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Listen…do you hear it?

The earth is singing the song of spring—the happy cadence of growth and grace and green, at once as old as the ages and as new as each rosy dawn.  Grass is racing along the hillsides, unrolling lush carpets of verdure over every field and forest.  Flowers are dancing in the breezes, swelling buds unfolding into living origami.  Bees are zigzagging from bloom to bloom, pollen dusting their backs and a murmuring song tangled in their wings.  And as I gaze on all these marvels, basking in the smiling sunshine, a shimmering flash, zipping from blossom to bush, alerts me to the return of one of my favorite springtime residents:  the hummingbird.    

All creatures are marvelous, but the hummingbird seems to have been endowed with a touch of extra magic. More butterfly than bird, it seems, with its elegantly tapered bill and ceaselessly throbbing wings and dizzying array of brilliant colors.  Each feather shimmers with a storybook glamor, as if these little creatures were fashioned from the same stuff as rainbows.  Like nature’s ballerinas, they pirouette from flower to flower and spiral into the sky—darting by spectators like a mirage, leaving nothing more than a sudden blur of color and zipping hum in their wake.  

In the public eye, hummingbirds, or “hummers,” are viewed as rather delicate creatures.  Perhaps that reputation stems from their position as the smallest birds in the world; the familiar Ruby-throated Hummingbird has a diminutive wingspan of about 4.5 inches, with an average weight of three grams, less than that of a U.S. nickel.  More likely, however, their perceived vulnerability is a result of their exotic beauty.  They seem to whirl transiently through our lives, lovely but fragile creatures—like stained-glass windows or ephemeral sunset clouds or rainbow-rolled bubbles on a stream.  

But there’s another side to the hummingbirds’ lives—an aspect of their existence that belies their seeming weakness.  What many people don’t realize is that these so-called fragile birds undertake a biannual migration journey of colossal proportions—a voyage that requires these tiny creatures to exhibit extra-large courage.   

You see, as tropical birds most at home in the endless summer of equatorial regions, hummingbirds can’t tolerate winter conditions here in North America.  Cold temperatures not only threaten them with hypothermia but also put an end to the insects and nectar that form their favored food sources.  Therefore, every fall, hummers relocate to Latin America in a daring voyage that staggers imagination.

In the first place, the journey is long.  Depending on the exact starting and ending points, it can be a voyage of hundreds or even thousands of miles.  Secondly, it’s grueling.  As they race the onset of winter, hummingbirds complete the entire migration in about two weeks, with only minor rest stops and intense flying schedules each day.  Lastly, especially for hummingbirds in the eastern half of the United States, the journey involves a specific hazard that must be faced—crossing the Gulf of Mexico.  In an astounding act of courage and stamina, hummingbirds are renowned for flying directly across the Gulf, a five-hundred-mile distance that requires between eighteen and twenty-four hours of nonstop flying!  (Can you imagine running for an entire day without ever stopping once?)

It boggles my mind to consider how a creature this tiny can make such a bold journey and display so much strength.  The diaphanous character of the hummingbirds that daintily sip from our feeders belies the fact that they have conquered terrific obstacles to arrive with the spring.  It’s amazing—what many would consider the weakest bird is capable of far greater feats than anyone could imagine. 

And knowing this gives me more than just increased respect for the hummers on my feeders.  It provides me with hope for myself as well.  

You see, we serve a God Who delights in working His ways through things, people, and places that the world views as weak or unworthy or incapable.  As Paul reminded the Corinthian church, “God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise.  And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful” (1 Corinthians 1:27 NLT).  All throughout Scripture, we see this principle in action.  For example, Moses was an awkward introvert with a painful stutter, but he led four million people out of Egyptian bondage.  David was an overlooked teenager whose closest associates were sheep, yet he became one of Israel’s greatest kings.  Even God’s own Son came to the earth not as a princely monarch or a conquering hero but as a weak and humble infant, born to a frightened teenage girl in a sleepy country hamlet.  

Perhaps the best example of this principle is the story of Gideon.  At a time when Israel was occupied by foreign invaders, Gideon was commanded by God to liberate the people.  And he responded much as we would—by planning a strategy and gathering a decent-sized army to carry it out.  But then God spoke again with a startling announcement:  “You have too many men.  I cannot give the Midianites into their hands, or Israel would boast against me, ‘My own strength has saved me.’”  (Judges 7:2a NIV).  

We hear the echoes of this refrain again later in Scripture, when Israel was once more outmatched in a military conflict and God provided them with this assurance:  “Have you seen all this great multitude?  Behold, I will give it into your hand this day, and you shall know that I am the LORD” (1 Kings 20:13 ESV).  

These verses provide the answer—the clue to the riddle of why a Deity with every resource at His disposal would still choose to use the weakest instruments to accomplish His purposes.  You see, the lightning flash of a miracle is most brilliant when it is seen against the shadows of the impossible.  Consider the hummingbirds again.  If they were large, powerful birds with fourteen-foot wingspans and streamlined bodies, their flight wouldn’t be remarkable; it would only be expected.  What makes their feat miraculous is that it’s so disproportional to their seeming strength.  Likewise, if God only helped us accomplish tasks that were already within the range of our abilities, then the watching world wouldn’t see the evidence of His glory.  Worse, we ourselves, like Gideon’s army, might be lulled into believing that we were strong and capable in our own might.  But when God makes power out of weakness, when He uses our frailties and failures to effect events and situations that are clearly outside our own resources, then everyone knows it had to be Him.

And when God works in weakness, that gives us hope as well.  The world advocates living by an ego-bolstering narrative of power—crowning ourselves with accolades like “strong” and “successful” and insisting that strength is mined from within, not granted from without.  But those of us who have given ourselves more than a sideways glance are soberingly well-acquainted with the feebleness of our spirits.  We know our every fear and failure, mistake and misstep, blunder and bluffing.  But the good news is that if we feel weak—if we feel inadequate—if we feel totally incapable—then we are exactly whom God is looking for.  As author Margaret Feinberg reminds us, “Accepting our powerlessness is a sacred discipline.”  When we realize that we can’t conjure power on our own, that any shred of strength must come from Someone higher than ourselves, the door is open to the extraordinary.  And when our humble weakness is struck with the power of the Holy Spirit, miracles begin to flash like fire in our souls.

So does God want to use us?  Unquestionably yes.  But will we allow Him to do so?  Well, that’s sometimes another story.

You see, like the hummingbirds, we all have an “ocean” in our lives, and oftentimes God’s plan will lead us right to the brink of it.  We know the journey is all-or-nothing, do-or-die, and we are simply too scared to launch into the unknown.  This is where our weakness seems most insurmountable; we look at the other “birds,” and they seem so much larger and stronger and better-prepared.  We begin to believe that obedience is impossible if we don’t have their wings.  And so we hover at the border of our ocean, longing to begin the journey, longing to obey the voice urging us to make the flight, yet too afraid to move at all.  

This is a paralyzing place to be—when we can’t quite believe God’s promise, when we just can’t imagine how His strength could possibly compensate for our glaring weakness, when the ocean is far too big and our wings are much too small.  But the answer to this struggle lies once more in the example of the hummingbirds.  How do they find the courage to make their flight?  One simple reason:  they know abundant life is on the other side of the ocean.  

Hummingbirds are aware that the seeming safety of the land is actually no safety at all.  If they remain on the continent, secure though it may appear, they will freeze to death in the approaching winter or starve from lack of food.  Their only way is forward.  Their pathway to life plunges straight through the heart of what they must surely fear most.  Don’t you imagine their hearts flutter faster than their wings when they see the churning waves below?  Don’t you suppose fear flickers in their minds when they see the shoreline disappearing?  I do.  But still, they are able to press boldly onward—not because the waves aren’t formidable, but because they are focused on what lies beyond the waves. 

My friends, the same is true for us as well.  When God uses us, our weakness is asked to encounter vast oceans, shaped in the image of what we would most like to avoid.  Like Moses facing Pharaoh, or David meeting Goliath, or Gideon taking on the Midianites, we find ourselves face-to-face with enemies that seem fabricated from our darkest nightmares.  But in every fear, we are sustained by the knowledge that “it is the Lord Who goes before [us]” (Deuteronomy 31:8 ESV).  And when we look forward, beyond the present fear or pain or uncertainty, we see something marvelous:  abundant life.  We see the joy promised to those who stretch their wings—of whatever size—and soar away from the land, straight into the crash and clamor of the ocean.  We see the blessings reserved not for those who hesitate on the shore, but for those who set their sights in the only direction God ever moves—forward.  

So are you ready?  Is it your time to make the journey?  It doesn’t matter if you feel inadequate; that’s really the point.  God isn’t looking for super saints with impressive spiritual resumes.  Instead, He’s searching for trusting hearts that will take the plunge and eyes that will focus on what is ahead.  He’s not begging you to summon strength; He’s only asking that you receive His. 

So in these sparkling days, as you admire the darting delight of the hummingbirds, as you marvel at the way the sunlight shimmers across their pulsing wings, remember that these little creatures hold in their tiny bodies a power no one could have predicted.  Remember that they are able to live now only because they pushed through the heart of the impossible.  And remember that the same God Who guides their wings, the One Who still leads His people across oceans, the One Who uses the weak to humble the mighty, is calling for you and me.  Let’s fly forward—with Him. 

Did you enjoy this post? What are some ways you’ve seen God’s power at work in your weakness? Let me know in the comments!