Bluebirds of Hope

                On day last week, as I left my driveway, a bright bluebird flew directly in front of me. When I arrived at the church, a pair of bluebirds was perched on top of one of the nesting boxes placed along the road leading to the parking lot. The day began with a blessing of bluebirds.

            One of the perennial joys of spring and summer is the visitation of bluebirds. The sight of these beauties lifts my spirits.

                The first movie I can remember seeing was Walt Disney’s “Song of the South.”  That movie has now been removed from circulation because it is no longer considered politically correct.  In my mind’s eye, I can still see Uncle Remus and the animations of Br’er Rabbit, Br’er Fox, and Br’er Bear.  In one of my favorite scenes Uncle Remus is depicted with an animated bluebird perched first on one shoulder, and then on the other, as he sings “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah.”  The lyrics are, “Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder. It’s the truth. It’s actch’ll. Everything is satisfactch‘ll,”

         Bluebirds are associated with happiness.  In the movie “The Wizard of Oz,” Judy Garland’s Dorothy sang of bluebirds that fly over the rainbow.  The lyrics to a song from the World War II era proclaimed, “There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover” as a harbinger of peace. 

         Songs about bluebirds abound, but there was a time when the bluebird was an endangered species. 

         Sialia sialis, the Eastern Bluebird, primarily feeds on insects.  Crickets, grasshoppers, caterpillars, and Japanese beetles are all a part of a bluebird’s diet.  Because they are insect eaters, the native population of bluebirds was reduced to critically low numbers by the overuse of pesticides.  Through conservation efforts, the species has made a remarkable recovery. 

         Bluebirds are found in South Carolina year ‘round.  When insect populations decrease with frost and cold weather, the bluebirds expand their menu to include berries, mistletoe, Virginia creeper, red cedar, hollies, and dogwoods.  In a single season, a nesting pair will rear two broods of four or five fledglings each.  Though the birds will nest in any cavity, bluebird boxes, mounted four or five feet above the ground, facing south over an open area, are almost sure to attract a mated pair.

         The Cherokee Indians call the bluebird the “bird that carries the sky on its back.”  The bright blue feathers, accented with chestnut throat and white belly, make this winged visitor a welcome addition to any backyard. 

         As I was working in my garden last week, I saw a pair of bluebirds making their second nest of the season in one of the several nesting boxes I provide. 

         Since the fall of 2000, bluebirds have become, for us, a sign of grace.

         November in South Carolina is usually a mild month.  Not until after Thanksgiving does the weather begin to feel like winter. On November 19, 2000, we had an accumulation of snow in the Upstate. It was the day of our 27-year-old son’s funeral.

         Erik died on November 15, 2000, at his home in Charleston.  Temperatures in the Lowcountry were normal.  The day we returned from Charleston to our home in the Spartanburg, the sky was bright and sunny.  Sunday morning, the day of the funeral, dawned grey, cold, and damp.  Temperatures continued to fall through the day.  By the time we arrived at the church for the funeral, light snow was falling.  When we went to the cemetery for the committal service, the ground was covered with snow.

         Some of our friends expressed regret that the weather was inclement on the day of our son’s service.  In our imagination, we thought that Erik had put in a request to the Almighty.  Something like, “Lord, you know this will be a hard day for my family.  Could you do something to surprise them?”

         In my first sermon after Erik’s death, I interpreted the snow as a gentle touch from God, a gift of grace in our grief, and a symbol of hope.  Many of the Christmas cards and Christmas presents we received that year included a snow theme. As Christmas approached, we decided to decorate our Christmas tree only with snowflakes and snowmen ornaments.  Hand-cut snowflakes adorned our windows.

         As spring approached, Clare and I knew we needed a symbol of hope for the warmer months.  In late February, I conducted a funeral for a church member at Greenlawn Memorial Gardens, the same cemetery where Erik’s grave is located. 

         At the conclusion of the service, I stopped the car near our son’s newly-placed tombstone.  I could see an eastern bluebird perched atop Erik’s marker.  I called Clare on the cell phone just as the bird flew away. 

         “I think I have found a new symbol for spring and summer,” I said when she answered. “It’s a bluebird that has just flown away.

         “Just wait a minute or two.  Maybe he will come back,” Clare said. 

Sure enough, the bluebird returned.  He perched on Erik’s gravestone and was joined by his mate, giving us our new symbol of hope.

         Nesting boxes in our yard invite bluebirds to make their home near ours.  Every spring since Erik’s death we have enjoyed two or three winged families as visitors in our yard.

         They are, indeed, a symbol of hope, a tender mercy, and a touch of grace.