Ransom Money

The price was only $1, but with the transfer of cash, and a triumphant gleam, Noah bought the life of a bird.

With countless interruptions from school each day, I get weary with deciding what is worthy of a break from the books and what is not, but earlier this week, I came home from walking Natalie to preschool to find Noah and some school boys from next door, bartering on the back porch, over the price of a common fledgling pigeon.

Ah, great, just what we need!  I figured it must be wounded or ill or some such thing leading to death and further drama, and I really wanted to shut the transaction down, but Noah pleaded.  Oh I should be saying NO to this, but perhaps there could be some lesson?

Scaly-naped Pigeon fledgling

 One of the boys with red checkered shirt and navy uniform pants had shot it out of a tree with a slingshot, stunning it, before tying a grimy thread to its ankle.  He had hoped to bring it home to eat, but Noah was bartering for it's life.  A dollar is not bad for a few bites of bird, so Noah ran in the house to get the money from his savings.  Next there was the issue that the dollar bill itself was not good enough because of a small tear where it had been creased.  Finally the boy agreed to take the damaged dollar, likely laughing all the way to the bank, or at least to the school yard snack stand.

In situations like this, I am frequently faced with the thought of how hard we should advocate for the life of a simple bird when children die around us with far less care or attention?  Despite my desire for my kids to know and care about the pain of image-bearers around them, this is a burden I dare not lay too heavily on the hearts of my children.  They know others with hunger but do not always make the connection when their hearts become full with tenderness towards the hurt of a creature.  Or perhaps the weight presses so near, creature care becomes the concrete "something" they can do to alleviate the dissonance that follows them into play and sleep.

Whatever it may be, the bird became Noah's new focus of care.  He quickly finished his school work, went over to ask a friend's advice, and she eagerly researched online and helped come up with answers  as to what it was and how to best care for it.  He began a feeding schedule with berries and eye droppers of pureed veggies, made a comfy "nest" in a box, and even setting his alarm to wake him with the sun's rising, so as to care for his new dependent to the best of his ability.

That night when I tucked him in bed, we talked about how Noah's compassion for the bird could teach us of God's love for us.  How when our lives were destined for destruction He ransomed us at far greater cost, and choose to treasure and delight in us, despite our broken, helpless state.  I asked him to think about how the love he was feeling for this small bird gives us just glimpse of how immense God's love for us is.  Just like there is not a single thing the bird can do to earn back the gift, there is nothing we can do to pay for our redeemed lives.  We just get to live in fellowship and gratitude with our amazing Creator!  And as I asked him to think about this truth I realized the whole bird hassle could be God's way of reminding me of my own adoption into his care, how he wants compassion to blaze in me, and how he longs to see his nature of grace flow out of my life...

Ransom money -- God knows all about it and plants just a glint of that grace in our hearts, so boys and their moms can reflect His love to those around them.


As with most life illustrations, they only go so far before falling short of truth or usefullness.  In our case, muddy paw prints on the porch the next morning told the story of the hungry mongrel.  He made a midnight snack of the bird, leaving the carnage of feathers and bloodied bone for the aggrieved caregiver to find and bury the next day!!!

Is the next teaching about God's tender care of the sparrow... and hungry dogs, too?