His Eye is On the Sparrow

A song you'll be humming throughout the day

“Hear that over in that church? They’re singing our song again,” Dillard said, high above on the telephone wires. “It’s music to my ears.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it our song,” Minnie said. “We’re mentioned in the title and throughout the song, but it’s not about us.”

“Say what?”

“Listen to the words, Dill,” she said. “It’s from the perspective of the songwriter.”

“Come on. It’s gotta be about us.”

“Guess you haven’t been around long enough to hear the Bible being read in that church. Let me paraphrase the song, ‘If He takes care of the sparrow, He’ll certainly take care of us.’ ‘Us’ being those singing in the church.”

“Really? That’s your interpretation of it?” Dillard asked.

“No, that’s what it means. It’s not an interpretation at all. Ask me how I know.”

“Ok, I’ll bite. How do you know?”

Minnie said, “Glad you asked. Great Great Grandsparrow of mine was there when the lyrics were written. True story. He was on a fence post in the backyard of the song writer.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard half of it yet. So there he was, perched on that fence post. I met him once right before he died and he was telling this story every chance he could get. Even when I met him, he was chattering nonstop with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. He had a cool story to tell, so he was going to tell it. I say all of that to tell you he was a chatterbox. 100% nonstop. The songwriter, of course, only heard nonstop chirping and walked over to where Grandsparrow was.

Minnie continued, “Now, Grandsparrow wasn’t afraid of the man for he was a kind and gentle man. The only thing the man said to Grandsparrow was ‘Thank you, Mr. Sparrow, thank you.’”

“And that’s it? That’s his story?” Dillard asked.

“Almost. Grandsparrow also loved a good argument. Yes, he was a sparrow, but he was the rarest of all the sparrows, the Albino Sparrow. As the man walked away with a smile on his face, Grandsparrow tried to correct the man, but we know they only hear a bunch of chirps. A day later, when the man played the song on the piano with his windows open, Grandsparrow was still going on about him being so rare and all, but the melody and the lyrics stuck in Grandsparrow’s noggin. When he heard the song, even he had to stop his yammering and be grateful someone acknowledged his bird type.”

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:26

“And here’s the thing. Out of all the birds he could have mentioned in the whole world, he chose ‘sparrow.’ Pretty cool, huh?”

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