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| Image credit: Photo by Angelrays on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
I was out walking with my daughter today, and she wanted to feed the birds. She didn't want to feed the birds breadcrumbs or birdseed though; she wanted to feed them berries and acorns and pinecones we found along the way: things they could presumably just fly on down and eat if they wanted to. But not trusting them to pluck or find what they needed, she decided to pick these delicacies for them and pile them on the sidewalk where they would be easy to find.
When I was about her age, I lived near a field of tall grass with a little creek and a few small trees. I used to collect the grass and twigs and make little nests out of them and place each one carefully up in the trees. And like my daughter, I left offerings of readily available food as housewarming gifts. In spite of my mother's gentle warnings that birds liked making their own nests, I would dream of how happy the birds would be in the nests I'd made for them and would go back frequently to check and see if any of them had moved in. No birds ever did. I spent a lot of time and energy crafting homes that were much less suited to a bird's needs than what a bird could make itself. I couldn't see that the birds were better equipped to take care of themselves than I was to take care of them.
And it occurred to me, as I walked with my daughter today, that I take that helping impulse into relationships with more than just birds. I've taken it into my marriage, into friendships, into previous romantic relationships, into relationships with relatives. I've spent a lot of time and energy in my life crafting assistance that was much less suited to other people's needs than what those people could do for themselves. And I couldn't always see that those folks were ultimately better equipped to take care of themselves than I was to take care of them.
This post originally published at The Second Road on October 25, 2008.
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