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I
saw the old man talking with the bird. He stood on top of the bluff that
overlooks the valley and the river.
I was on the trail that goes that way, taking my wife's bread to market. I
do that twice a week, you know.
Hearing voices through the shrubs and trees, I first thought nothing of
it, as the pathway is commonly traveled all year. But then I caught sight
of the old man. He stood facing a small juniper tree. And he was talking,
it appeared, to the tree.
Then I saw the bird.
Perched near the top, the bright blue feathers of the bird glistened in
the morning sun. But it was not like a jay or any bluebird I've ever seen.
Very beautiful and almost radiant with color, it looked like a bird from a
far away land.
And it was talking.
Not mimicking, as some birds are able to do. No, this bird was actually
talking, making sensible remarks (although the sight made no sense at all
to me).
The man was saying, "I'm sorry, Little Bird. But I have no seed to give
you. I tried to buy some in the Market. But I lacked the money for a small
bag, and they wouldn't sell me half a bag."
And the bird said, "I'm sure you did the best you could. Perhaps I will
find some other way."
I stopped in my tracks. I stared. I listened, unmoving.
"Will the little ones be able to survive long without food?" the old man
was asking.
"Not long," the bird replied. "But I'll keep trying."
The old man shook his head slowly, saying again, "I'm so sorry that I
could not help you."
The bird had seen me right away, but had not reacted to my presence. Now
it looked right at me. And in the moment of silence that followed the old
man's last remark, he also turned, following the small bird's gaze until
he saw me standing in the middle of the path.
Then they both looked beyond me to the loaves of bread I pulled behind on
the two-wheeled cart. I soon realized what they must be thinking.
"You cannot have any of this bread," I said. "I must take all of it to the
market. I need to sell every loaf in order to buy more grain to make bread
in the weeks to come."
"But sir," said the bird, "Even half a loaf of that fine bread will feed
my whole family for several days. It can mean the difference between life
and death."
"You must help," said the old man.
"No. I know what I must do," I said. "I must sell this bread and buy more
grain. It is what I always do in the first week of every month. I dare not
break the routine."
"Ah, yes. The routine," said the bird. "Life is filled with routines and
habits and methods and patterns. Is it not? Yet we only discover new
things when we’re willing to step beyond the usual, when we’re willing to
take a new path."
"I'm sure you are right, little bird," I said (not even thinking of how
silly it was for me to be saying such things to a bird). "But I do not
have the luxury of taking many paths. I know the path I must take today.
The steps I now take have proven to work in the past. I must do what I
know to do.
"But sir," the old man now said, "Will you not help another who is in
need?"
I thought for a moment, and then said, "And what of my own family who is
also in need? We are not rich. I work with stone and my wife bakes breads.
My children also work, tending cows. We all work hard in order to keep our
house, and to put food on the table, and clothing on our backs."
"Yes, you work hard," said the bird. "But work is not always enough. Life
sometimes requires more than a strong back and willing hands. There are
opportunities to give all around us -- other people with needs. And when
we freely help, when we give without expecting anything good in return,
that's when we open the door for God's blessing."
"God helps those who help themselves, little bird," I said. I knew I was
right. "My old father told me often to work hard for what I got, and to
expect no help from others. I don't expects no help, and I don't offers no
help. People get what they earn. That's what I say."
"But we all need help," the old man was saying now. "We all need the help
of God to live and breathe each day. We need His blessing if we want our
hard work to count, as it should. Your whole family works hard now, and
you barely get by. Perhaps you could use the greater blessing God offers
those who help others."
And so on and on the conversation went.
After a while, I noticed that the morning was getting away from me. I
would have to walk faster now, to get to market on time. But the things
the strange blue bird and the old man were saying to me had their effect
on me.
I felt foolish for doing so, but I finally gave in. I had much to do that day, and I had no
more time to think or argue about what God will or will not do. So I
reached back and got a loaf of my wife's good bread from the pile. I
tossed it to the old man who caught it. I said my farewell and hurried
off.
At the market, I was surprised when I got more than usual for the bread.
"What's this for?" I asked when I got the extra money.
"Oh," said the merchant. "Your wife's bread is the best in the region. So
says my customers and so I say. So we're able to get a better price now
that everyone knows about it. It isn't so much more, but every little bit
helps, eh?"
And then when I went over to buy the grain, I got another surprise.
"Here you go, Thompson," the dealer said as he gave me two whole sacks for
the price of one.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"We got in a surplus of grain this year, Thompson," he said. "It's more
than we can sell. So I always share the extra with my best customers. And
this year, you've been one of my very best customers. Be sure and tell the
wife I said 'Hello.'"
And so I went back home with all the grain we needed -- with no loss for
the bread I had given away. And we were able to produce more bread (I had
to build a bigger oven), which made more money for the family.
Not only that, but my oldest son was given two calves of his own by the
farmer he works for. And I was able to build two new houses and the new
west wall for the large manor by the river. All in all, it was very good
year. The best we ever had.
I know what you must be thinking. You either think I'm loony, or you think
that the bread I gave away caused God's blessing on me and the family. But
I can't tell you what I think. I'm still trying to figure it out for
myself.
I've never seen the old man or that shiny blue bird again. And I never
heard anyone else say they've seen a strange blue bird around these parts.
Maybe I was just dreaming things that day. Or maybe they was angels of
some kind. Who knows?
I do know one thing, however. I'm a happier man now than I ever was
before.
I'm not afraid to give whenever someone's in need. If there's some little
thing I can do for a neighbor, I just go ahead and do it, even if he can't
pay me. And so far, doing it that way hasn’t hurt us. God has been kind to
us, whatever the reasons. I suppose it's just because He's good to us all,
anyway.
The Bible says:
"If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any
of your towns within the land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not
be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should
rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever
it may be." (Deuteronomy 15:7,8)
"Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the LORD,
and
will be repaid in full." (Proverbs 19:17)
"Some give freely, yet grow all the richer;
others withhold what is due, and only suffer want." (Proverbs 11:24)
"Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on this account the
LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake.
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore
command you, 'Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.'"
(Deuteronomy 15:10,11)
©2004 Jim Sutton
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