Birds of a Feather

I was headed home on the Metro last Friday night when I saw something that was terribly out of place - it was a small sparrow, hopping about on the platform. I'm no expert on birds, but he looked as though he was terribly confused. It was as if he'd taken the wrong train, and had ended up in a foreign country. He gave several little sparrow hops this way, and that. He gingerly pecked at the granite floors, as if the specks in the slabs might actually be crumbs that would fill his little sparrow tummy. His gentle sparrow face looked frightfully forlorn.

As more & more people began to file down to the platform, my heart began to beat just a little faster. The sparrow was still there, hopping from speck to speck. In his vain quest for crumbs, he seemed completely unaware of the impending danger from several shuffling pairs of feet. Suppose he should be stepped on? What would happen if some passer-by kicked him in front of the train? Did anyone else see him besides me? Did anyone else care what happened to him?

When the crowd broke away, I bent back a bit to see if he was still in one piece, and I grateful to see that he was. I was overcome with relief when he finally flapped his little sparrow wings and took off for the light fixture overhead. I followed his flight plan with my eyes, and when he had landed safely, I actually caught his beady sparrow eye. "WHAT am I doing here?" he seemed to inquire. "This isn't where I was supposed to be...I don't belong down here! Please, can't you help me get home?" A wave of sadness swept over me as I realized I hadn't the slightest idea as to how one might go about setting a sparrow free from the maze of Metro tunnels.

It's been nearly a week since this little encounter, and I'm still thinking about that sparrow. I've wondered if he finally found a way to fly out of that station, or if he's still there? I've wondered, if he IS still there, what he's done about finding real food or water? Most of all, I've thought about his little sparrow family. Surely there must be another sparrow somewhere that's wondering when he's coming home?

I've felt a startling kinship to this little bird as I've contemplated his circumstances. That bewilderment and confusion? That's often how I've felt in living overseas. His search for scattered crumbs? That's not unlike trying to scrape together ingredients from the kiosks around my flat. The impending threat of being trampled on the platform? Good grief, that could happen to anyone here, and not just in the metro! That longing look that silently screamed, "Get me out of here!"? I've wanted to scream those words myself. "This isn't where I belong! I'm not cut out for the big city!!"

I've reminded myself over & over that the God who has numbered the very hairs on my head has also taken stock of this sparrow's situation. In Matthew 10:29, Jesus states that "...not even a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it." It's quite possible that my little sparrow was in the Metro by God's design. While he & I both may have felt that a sparrow had no business being underground, the reality is that it was a frigid -27 * C that night. Who is to say that, had he escaped from hundreds of kilometers of train tracks, he would not have frozen out there in the windy winter air? Just as I have days of wanting to scream, "Get me out of here!", who is to say that being in Moscow isn't exactly where God wants me to be?