I spend some time in the summer at the Cape. The house has a covered, but open porch, and I love to spend time in an Adirondack chair reading a book or watching the clouds roll by. Also enjoying the hospitality of the porch is a family of finches. They set up housekeeping each June in a cozy spot under the protective roof of the porch. I watch as both male and female bring twigs and fluff to shore up last year’s home.

Then the miracle begins: eggs appear; a parent tends to the eggs; and soon little brown heads bob up and down. Mom and Dad zoom in and out with meals of seeds and berries. In time, the chicks grow and the nest becomes too confining; and when no one’s looking, the little birds fly away.

So with our human children, they grow up before we know it. They spread their wings, and they fly off. Like finches, they return to ground zero from time to time, but then they fly off again. And with each departure, I feel the ache of something precious being taken away.

Does my faith help me at times like this? Yes, I feel God’s presence in the beauty of a sun set, or in the visit of the hummingbird to the feeder at my window. I also feel the love of God in the phone call of a friend.

Joan Perera