Stepping out of the house on mid-August, Indiana Summer mornings, we never know if we’ll hit a cool, clear breeze, or a heavy bag of thick, unbreathable cloud. I typically begin my days walking outside to water my plants and twist on a couple sprinklers, so our lawn doesn’t turn into brown, dusty, straw. The activity keeps me away from my phone and computer for a little while longer and gives me a better chance to connect with the Lord before beginning the hustle and bustle of the day. But it has been a hot Summer, a humid Summer – several weeks and recent days of degrees in the 90s. My plants have been suffering from my lack of motivation to step out on these mornings, and they are drooped and withered. This day was another one of those thick, humid days – the kind where the first words out of your mouth after opening the door are, “EGH, BLEH.” It’s only been a week, but day after day of neglect has dried everything out. The grass is the same – brown, thirsty. I don’t want to step another foot out the door, but I must. It’s time.

I turn on the hose and first water my starving plants – it will be a miracle if half of them come back to life at this point. I reattach the wave-form sprinkler head and trek to the left side of the back side yard and see my other planted garden which I don’t usually even bother to water since it rains. But rains have been infrequent, so I hold the sprinkler to give this patch of dirt a drink before setting it down to do the rest of its duty.

As I hold the streams against the house and two rows of decaying flowers, a robin hops down from the tree beside me and peeps his head from side to side. He is unusually close. As I steady the flowing sprinkler, Robin hops a little closer to the outside droplets. It takes me a few seconds to realize he wants a bath. You heard the water, I think to myself, it’s been hot for you, too. I kind of jerk my wrist a little so more drops hit his head and back, and he gives a little satisfied shiver to move the water between his feathers. I take one step toward him, and he flies back into the tree again, but not far.

This encounter makes me smile. I finish my attention on the garden, then place the sprinkler over the brownest grass. I mosey to the front yard, doing the same with the other hose. Tasks completed, I have to leave the house for an errand, but when I return, however, twenty minutes later, I am blessed once more.

A dozen birds – robins, finches, all shapes and sizes, are bathing beneath the sprinkler in the side yard. They are bristling, hopping, stretching for the waterfall trickling off the tree leaves. One is low to the ground, spreading his wings to get all that cool, fresh water between every feather. If I was happy for my Robin friend before, I am full of joy to see this provision laid out for these birds at this moment.

My mind reels with the thought that I almost didn’t set foot outside today. I almost restricted this blessing; I almost denied the much-needed relief for these creatures – and God didn’t let me. He brought me to the moment to share it with them and then brought me right back to it to witness what He had in mind for these birds. There were so many reasons I might not have ever seen this. I was humbled, blessed, excited. This whole morning honored me to be in small partnership with God in what He promised the birds. And I am reminded of Matthew 6:26 -

"Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to Him than they are?" (NLT)

We must not let setbacks and inconveniences block us from our responsibilities to, for, and with God. We will miss what He has in store! Step out on a humid day, go to the event, approach a stranger, get uncomfortable. If He is doing this for the birds – how much more will He do for us?