I can help you

Drew looks at me wide-eyed, “I saved a hummingbird’s life.”

It’s 6:42AM, and I just sat down at our kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
​

I blink, internalizing the words, and shake my head in subtle confusion.

​
“You… what?” I reply.

He cups his hands, palms face up, explaining. “I held her in my hands."

​
He sits down. “First thing this morning, I walked outside to the coop and opened the door to let the chickens out for the day. As they paraded outside, I looked around to see how much water and feed were left. That’s when I saw her.” He pauses, raises his eyebrows, emphasizing the moment the hummingbird caught his attention.

“I saw her flutter up to the peak of the A-frame and quickly fall back down, like she bounced off the top.” He reaches his hand toward the ceiling and quickly smacks it down.

“You know how we have that chicken wire panel at the very top of the outside end walls to let the air flow? Well, she kept trying to fly out that way without realizing it was blocked. Eventually I got close enough and I could see her on the ground, a wood chip stuck in her tiny toes.”

His voice lowers, a gentleness overcoming his tone and body language.

“I bent down to pick her up, but I knew she was terrified. I kept saying, ‘I can help you. I can help you. I can help you.’ It was like I was trying to let her know she didn’t have to be afraid of me and also convince myself that I could help her. Something just took over. Instinct. I don’t know. She was like air. Weightless. I scooped her up as tenderly as I could, and I gingerly pulled the wood chip out of her toes, but she didn’t move. When I walked outside with her, she didn’t fly away. She just stayed limp on my hands. So I walked her over to the hummingbird feeder. And as soon as I was in front of the feeder, she popped up, jumped onto the feeder’s edge, sipped for a nanosecond, then flew off to the oak tree.” He exhales.

“It all happened in slow motion - but it also was over before it even started.” He shakes his head. “For a split second, I thought - should I take a photo of this? But there was an urgent demand to stay in the moment.” He looks at me. “I kept hearing, I can help you. I can help you. I can help you.”

​
Disbelief and enchantment dance his eyes. Amazement and surprise dance in mine.

I sip my coffee in silence, wondering what might change if we met our neighbors the way Drew met that hummingbird.

If our first instinct was not to judge or fear or win, but simply to offer:

I can help you.

I can help you.

I can help you.