I held a hummingbird in my hands today. I was volunteering at jamin's school, hippie woo woo school we call it, where children run amuck and talk about catching "peace fever" and use feeling words with each other like tiny psychiatrists ("how did you feel when she pushed you?" teachers prompt gently). we were playing in the gym, children running freely, chasing tennis balls and each other, girls playing "baby" with each other and boys making siren noises. the gym has big sliding doors on all sides; it houses the gymnastics equipment for a girls sleepover camp all summer, then transforms into a romper room in the fall for these free-spirited sprites. the room itself is chilly on these autumn mornings, and I stood huddled near one of the doors in a triangle of sun while I watched the carefully orchestrated free-for-all.
when we'd first come in for playtime there was a dead hummingbird in the middle of the floor. nights now are too cold for tiny cold-blooded creatures, especially those who should have headed south a week or so ago. it made me feel guilty that our feeder at home is still hanging up, inticing the flutter of wings with free, easy-to-find nectar, tricking the birds into thinking flowers still might be blooming so there might be reason to stay. I (and 17 children) watched as a teacher gently swept the bird into a dustpan and take her out of the gym to be handled later in the day. children were quick to settle back into activity with far less questioning than I'd anticipated.
later during playtime another hummingbird appeared on the floor. a teacher called me over and pointed it out.
"there must be a nest in the rafters," she said. "I just saw it fall straight down with a plop. but this one is still alive, I'm pretty sure."
it was indeed. "do you want me to pick it up?" I asked, unsure of what parent volunteers were actually expected to do in situations like these.
"whatever you feel comfortable with," was all the help I got in figuring it out.
so I did. I picked up a hummingbird, those mysterious animals that buzz like big insects, the only birds capable of backwards flight. we'd watched the flit around our feeders all summer, jamin and cora annoucing their simetaneous arrivals and depatures from the breakfast table every morning: "hummingbird! it flew away." holding this one in my hand felt nothing like I'd expected (not that I'd ever thought much about what holding a hummingbird would feel like). this tiny body felt more like a marshmallow than an animal, and those wings that were always just a blur before were still enough to make me nervous.
somewhere this week I read the reminder that "your ministry is where your feet are." I need reminders like this every so often, especially when I get bogged down with being still, with not being able to do enough to save the world, with being boring in my (not so very) old age. last week I started three new parenting classes, an overwhelming mix of people insistent that they don't need any help with their parenting, a family with kids so out of control we cannot provide them with childcare, and even one family that required a report to dss. weeks like that make me hug my own kids extra hard, give an extra shout out of thanks for all the support systems I have. weeks like that also remind me that my ministry is where my feet are, in more ways than one. there is need right here, right where I already live, and of course that is part of my ministry where my feet are, in a very literal sense. but more than that, there will alway be need, there will always be families who need a boost, kids who need to feel safe, people who need to find their tribe. and since my feet will always be wherever it is I am, that is another way to minister where my feet are. ministry will just follow wherever I happen to be just because that is the way it works. compassionate hearts find needs to fill even when they don't really want to.
so today my ministry was to a hummingbird. I carried that little marshmallow body outside to a warm picnic bench and no sooner had I placed it down gently than the whir of wings started and off flew my little friend. that is the kind of results I am most fond of: immediate and highly visible. there is power in that reminder, power that every little bit helps, power in being in the right place at the right time with a willingness to listen to what needs to be done.
we can stay here and I can teach parenting classes. I can quit my job and homeschool my children. we can move to hawaii and work in a group home. we can join an organic farm in vermont and raise children and garlic and potatoes. it is all ministry. it is all exactly right. we will keep listening and loving and learning and that will all be exactly enough. wherever our feet may be.
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