52- The Singing Birds

On an early morning, Mark went to his father, who turned his face from the window and hugged and kissed his son. Mark started a conversation with his father:

“Dad, why do I always see you looking out of the window every morning?”

“I like to watch those singing birds that stand together at the telephone wire, sing a little and then fly away. It is as if they start their morning by praising God joyfully and then go to work with the spirit of community.”

“What else do you like about these birds, Dad? The harmony of their songs!”

“Yes, I listen to the harmony of their songs as they sing together and I feel that there is no creature on earth happier than these singing birds.”

“And what is the secret behind that?”

“Well, they stand on the telephone wires with their claws fixed in their position and not being affected by the transfer of waves throughout the wires. Undoubtedly, these wires carry many telephone conversations with happy as well as sad news. Yet the news passes under the feet of the birds without affecting the birds themselves or letting them loose their inner peace. They put their hearts in the hands of God and they fix their feet on His road. They rejoice and sing in His ears fixing their eyes towards the sky. My dear, I hope you become as one of those birds placing the news of the world under your feet. You would then be walking in the world like a bird on the telephone wire without breaking your heart or preoccupying your thoughts with the world. Start your life with happiness and work with the Holy Spirit so you would live your life as if you were in Heavens.”

→ English translation of the story here at St-Takla.org: الطيور المغردة.

God, grant me that I may rest in Your palms,

That I may see You with my heart and be preoccupied with talking to You,

While not be distracted with the conversations of the world,

Or be disturbed by its concerns.

My spirit sings to You O the desire of my heart.

A Match Stick

Short Stories (Stories for the Youth) Books by Father Tadros Yacoub Malaty

Won’t Escape From His Fingers