For I had stepped outside on the porch while I finished talking to my mother on the phone.
Although I was within spitting distance, Hummingbird didn’t dart away. No ruffling of the feathers, no high-pitched protest. No turning of the head to stare me down. Neither did he drink.
When I went inside and watched him through the screen door, he came to life. His spear-like beak sipped sugar water from the hole in the feeder as though he were drinking through a straw.
Ever so gently, I opened the screen door. Would he fly away?
No. He stopped drinking, cocked his head heavenward, and waited as if he had all the time in the world.
Like a game of freeze tag, neither one of us moved a muscle.
Hummingbirds have scolded me from afar, waited for me to leave so they could swoop down and drink. Others have zoomed past my head like dive bombers, warning me to leave the area. But I’ve never encountered a hummingbird as stoic as this one.
Curiosity urged me to see how long Hummingbird could be still. But admiration and empathy for the brave little fellow made me surrender, let him win.
He had claimed his post, he would not be moved.
From the kitchen window, I watched Hummingbird quench his thirst.
And as my feathered friend clung to the feeder that provided him sustenance, I recalled this verse:
“My soul, wait only upon God and silently submit to Him;
for my hope and expectation are from Him.
He only is my Rock and my Salvation;
He is my Defense and my Fortress,
I shall not be moved.” (Psalm 62:5,6)