For the Birds

For the Birds

We drove slowly through the cemetery, the first car just behind the hearse. An occasional snowflake found its way across the windshield on this sunny Saturday afternoon. The rain from the night before washed the air clean, and the cold would be bearable for a short time. We were there to say goodbye to our dad, Malvin Lee Miller, American.

The Great Malvini, as he had come to be known in some circles, had quietly slipped away in his sleep. Till the very end he was determined to do things in his own way and in his own time. His soul stayed around long enough for his children to arrive and hold his still warm hand. Although his death was without fanfare, The Great Malvini made sure that the rest of us were aware that this was the passing of an era.

Like everyone else in my universe, I am asleep at 1 a.m. Not so on that fateful Thursday morning. Something woke Lucy, my English springer spaniel, who in turn woke me. As I tiptoed down the stairs and Lucy ran on her quiet, little doggy feet, Shelley, my sister-in-law, heard us and decided to let her dog join Lucy in the great varmint hunt outside. Ted, my brother, was awakened and out of bed before the telephone rang. The lady from the assisted living facility was calling to tell us that Daddy was “unresponsive.” Ted and I quickly dressed and drove the short distance to HarborChase.

As many nights as I have spent at Ted and Shelley’s house, I can truthfully say that the three of us have never been up at the same time at that hour of the morning. But then again, it wasn’t our passing that was taking place. The Great Malvini had decided that the time was right and he was in a hurry.

By afternoon everyone at HarborChase knew that Mr. Miller, the man who always dressed in a coat and tie for meals, had died. Mrs. Thrasher, the little lady who sat on his left at the dining table, took to her bed for the remainder of the day. Another lady gathered up the uneaten toast and fed the birds, something my dad had done every day for years.

Now the church service was over, and we were meandering through the narrow streets at Maple Hill Cemetery. As we drove along, we were surprised to see that hundreds of robins had joined the procession. They were sitting on the tombstones, on tree limbs, on the ground and in the road. There wasn’t another bird in sight….only robins. And they had no intention of remaining quiet.

During the ceremony, Tim leaned over and whispered, “Listen to the birds!” Indeed, they were all chirping at once. From inside the tent, we couldn’t see the robins but we could certainly hear them. As soon as the service was over, the chirping stopped and the robins disappeared.

So how do I interpret these two incidences? In one, an entire household was awake in the middle of the night and seemingly ready for a summons. The other involved hundreds of robins on a mission.

Often I discount the miracle and mystery of God in my life by ignoring the extraordinary. Cynicism creeps in and helps me rationalize perfectly reasonable explanations for nearly every event. Seeing the wonder and magnificence in day to day occurrences requires vigilance—more effort than I am willing to give on most days. This time there could be no cynicism, no rationalization. This time God did not use his still, small voice. This time He roared!