Tracey Marley

Some of you may be wondering where I’ve been. To clear things up, I’ll give you some background. Over the last year, my husband and I sold our home of ten years, moved into a small rental house, bought another house, cut it apart, had it moved 30 some miles to where our land is located in Ramseur, put it back together again—only in a completely different configuration than its original design, and then moved in it. On top of this, the ministry we’re involved in has completely changed shape. Confused? Basically, I’ve just endured one of the hardest and most stressful years of my life.

Our House Before Move/Renovations

So many times my emotions color my writing, and honestly, I’ve been too scared to write much of anything for the fear of messing up everything. My bout with depression has lasted longer, ran deeper and been more exhausting than I ever imagined. Naturally, my hope is that by seeing God’s hand draw some things together with us settling into our  new house just last month, I will once again be able to regroup and focus on what He’s called me to do. That is to write.

Our House After Move/Renovations

One of the threads that seems to be woven into to my complicated year of change started to show itself last April when my sister and I were sitting outside her Florida home, anxiously watching her new bird feeder. With baited breath and absolutely no movement whatsoever, we waited for the pair of returning cardinals to show themselves. They were beautiful, true love birds. We were privileged only a few seconds to view the spectacular birds before a flock of noisy children ran into the front yard, scaring them away. Yet, somehow, from that moment on, I found myself intrigued by these feathered friends.

I came home to our rental property, which backed up to a farm and granary, and watched as warm weather graced the Carolinas. To my delight, our trees and yard filled up with birds. Robins, some type of little brown bird and cardinals. They were everywhere. For Mother’s Day I requested my own bird feeder so I could sit on my patio and be amongst the birds.

All spring I enjoyed watching the birds. Early in the mornings, I’d open my Bible, but before I would turn to scripture, I would sit and watch my backyard wake up. The birds took turns on the fence, the feeder and in the trees. My favorite was a beautiful red cardinal. He always perched on the swing set, patiently waiting for his turn at the feeder. I admired him and his stark contrast to the world of green exploding around me.

Summer came and with it came the heat and the harder months of what eventually turned into a fierce emotional and spiritual struggle. It became the evening time when I would sit outside with the birds. Each night as dusk crept over the pastures, I would listen as the birds went to bed and the nightlife began to stir. I would sit there thinking of God and how he took care of his animals, how they were provided for and sheltered every day. How even after vicious summer thunderstorms, the birds would always return, chirping and singing their Creator’s praise in the morning. I wondered if I would do the same when my own thunderstorm had passed.

Fall blew in and the only change I could gauge was in the weather. Days grew short while a sadness and longing crept over my heart like the deep shadows cast by an early sunset. The trees in my yard were empty and bare.  The birds had gone south, and despite all the prayer and Bible study I had done, my depression got worse. It quickly became too cold to sit outside. Despite the fact that I was working nearly every day on what would become our new home, something felt lost and incomplete in my heart. It felt like God had gone south for the winter, too. For the first time, I couldn’t write—not that I wanted to. Something just wasn’t there anymore. It was like the dramatic and spiritually in-tune person I once was had died. I felt like I was living out my life as someone else—the old me…the old and fleshly me.

I wish I could say there was some dramatic revelation, some miraculous encounter that turned it all around, but I can’t. Thanksgiving came and in order to get our house complete while interest rates were at the lowest, my husband and I developed tunnel vision. Every spare moment was spent painting, hanging drywall, wading through mud, and doing electrical work. That time took a toll on our marriage, our children, and my sanity. By December, I felt personally responsible for the hike in the economy and the end of the drought in North Carolina. Come Christmas, we still were not in our new house and it was a huge disappointment.

Instead of sending my blues out the door with a holly, jolly Christmas, January brought more snow and even more rain. Our home sat in a 3.5 acre mud puddle. Anyone who knows me, knows I hate mud and we had lots of it. Then came February. On February 1st, we got our certificate of occupancy. If you don’t know what that is, it’s the golden ticket that every self-contracting homeowner strives for. It’s the paperwork that says a home is a safe place and that it can be lived in. So we moved—again. This move, however, didn’t come with the same tears and worries that our previous move had. This time it was exciting. I knew the end result because I had planned and worked hard for it. The state of pure and utter bliss I was in felt strange after being down for so long.

Come moving day, rain or not, I was ready. Ice made for a delayed start to school, and by the time we were on our way out the door, I was in high gear. I bounded out the backdoor, eager to say the least. As soon as I opened the screen, something red laying on my doorstep stopped me. “No!” I said as my heart took a nose dive and I focused in on the object at my feet. Anna, my daughter, confirmed my fears. “Mama, it’s a cardinal! What happened?”

The beautiful red cardinal was dead and immediately I assumed finding it was a terrible sign.  The bird, what does this mean? And why now, God? On moving day? What are You saying? I scooped the bird up into a paper towel and examined it. His eyes were open, his feathers in perfect shape. Brown feet arched in a circle, tiny crimson tips on his eyelashes.  The bird was perfect—there was no obvious sign for a cause of death. Again I questioned the Lord, “Why God? What does this mean?” All I could come up with were the words, “it’s over”. I was desperately hoping the words meant the horrible season my soul seemed to be trapped in was over. I was reluctant to believe such news.

I laid the bird aside to take care of once I got the kids to school. I cried all the way there and all the way back. My husband kept wanting to know the reason for my tears, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Not until I had a definite reasoning from God could I share the hope that was in my heart.

It wasn’t until lunchtime that I found myself alone. I shrugged on a coat, grabbed a shovel and made my way into the back yard where I would bury the bird. I looked out across the pastures, remembering how just days earlier I had taken a walk and stopped to lean against the fence. It was then that a red cardinal, possibly the same one, had landed in a bush across the field. Things were so quiet that winter day, I had been able to stand there listening to the movements he made on the branches. The bird had been the only color in an otherwise gray mass of  tangled thicket he had landed on. Crimson against the ugly, I thought.

I stood there thinking of how, unlike the other birds, the cardinal had stayed behind for the winter. I was then reminded of God. He, too,  was still there—even in the midst of my winter. “Where should I bury him?” I asked the Lord, unable to bear the memory any longer without tears. Receiving no answer, I tried to dig a hole in the middle of the yard. Despite all the rain, the ground was too hard so I stood there in the cold dreary rain, wondering what to do. Then I knew.

I moved to the soft earth of the flower garden that surrounded my patio—the place where I had spent so many mornings sitting and reading my Bible. Hovering over the bird wrapped in a white paper towel, crying so hard I could barely breath, I knew that was the spot. That was when God gave me the answer I had sought all morning. “His purpose has been fulfilled,” the Lord seemed to say. The words were to my heart but as clear as if spoken out loud. Understanding dawned. I believe with all my heart the Lord created that one red cardinal just for me—a small reminder that would turn my attention to Him and His provision for the small and defenseless during a brutal season of life. Times had been hard, and I had questioned, but I honestly could not find a time in the previous months when the Lord had failed me. I believe that bird’s life ended because God purpose for creating it had been fulfilled. I was moving on.

With a humble and thankful heart, I dug a hole and bowed before my Creator. I praised from a place, though long forgotten, was not dead. I bowed in the rain, battling the emotions of grief and awe. I grieved because, good or bad, something familiar was once again changing and there was a loss. I was in awe because of what or Who had known and stood by watching me endure one of the hardest times of my life. I found that the Lord had been incredibly mindful of me in the midst of my pain.

“Lord, remind me,” I breathed through another onset of tears. “Every time I see a cardinal, I want You to remind me. I want You to remind me of what You’ve done for me. Crimson against the ugly.” My thoughts were not on the bird at that point, but on Calvary.

I went about burying the Lord’s small treasure to me there by the patio where I had sat watching the sun come up in the mornings, and set in the evenings—by the place where I would read my Bible, often not hearing or feeling anything, only watching life going on around me.

The cardinal’s grave covered, the shovel set aside, the Lord spoke again. “Lift up your face,” He said. “The time for grieving is over. Lift up your face.”  I turned my eyes to sky as the cold rain washed away my tears. I probably looked like an idiot to the cars passing by, but I found I had cared about appearances for far too long. I closed my eyes, threw back my head and smiled—again worshiping from a place long forgotten, but not dead. I felt the Lord’s presence with me that day. An image even came to mind of how He must have looked standing over me with a hand to my shoulder as I buried the bird He had created. I still cry when I think about that image.

Before this post, the only person I’ve shared this story with was my husband, who upon hearing it, cried with me. It was our secret until weeks later when it became everyone’s. Do I find it ironic that within the days following the death of that cardinal we received not one, not two, but three new birdhouses as house warming presents? Those people had no idea of this story. For that reason alone,  I know the Lord will fill those bird houses, maybe even with cardinals, just as I know He will be faithful to fill my heart and mind with the reminders I’ve requested of Him. Crimson against the ugly. Crimson against the things I don’t understand. Crimson against confusion, hurt and sadness. Crimson again loneliness, disappointment, rejection, and failure. Crimson against lies. And crimson because I know regardless of the season my soul seems to be stuck in, I know He has a plan.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” Romans 8:28 NIV

Red for a Reason