Lessons From an Upside-down Birdhouse

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life. He gave me life that I might enjoy all things.

How many years has it been like that? At least two, I think. When I first realized the birdhouse had flipped, I decided to keep it like that as a reminder for me to stop expecting everything to be sooo perfect. Even the Garden of Eden had a slithering, conniving snake in it.

Yesterday, while resting our tired, aching bones from working in the yard, I asked my husband if he would fix it; I don’t need a reminder anymore; my perfectionist self doesn’t come by as often these days. Sometimes she thinks about moving back in, but I slam the door in her face. Temporary visits are more than enough for me to handle.

“I’ll fix it when we’re finished with the yard this evening.”

Suddenly, a bluebird flew in and out, and then another. There’s a family living there now! All those years it’s been hanging upright, absolutely vacant. Now that it’s upside-down, it’s the perfect home to set up house-keeping. We’re not home wreckers, so we’ll wait until they move out before we renovate it.

And I got to thinking. That old, imperfect, upside-down birdhouse is hardly a dream home with all the modern conveniences, a double car garage, and a swimming pool in the backyard. But the happily married couple chose it to raise their little, blue-feathered babies.

We live in a generation a million miles away from the old farmhouses with no running water, no light switches, and a toilet a mile from the house. A generation that doesn’t find pleasure in walking through the woods, sitting on a log before a trickling stream, dreaming and meditating, and feeling close to God.

When we take our eyes off the treasures we already have, we begin comparing ourselves with the rich and seemingly more successful than ourselves. Young people, still wet behind the ears, have the biggest houses and newest cars equipped with more gadgets than they know how to work or will probably ever use. And we’re sitting in our wheelchairs, beating ourselves up because our dreams turned into dust.

I’m learning, ever so slowly, that life is less complicated when I stop beating myself up for my imperfections and bringing my lofty expectations back down to earth. Like the bluebirds nesting in the old, broken-down birdhouse, I’m learning to be more content and reminding myself that life isn’t perfect and neither am I.