Daisy Fifer
It was a misty, rainy early spring, three years after my divorce. April in Chicago was still chilly, and the weather made my injured back ache. It was probably after 10 a.m. when I got out of bed. I figured my high school daughter had already gone to school by then. I had no appetite. I stood in my room, looking out the window at the two large trees, thinking that their branches seemed to have stretched even further towards my roof. I was angry; last year, I had fallen from one of the trees and injured myself while trying to cut a branch. A bird perched on a branch caught my attention. It was facing away from me, so I couldn’t see it clearly, but it was a little larger than a sparrow, and I could vaguely see its orange belly. I guessed it was a robin. I’d heard that robins are the first birds to appear in spring. Perhaps it was the damp rain, or perhaps the low temperature, but I saw it trembling, its wings tucked behind its ears. Occasionally, raindrops accumulated on the leaves would fall, causing the robin to sway slightly. It shook off the rain, but didn’t move. After a few times, it simply stayed perched on a branch, motionless, letting the raindrops pelt it intermittently. Watching it shivering in the cold rain, I felt my aching back too, as if I were trapped there with it, not knowing where to go. Looking at the bird that was caught in the rain, I felt I was in a same dilemma myself.
The drizzling rain made me gloomy and felt sticky. For months since my injury, my income had dried up, and I was struggling to make ends meet. My bank savings were dwindling, and I was on the verge of starvation. The heavy anxiety, like the cold, damp rain, gripped me tightly. I wondered how I would possibly scrape together the tuition for my two sons’ university. My eldest son attends a prestigious private university in another city, and although my younger son goes to a state university, he still has to pay out-of-state resident fees. And since I was injured eight months ago and bedridden for several months, my clients have gradually disappeared, and my income from commissions, my livelihood, has plummeted. This bird and I—one in a cold room, anxiously calculating my sons’ college tuition three months from now, the other shivering on a chilly branch, enduring the dripping rain—kept each other company. After some time, a sudden thought struck me, and I wanted to ask the bird, “Will there be any bugs tomorrow? Like a squirrel, could you save some food for a rainy day?” I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking: Where would this bird store food? Unlike me, I have a kitchen with cabinets, refrigerator, etc. Then, the lyrics of an old song came into my mind:
“The wildflowers, dressed in beautiful clothes,
The birds in the sky, never busy for life.
The loving Father watches over us every day,
He loves people even more, preparing the way to eternal life for them.”
God even cares for birds, let alone me, His people? These lyrics were like a ray of light, piercing through the gloom in my heart. I suddenly realized that my anxiety had made me see only what I lacked, ignoring what I had right now. That sudden, clear-headed realization made me rush to get dressed and run downstairs to check my kitchen cupboard. I saw rice, dried noodles, canned macaroni, and many other dried goods, enough to last at least three months; the freezer was also enough for 10 to 15 days. I thought, “Even if I have no money in the bank right now, and do nothing, I can still have three and a half months without starving and these three months are enough for me to figure out a solution.” In that instant, I returned to the present moment. The drizzle continued outside, but my heart was suddenly filled with clarity, and my courage surged. That sudden surge of courage sustained me through the next three months. I began actively seeking for stable employment, re-evaluating my financial plans, converting my retirement savings to pay for tuition, and gradually pulling myself out of the predicament. The robin became a messenger of God; every time I saw it, I felt immediate gratitude for its reminder during my lowest point that there was no need to be afraid, for God was always watching over me. This belief guided me out of the shadows, and even after my daughter went to university, I applied for student loans to return to school for a master’s degree and pursue my dream job. From then on, whenever I faced difficulties, the image of the robin trembling yet steadfast in the cold rain, and the lessons it taught, always came to mind clearly: first assess your resources, or seek available support. This understanding not only taught me to face challenges with mindfulness and not be easily defeated by anxiety, but also allowed me to see a glimmer of hope in every “rainy” day that followed.