I can spy wattlebirds dancing between shrubs, cockatoos twirling upside down high on the electrical lines and parrots crunching on seeds in my tree. Different colours, different calls, different ways of going about their day. There is so much to notice when I sit still for a little while.

The magpies have become particularly familiar visitors. After my daughter’s friend offered one a little scrap of food, a magpie began appearing at our back door. Then others came too. I found myself wondering whether word had somehow got around: perhaps this was a promising place to visit.

I don’t feed them, though I do find myself saying, “You’re welcome here.”

At first, that felt like an awkward starting point for a reflection about God’s provision. Here were these birds arriving with what looked to me like hopeful expectation, and here was I, offering a welcome without bringing out any food.

But watching them in the garden, I began to notice something. 

They were already finding things to eat.

There were grubs and worms in the soil of our veggie garden. There was goodness to be discovered beyond the back door. I hadn’t put out a meal, but the garden held nourishment of its own.

I’ve become watchful of the neighbourhood cats, too, as I am keen to keep this little patch as safe as I can for all the birds that visit. 

Provision. Protection. Perhaps belonging is the other word I’ve been looking for.

Jesus’ invitation to look at the birds and remember our heavenly Father’s care has been coming to mind as I reflect. Watching the birds find nourishment in our garden, I’ve been wondering about the ways God’s provision is already taking shape around us and how we might be part of that care for one another.

I hadn’t prepared a meal for every bird that arrived, but in tending the garden and looking out for its visitors, I was helping create a place where they could find what they needed.

There’s something in that for me. When I welcome someone, I can feel the pressure to have the right words, an answer or something helpful to offer. The garden reminds me that care also begins in the space we make: time to listen, room for questions, an invitation to come as you are.

We cannot meet every need ourselves. But we can nurture places where people find friendship, draw encouragement from one another and discover that they have something to offer, too.

For now, I’m learning to linger a little longer over my tea. There’s a magpie in the garden, and I don’t want to miss what snacks are on the menu this morning.