The Special Friendship

 

It has taken me several years to get this story just right. I hope you enjoy it.

The Special Friendship

The early August sun promised a beautiful day as I grabbed my laptop and headed outdoors to my porch to do a little writing. It had been a good summer. A major prayer had been answered for my father. For several years, I’d prayed a specific prayer for him. My parent’s old home was beginning to show signs of wear. The windows were rotting on the outside. Shingles needed replaced on Dad’s garage. A small back door roof had fallen down. Painting jobs were needed everywhere, inside and out. But the worst of it was my parent’s shower. The walls were beginning to cave in. It was unsightly, but I worried mostly about how unsafe it was for them. With Dad’s heart condition and some financial burdens, we couldn’t find help. I wanted to do something for Mom and Dad, but I didn’t have the finances either. I began praying deep, heartfelt prayers that somehow we would find help; something that would lift my father’s spirits and show him that God truly cared.

Earlier in the summer, my father came home from church with the weekly bulletin. A small article we could have easily missed was printed off to the side. It read: Catholic Heart Workcamp. Dad asked, “Do you think this is something for heart patients? Maybe some type of help for them?”

Normally I would have dismissed this as unimportant, or something that was meant for other people but not my family. However, a nagging feeling pushed me to contact them. Do this for your Dad, someone seemed to say quite persistently.

Oddly enough, the nicest people reached back out to me. They were a group of young people and mentors who raised their own money all year ‘round. They didn’t vacation in the summer, but spent their time doing free work for those with household needs.

God, is this truly possible? Would Dad qualify for this?

The answer was yes, and the kindest group of kids came for a week and repaired, worked, laughed and prayed together at my parent’s house. Everything was done to perfection. They even were able to repair the shower. When they were done, I hugged each one of them and began crying. They had been an answer to prayer; a true miracle.

That was why on the early August day, I found myself daydreaming as I wrote. A loud “Chirup” stirred me from my reverie. The most glorious male cardinal sat only several feet from me on the railing of my porch. He looked inquisitively at me, turning his head a little as he chirped loudly once again. I could see the beautiful black mask on his face and the deep red of his perfect feathers.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “I’ll get you something,” and went into the house for seeds.

On a small, flat feeding dish I placed seeds as the cardinal sat nearby. How odd, I thought. As if he’s waiting for me. He’d flown to a low branch in the crab apple tree of my front yard. One more “chirp” as if thanking me, and I moved away so he could eat in peace.

From that moment on, something wonderful happened. The cardinal came daily to the porch, making sure he was heard. He sang sweetly in the branches of a Rhododendron bush outside my front window. When I pulled into my driveway after work each day the male cardinal would land nearby. He seemed to come closer and closer. I spoke to him and he listened with his tilted little head and piercing dark tiny eyes. He sometimes sang for me on the spot as I talked.

I found it odd that we were developing such a unique relationship, this bird and I. Many people began to comment that he was an angel, perhaps. He warmed my heart with his presence and brought me joy with his song.

My father landed in the hospital later that same month. Though it had always been congestive heart failure, this time his gallbladder would be the culprit. Well, at least it’s something easy, I thought. But it wasn’t. Dad developed sepsis. We lost him several weeks later.

With my heart breaking, the male cardinal still came daily. Throughout Dad’s time in the hospital and even on the day of the funeral, he was there singing his sweet song for me, trusting me, and coming ever closer. When tears and grief enveloped me, I felt comfort and hope with this small miracle of nature.

He remained through the winter months, and one time I saw him feeding seeds to his lady bird. What a special caregiver, I thought. Just like Dad had been for Mom.

It was then that I realized God had given me a gift in the form of this amazing bird. Through all my sadness, I’d held onto a new friendship: The kind that could only have come from above.

The cardinal came often, throughout the next year. I even tried feeding him from my hand. He seemed ever so close to wanting to breach this gap between human and bird, yet he hesitated always at the last.

I lost my mother nine months after Dad once again in the summertime. One year since our family’s blessing with Catholic Heart Workcamp, and one year since my unique bird friendship.

One day, later in the summer while sitting outdoors with my writing once again, I heard the familiar “Chirp!” I looked up to see the male cardinal and four fuzzy brown babies sitting next to him on the stoop of my porch.

“Thank you, oh thank you,” I said to him. “I love your babies. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

I never saw him again after that. It seemed the cardinal had done God’s work. He’d gotten me through the death of my parents. He’d shared song, bonding, friendship, and his family with me. Now my yard is filled with other cardinals. I’d like to think they are all parts of my special friend’s family.

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A Blossoming Friendship

When I opened my side door yesterday morning, the vibrant red cardinal flew to my porch railing. It's as if, on cue, his excellent bird hearing knows precisely what this sound means. Crumbs of bread, succulent seeds are soon to be on their way for he and his little friends. He paused, looking at me in that way that birds do, with head tilted to the side. In close range, I had time to take in the stunning black mask on his face and the tufts of red feathers which poked from his tiny head. Those dark eyes, so filled with intelligence. In the voice usually reserved for my darling cats or very small children, I began speaking to him telling him what a pretty bird he was and how happy I am that he greets me each morning. I talked and talked, making clucking sounds or tsking noises, anything to hold his interest so that we could communicate he and I in any way possible.

My cats took this as a sign that I was calling to them when they heard my loving sounds, and proceeded to investigate why their mother was speaking in that special way to another.

The cardinal flew to another part of the porch, this time lighting on one of the chairs. I still spoke, and he listened, all the while the little head tilted as if trying to discern what I said. He flew up from the chair, actually hovering in the air for a moment or two, bright wings flapping as if dancing for me. To the top of my grill, then onto the wicker porch swing, Mr. bird paused, never leaving, appearing to take in the language as foreign to him as his chirping is to me.

Next, he landed on my car, and I reveled in the special moments meant only for me, not worrying that I didn't have camera or phone to record this special time, but recording it to the memory of my heart.

For I believe we have a blossoming friendship, the cardinal and I. It's been at least a year that he and the missus have lived in our backyard pine. Never straying very far, he knows my movements, when my car returns from a work day, and he is there to greet and to sing, giving me gifts that only he can.

Nature has always been such a big part of my family. My mother grew close to a female raccoon to the point she was able to hand feed her. When the raccoon had babies, she brought them to my mom as if waiting for approval, and teaching them that this human was kind; this human will not hurt you.

My parents enjoyed watching the birds around their home, and eventually hanging a hummingbird feeder for the last several years. As Dad would sit on the porch, those little darlings would hover near to his face, investigating him before whisking away in that speedy fashion they have of flying to seek more nectar.

I walked outside yesterday, and grabbed the bag of seeds to fill the bird feeder. The cardinal flew to the lowest branches of a nearby tree, waiting patiently. Though I filled my hand with seeds and called to him, inviting him to a more intimate feeding, he would not come; would not breach the gap between human and animal.

Perhaps someday, I thought. For there is a friendship growing between the two of us. A precious trust that reminds me of our Heavenly Father. God invites me to those more intimate times. Will I dare to give up control, trusting Him for friendship, for more beauty than I ever dreamed possible?

May we all appreciate nature and every good gift that comes from above.