I keep asking God to grow my trust in Him. It’s been my recurring prayer this year. Then He sent me a hummingbird.

One day in late summer at my second story office, something kept flying in and out of my peripheral vision around the pear tree outside the window. When I stopped to look, I saw it was a hummingbird, and it perched on a branch that pointed toward me about fifteen away.

I called my coworkers to come see, and did anyone have a set of binoculars? The next morning, Sheldon brought his pair and we could see the little bird was clearly building a nest.

I can tell you that I watched a busy little hummingbird make her nest, but then I choke up and my eyes start leaking. I don’t have words to explain how beautiful it was to watch her. She zipped in and out all day, just outside my window.

A neighboring family from church—five little ones and their mom, avid bird lovers—brought their binoculars one day to watch. They told me she would build her nest from moss and spiderwebs.

Sure enough. When Danny*, my co-worker across the hall, got his big camera to capture the action, he caught a shot of a wisp of web on her bill and extra spider webs stockpiled beside the nest.

July 25, 2024

She used her bill to shape and punch and work her nest. She sat in it and scooched around in it to shape its bed. She used lichens from the tree for the outside of the bowl, which was a splendid camouflage. Often when people came to see the nest, it was hard for them to find it because the whites, grays, and greens looked just like the branches surrounding it. Her own green back matched the leaves around her. She was very watchful as she worked, constantly on the look-out.

I watched her build for two weeks. My eyes learned to know exactly where to look, and how to direct others’ eyes to find her. I watched for her partner with his ruby throat, but he never showed up. These are not romantic birds, I understand. Maybe it’s those bills.

Then she sat on the nest for two weeks. The nest was nearly eye level to us, and we wished we could look down into the nest to see the eggs, but we never could. It seemed significant that she usually faced away from my window and toward the tree trunk. I wondered if she felt that direction held her greatest threat, and our brick building with rows of windows felt safe enough to not keep an eye on it.

She was a distraction and many brain breaks and a deep message to me. She was teaching me something about how it looks to rest and trust. I wondered if she knew how small she was and how big the sky is, but she didn’t seem bothered. I couldn’t possibly survive in the wild like her, but I got a front row seat to watching her manage and thrive.

The eggs hatched on August  21 and she started feeding her two babies! It was unbelievable. How was it safe to poke her bill deep into her babies’ mouths? Where was her partner? How could she feed her babies alone?

September 2, 2024

September 3, 2024

Apparently, hummingbirds eat insects in addition to nectar, but still, how is it possible to supply the babies’ growing metabolisms and get them and herself ready to migrate? How can the little mites fly 1,000’s of miles south so soon?

September 3, 2024

Eventually, it looked like the babies were spilling out of the nest. We kept wondering how they practice flying.

September 3, 2024

We never saw the first one leave. Then there was one left. It perched on the edge of the nest and whirred its wings into a blur on and off for a whole day. The next morning, while Danny and I were watching, it hopped onto several branches surrounding the nest, then zoomed away. It took maybe fifteen seconds for it to hop out and decide to fly. We never saw any of them again.

I look out at that tiny, hidden nest every day and I miss that sweet little mama and her babies. I’m not a birder, but she was an immense gift to me this summer. She didn’t understand big words like camouflage or regurgitate or migrate but she knew what to do. In that nest, she rested and trusted something bigger than her.

This summer, it just happened that I noticed her graceful swoops to and from the pear tree. It just happened that I work across the hall from someone who likes wildlife photography and has the equipment for it. It just happened that another neighbor had binoculars that could sit on my window sill for six weeks. It just happened that a plucky little single-parent hummingbird chose a branch that made my office window the best vantage point. It just happened that Danny and I got to watch the last fledgling leave.

Now the leaves in the pear tree are slowly turning red and orange. It’s time for a new season. I understand that hummingbirds won’t come back to their old nest and I’m sad. But this season of watching those birds taught me something deep that I’m still mulling.

I asked for deeper trust and He sent me a hummingbird.

*Thanks to Danny for the wonderful pictures!