At first, as I watched from the upstairs window I thought they were fat, gray mice dancing a mousey jig across the snow. There had to be nearly a dozen of them - scurrying and leaping and skittering across the white lawn. Then, upon closer observation, I realized that they weren't mice, but birds - juncos in fact. These winter birds have a gray back, with an off-white underbelly. They are typically ground feeders.

Even though  there was  a full bird-feeder only a few meters away, my frolicking juncos were feasting off the vegetation, i.e. weeds, that surround parts of the back yard, which I had not got around to pulling last autumn. These were fairly tall weeds, so a junco would leap straight up in the air to knock out the seeds from the top of the plant. Then it would settle and eat up its fallen bounty.  As I said, it made for this fascinating, comical dance of the juncos.

Jesus said, "Look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them," (Matthew26).

Now a discerning and perhaps, argumentative junco might tell Jesus that it takes more work than he thinks for a little bird  to get breakfast on a cold winter's day, and sometimes, it takes a little reaping to make ends meet. It's not all millet and sunflower seeds, handed out on a platter. And if you let them, the crazy squirrels would rob you blind before you get a taste, not to mention the aggressive blue jays  who try to bully a hard-working junco out of its lunch.  Sure, those cardinals are pretty, but they think they have a divine right to the best seeds.

There is the challenge of this whole text at the end of Matthew's rendition of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount to "not worry" but put our total trust in God for the provisions in life which we need to sustain us. I am a natural worrier. I struggle to grasp and own this whole text for myself. And I am more blessed than many, so what am I complaining about? I find it hard to imagine what the truly poor, hungry, homeless hear in this text.   

But the juncos remind me that even in the weeds around us there is nourishment and sustenance. When I truly look around me there are signs of God's  grace and providence. We may have to work a little to reap the benefits. It may take courage to be grateful for whatever we get. It  may take creative imagination to turn it into a feast. It may take sacred boldness to turn it into a dance.

Dale