A hummingbird feeder hangs outside our kitchen window, dangling above the wooden boards of our little deck. The feeder is blue and made of glass and has been there for the better part of the last year. We’ve had to refill it twice, gooey red nectar sloshing into and over the sides of the glass container.
For months, the feeder was untouched; the red liquid sat undisturbed. Were the hummingbirds unable to find it? Had we hung it incorrectly? Were there even any hummingbirds around at all?
And then, quite suddenly, the liquid began to vanish. Hooray, we thought. Our hummingbird feeder had been discovered — and it was quite clearly a popular destination.
But here’s the thing: We’ve only ever seen one hummingbird. And it didn’t take us long to notice the mess of red liquid beneath the feeder, as though someone — or something — was shaking the contraption and spilling its contents all over the place.
I’m no expert on hummingbirds, but they don’t seem big enough to make that sort of a mess. So, what’s doing it? A bat? A squirrel? Birds of a larger variety?
We haven’t seen any of those. All we’ve seen is that one, solitary hummingbird — and it seemed happy enough with our meager offering.
I’ve been reflecting on that word, offering. I offer it to you as a mantra: Make an offering. I think that’s God’s invitation to us.
I think we often get so caught up in our to-do lists, in the albeit important tasks we set for ourselves each day, that we end up judging ourselves based solely on what we’ve managed to do. Our sense of success becomes limited by results and fails to celebrate the journey — one that is inevitably still unfolding.
We place value on the things to be done rather than on the one responsible for the doing.
I wonder if we might shift our stance ever so slightly. Rather than get caught up in what we do, what if instead we made an offering of what we are? What if we re-centered on ourselves? What if rather than focusing solely on the end result, we noticed our own efforts — meager and insufficient though they may feel at times — and rejoiced in them?
What if we simply make an offering of ourselves to God and God’s people each day?
It’s a subtle shift, sure. And we still do need to accomplish specific tasks: send the email, pick up the kids, make the dinner, clean the bathroom. But if we assume this disposition of offering, then we remember that we are necessarily limited. We can only do so much; others must step in to make up for where we fall short. And we step in for them in turn.
We make an offering to one another, humbling ourselves as imperfect and beloved creatures, muddling through the day-to-day as best we can.
Some days we nail it; other days we don’t. But in and through it all is God delighting in that offering of self, receiving it gratefully and multiplying that simple gift a hundredfold: bread and fish to feed thousands.
We might only see a solitary hummingbird. But really, we have no idea how far our humble offering might go. Keep refilling the feeder. Keep offering what you have, who you are. Keep showing up.
And hold in your mind that single, precious bird, who briefly stopped at our little feeder to be fueled for its journey. Where did it go? Who saw it next? How far did our meager offering extend?
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