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Said the Robin to the Sparrow, "I should really like to know
Why these anxious human beings Rush about and worry so."
Said the Sparrow to the Robin, "My friend, it must be
That they have no Heavenly Father such as cares for you and me."
I thought of this little rhyme last week when I watched a robin hopping cheerfully in our lawn. He didn't seem worried in the least about a lurking virus in the world in which he lived. But for those of us who can't depend on catching an unlucky earthworm for a snack, life changed in different ways.
The long fingers of the corona virus reached to the little Piney Creek schoolhouse beside our meadow. The window shades stayed down and no children played there all week.
When I biked past Forsheys on my way home from C&S Grocery store, on Monday, March 16, the tent for the open house was up and the bright blue tractors stood around for display but no people were milling around to see what there was to see or get a free lunch.
The next day the plans to attend nephew Lowell Zeiset's wedding in Missouri, were canceled, even though I had just ordered his wedding gift. We learned that the Wisconsin ordination for Wednesday, March 18, was also canceled, even though many people had traveled from the east to attend it. They returned home without knowing who the new deacon would be.
Since three of my own comings and goings were canceled, I let Wednesday's sun and wind entice me outdoors. Besides "puttering" in my little greenhouse, I cleaned the weeds from both my asparagus patch and raspberry row. Even though I was tuckered out from that exertion, in the afternoon I went back outdoors to pull weeds and till my strawberry patch. Where I had tilled mercilessly, I placed old hay. I was really pleased with my jobs well done, but my muscles let me know the next day that I was unaccustomed to gardening.
Following on the heels of that strong south wind, came a gentle rain that soaked my gardens. With the precipitation, came spring peeper songs, strong and clear, in the velvety warmth. Through our open bedroom window, their chorus lulled us into summer dreams. My peas started pushing through the soil, as did the radishes and spinach. Daffodils broke free from their bud confinement and waved cheerily in the breeze. For once I could let my flats of larkspur and kale outside overnight. The lettuce and petunias are surviving but not thriving with all the juggling.
But like in a chess game, winter put spring into check. To save spring, the peas stopped growing upward. But we know, even as the cold north wind plummeted our temps again, that spring will win the game.
Into check, also, went jobs, for men of all ages, across the nation, forcing them into other plans. In a chess game when the king is put into check by his opponent, he must move or get a helper to protect him if he wants to save his place on the board, if he wants to win. In 2020, when jobs and church services and all social gatherings are in check, we must stay home or the "game is over," eh?
But in all the uncertainties of being in check till the virus "loses the game," we don't need to worry as in the song by Ira F. Stanphill:
"I don't know about tomorrow, I just live from day to day.
"I don't borrow from its sunshine, For its skies may turn to gray.
"I don't worry o'er the future, For I know what Jesus said,
"And today I'll walk beside Him For He knows what is ahead.
"I don't know about tomorrow, It may bring me poverty;
"But the One who feeds the sparrow, Is the One who stands by me.
"And the path that be my portion May be thru the flame or flood,
"But His presence goes before me, And I'm covered with His blood.
"Many things about tomorrow, I don't seem to understand;
"But I know who holds tomorrow, And I know who holds my hand."
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