The Little Brown Sparrow
by Shell Isenhoff
Copyright, 2011 by Shell Isenhoff at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition License Notes:
This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration and the reader is not charged to access it.
Cover image by Don DeBold.
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Many years ago a little brown sparrow named Keturah made her home in a lush meadow. The grass grew in thick clumps of green, and when the sun warmed them, they gave off a fragrance as heady as baking bread. Wildflowers dotted the meadow floor with color, and a handful of neighborly trees left themselves plenty of space to stretch out their limbs. Keturah loved to swoop between them, fueled by the sheer joy of living.
One day, Keturah sailed past a flock of yellow goldfinches, as bright as wild daisies, who had perched in the branches of a terebinth tree. As she passed, the goldfinches giggled and twittered among themselves, and Keturah overheard their words.
“Do you see that ugly little sparrow?” one laughed. “Poor thing, so drab and brown. I’m glad I was hatched a colorful finch and not a common sparrow.”
Keturah pretended not to hear as she fluttered away, but the unkind words had pricked her heart. She hid herself deep within the shady branches of an old oak tree where no one could see her ugly feathers.
Before long, a lark landed in the tree’s topmost branches and sang a song as sweet as morning dew upon the grass. Keturah soon forgot her sadness and chirped along with the joyous melody.
The lark stopped abruptly. “I say!” he scolded, peering down at Keturah. “Who is making that horrible racket? A sparrow! Why, foolish little bird, don’t you know sparrows can’t sing? Now go away and stop interrupting me.”
Heartbroken, Keturah flitted toward a silver pond sparkling on the far side of the meadow. The way was far, and she paused to catch her breath.
As she rested, an eagle soared overhead, as graceful as dandelion fluff floating on a summer breeze. With a tilt of his wings, the eagle dove and skimmed the surface of the pond. Then he rose, clutching a fish in his talons and beating the air with powerful strokes of his wings.
Keturah watched with longing as the mighty bird disappeared from sight and continued on her own slow journey. Flitting and swooping as crazily as a bumblebee, she finally landed on a cattail that ringed the edge of the pond.
Not far away, a beautiful swan glided across the water. Elegant and pearly white, she arched her neck as gracefully as a tree bough bending in the wind. A shower of droplets cascaded down her back like jewels poured from a chest.
Keturah gazed sadly down at her own plain reflection, and a tiny tear rolled off her beak and splashed in the water below.
A field mouse saw the unhappy bird and climbed to sit beside her. “What’s the matter, Keturah? Why are you so sad?”
She sighed. “I wish I was like the other birds, Isaac.”
“But why?” he asked. “Your feathers are speckled and downy soft, and your eyes are bright as black buttons. You are unique – as special as any bird in the meadow.”
“But the finch’s feathers are brighter,” Keturah mourned. “And the lark sings so beautifully. The eagle is strong and sleek and swift. And the swan? Why no bird is as lovely as her. I am not as important as any of them.”
“Keturah, you don’t need to be like the others to be important. God made you special. You are valuable just the way you are.”
But another tear splashed into the pond. “No, I am only a plain, ugly, brown sparrow.” And nothing Isaac said could cheer her up.
Sometime later, a crowd of people swarmed into the meadow. Thousands came, trampling the grass and climbing atop high rocks. Forgetting her misery, Keturah fluttered to a limb to watch, and there in the midst of the crowd she spied a Teacher.
Sensing movement, Keturah found Isaac creeping along her branch. “Isaac, who is that man? Why are the people so excited?”
“Why, Keturah, don’t you know? It’s Jesus! He’s come to teach the people about God.”
Keturah listened to the Teacher all afternoon. When the shadows grew purple and long, Jesus stooped to pick a wildflower. Holding it high, He said to the people, “Do you see this lily? Even kings in their royal robes do not dress as gloriously as these. If God clothes the grass of the fields with such splendor, will he not take care of you?”
Then the Teacher’s gaze lifted to Keturah who leaned far over her perch to hear his words. Pointing her out for all to see, Jesus spoke. “And consider this sparrow. She does not plant fields or harvest crops. She has no barn to store food in, and yet God takes care of her. Will he not take care of you?”
Jesus smiled up at Keturah, and pleasure flowed over her like warm, spring sunshine.
Isaac nearly fell off the branch. “Keturah!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I tell you? You are important. You’re so special Jesus used you in his lesson!”
She considered his words as the crowd followed their Teacher from the meadow. Jesus had not required her to be colorful, or swift, or beautiful, or to have a lovely voice. He loved her just as she was.
She smiled shyly. “It’s amazing, Isaac,” she murmured, watching the velvet twilight swallow the last of the crowd. “God finds value even in an ordinary, brown sparrow.”
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