Chapter Ten
A Little Birdie Told Me
I’ve always loved the trees in the South—the way light filters through green leaves, making them glow. But what I had never experienced until now was Fall in the mountains. Every other visit home had been in summer or right before or after the leaves changed. I’d only caught the edges of the season, never the full display.
That changed this time.
The trees have been quiet teachers—rooted and strong, their leaves shifting in the wind. At times they move together, at times against each other, yet always with the promise of new growth.
Along with the beauty of the trees, the birds caught my attention too. Over the past few weeks, I’ve become a bit of a bird watcher. It started on the porch with my mom, where we kept our eyes peeled for cardinals and blue jays—those bold, beautiful birds we’d longed to see up close. They’re strong and stoic, but so quick and distant that it’s nearly impossible to capture them with a phone camera. I always needed the real camera.
Last week, on the porch with all my family sitting and visiting, I finally had my moment. A bright red cardinal landed at the feeder, and I quietly slipped into photographer mode. Shushing everyone as I slinked into place, I lifted my camera and waited. It took several minutes of still quietness, but I got the shot. More than that, I had a realization.
While I waited patiently for him, I began to notice the other birds— the smaller, quieter, more common ones. I became just as captivated by them. Their songs, their graceful movements, the way they soared freely—it all moved me in unexpected ways. I started to hear the way they called and responded to one another, sometimes from trees far apart, yet somehow still connected.
The search for the ultimate beauty ended up teaching me to appreciate what I might’ve overlooked. The same has been true of this whole journey.
As I’ve sought God in this time away, He’s shown me beauty in the people around me—some strong and commanding, others humble and familiar. Some close, some far. But each one has sung a song my heart could hear.
One month ago, I left the familiar to find home—and I did.
It’s the love of Jesus, first and always. But it’s also the love of my people—friends and family alike—that grounds me. When you let me into the quiet, trusted place in your heart, I feel safe. I find peace. I rediscover trust.
And isn’t that what home really is?
Not just a place, but a presence. A sense of security and belonging that you carry in spirit, wherever you go.
“By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.”
—Proverbs 24:3–4 (ESV)
