the matter, if he had any. God even cares about this stupid bird who can’t even hold onto his lunch, I thought, failing to comprehend the idea. God truly has a sense of humor.

The crosswalk turned green, and the pigeon took flight to escape the onslaught of human feet. I smiled while crossing the street. What a sense of humor He has indeed. That pigeon has a brain the size of a small vegetable, and yet it can do something I’ll never be able to do. The episode felt comical, yet gave me pause. I can only wonder how the scene looked from our heavenly Father’s perspective.

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