What happens is not as important as how you react to what happens.

Aleaha found a fallen robin egg on the grounds at the office last week. Because of my past successes in raising baby birds, she of course, brought it to me with a desire to save the unborn chick in the egg. And of course, my gut, knee-jerk response was to do just that. I rustled up a container that would fit nicely on the top of an old CRV monitor where the egg would stay warm, and commenced to regularly checking and turning the egg. (Yes, we did candle the egg and there is indeed, a chick in there, though of course, dead or alive, we cannot tell.)

In preparation for the anticipated arrival, I went online and did some research on baby robins. Having some experience in raising birds, I was already well aware of some of the challenges that exist in such attempts. When hand feeding domestic birds, the babies always remain with the parent for the first few weeks, as the care of newly hatched babies of ANY species is a very specific and critical science that only parent birds are best suited for. Even when the babies are removed from the nest, there must be a firm commitment to their constant care and some basic knowledge to ensure success. Feedings are frequent. Too little food will stunt the baby’s development. Too much can cause injury to the sensitive crop which can lead to pneumonia and death by starvation. The formula must be just the right temperature, or the crop will cease digestion and again, death by starvation. If too much food is administered too quickly, it could go into the lungs instead of the crop and again, lead to pneumonia. Even when the most tedious and knowledgeable care is taken, accidents still happen and babies are lost.

During my birding career, I lost one lovebird to an injured crop. It was a slow and painful death for the baby, and all I could do was hold it and keep it warm with the full knowledge that there was NOTHING I could do to relieve his suffering. Needless to say, the experience was not one that I would wish to repeat. I’ve lost 2 rescued wild babies, counting the one we found in the yard last year, that was a victim of the nest raid in the hanging basket on our front porch. It is likely that one or both of those babies had injuries from the trauma that preceded their rescue, but neither is it impossible that their deaths could have been related to some mistake on my part as well. In such cases, you are compelled to do your best, and know that if your best is not adequate, accept that it just wasn’t meant to be.

Armed with this knowledge of how critical the care required for new hatchlings, and knowing full well the human inadequacy for such things, I was painfully reminded of that in researching the robin. Again and again, big-hearted folks wrote message boards requesting what they should do with fallen eggs. And again and again, the advice was to leave them be. I was reminded that in a big-hearted fool’s gallant attempt to save the hatchling, it is far too often that more suffering is caused than lives saved. In the trauma to the egg, damage could have been done to the forming chick, leading to deformity. The chick may already be dead and was purposefully discarded by the parent as she instinctively knew this egg was not meant to hatch. Conditions for successfully incubating wild bird eggs are almost as critical as the feeding of the hatchlings. Even in a best-case scenario, if the egg does hatch, the likelihood of a human successfully bringing the hatchling through those critical first 2 weeks of its life, are very rare indeed. And if death comes after hatching, there is consciousness and full awareness to the chick, of the suffering and pain that accompanies such deaths.

So I’m faced with this momentous decision. Do I try to save the baby in the egg, or do I leave nature to its own higher wisdom, and let it be? I do have much knowledge in raising baby birds and likely my skills exceed those of the average person. But it is important to remember the limitations of my skills. Most people who have been successful in hatching eggs have been so with eggs of larger and endangered species, and their success was largely due to having the science to provide the perfect environment and supplies and TIME to meet the task at hand. And even then, there have been failures. I keenly recall the pain of watching babies suffer at my own hands…hands that sought only to help and nurture, yet hands imperfect for the task, hands not created for the task. 

I believe that our fellow creatures often come to us with unique messages of their own – even in the form of a developing chick, not even yet conscious that it is, perhaps even already dead in the shell. Yet I am reminded of something – a reminder that comes at a very appropriate time for me, with regards to some of my present concerns for my family.

In the course of 2 years of therapy some time ago, it was brought out that I had the personality of a “fixer.” I was one of those big-hearted souls who felt compelled to FIX everything that I perceived as being ‘wrong’ or out of balance in this life. Though this is a noble endeavor, the harsh reality is that many such souls often cause more damage than good. A big heart, followed without the necessary accompanying wisdom, will often create more problems than it will resolve. Part of said wisdom is learning that all things cannot be fixed – and in some cases, all things should not be fixed. There is a very fine line between knowing when to act and when it is best not to. Being able to make such decisions rightly can only be learned through much trial and error. Much can be learned from our failures to make things right.

In the scriptures, we are admonished to guard our hearts in our dealings with one another. This is not suggesting that we close our hearts and cease to become vulnerable, for it is only a heart that is vulnerable to pain that can truly love. I believe it is wisdom that is the guard. It is knowing that when we are compelled to fill a need, we must look beyond the surface and discern the need that is often being disguised. It is knowing when to act and when to back away. For everything there is a time and a season – a time to live, a time to die – a time to try, and a time to let it be. It is knowing that we are called only to do our best with the skills and wisdom that we have, and when we have given our best, whether we fail or whether we succeed, to rest in the assurance that our best is always enough.

Perhaps the purpose of this fallen egg, presented to me by my deeply troubled daughter, was not to add another lovely robin to the world, as it would first seem, but to remind me of past lessons learned – to remind me that my best is always enough – to remind me there is sometimes more power in releasing a thing, than trying to hold onto it – and to provide a soothing balm for my troubled heart.

As I wrote this, I was serenaded by a nest of baby birds, somewhere near my window, hungrily demanding more sustenance from parents. As I’ve finished, their peeping has ceased – clearly their crops are now full and satisfied, and the parent has flown away in search of the next meal. It is likely there was message in this too. For those who have ears to hear, there is wisdom everywhere, in everything around us. Oh that we, as the species of man, might learn this great truth, before we destroy all the messengers.

Wisdom is all around us...it's in the very air we breathe. Are we listening?