I found a yellow canary in my front yard yesterday, almost dead, soaked from the rain, with broken feathers. I picked it up and held it in my hand, and it seemed to warm up – opening its eyes and turning its head from side to side.
So I took it in, wrapped it in a dry towel, and called a friend who is knowledgeable about medical issues. He said, “just feed it water with a straw if it will drink – you are there to help. The rest is up to nature.” I felt alone and helpless, so I went back to check on the canary. As I opened the towel, it flapped around and fell on the floor. Floundering.
I wished I had some kind of magic. My father was a magician. Even though people knew his magic was an illusion, they suspended their judgment and were amazed by what they saw. The stack of candy boxes really did emerge from the antique black bowler hat. The infinite flow of beautiful multicolored silks really did emerge from the small empty black mystery box, and they coated everything with floating beauty. It was a miracle and it came true because the people wanted it to be true. That was in an era now gone, when ventriloquists, contortionists and Bel canto coloratura joined the magicians on the way out the door, and electronic amplification made even the softest voices resonate fully, with music banging against the walls and bouncing down the corridors.
I once was hired to set up sound for a traveling healer who was so popular he needed the Civic Auditorium to hold the standing-room-only crowd. I set up the speakers early in the afternoon and waited for him to arrive. When he showed up, it was with body-guard “ministers” in the back of a long black Lincoln Continental Limousine. A sound engineer has the advantage of commanding attention at the highest levels, for without sound there is no show. Microphones were needed for the all-volunteer choir, for the lectern, and most of all for the healer who would walk dramatically around the stage proclaiming “the time is at hand” and ”the hour is now.”
Ushers arrived from around the state, announcing the names of their sponsor churches, hoping that some of the manna from heaven would rub off on them since they were helping to support the cause. As the event took shape, a long line of needy people formed around the perimeter of the auditorium – sinners, tax collectors, the blind, the lame, and those with crutches or wheelchairs - all seeking divine intervention. As the needy gradually approached the stage, the “counselors” prayed with them, and assured them their belief had made them strong. When they finally reached the evangelist, they were supported on both the left and right sides, with prayer and strong hands. The evangelist looked them directly in the eyes, speaking with a full strong voice, proclaiming they were healed as he baptized them anew, tilting their body and head back securely, and bathing them in the showers of the 1000 watt spotlight suspended directly above them in the rafters – mounted there especially for this occasion.
The lame walked and the blind were made to see. Many with one leg shorter than the other were able to watch their shorter leg grow right before their eyes. They would run off the stage, singing, yelling, screaming and crying. At the end of the service, there were hymns and an offering to further the kingdom of God. I had no doubt the evangelist was fleecing the sheep, but it was their own inspired strength, and their connection with everyone else around them, that made the miracles happen – even if only for the long walk to the end of the stage.
I refused to give up on my Canary! I waited for a miracle, knowing that any help I might offer was part of the healing. I kept it indoors and set it on my lap on the towel, warming it and helping it to dry out as best as I could. Today the canary is haltingly flapping, but standing and hopping. If I hold it up to my face it will tap my nose gently with its beak. It will sit on my shoulders while I read a book. I plan to keep the canary and care for it. Life needs a few more miracles.
Very cool, if real. Miracles happen every day. This was a very simple, well written story that read very quickly.
Could feel all the caring for the bird. Leaves us wondering if the bird lives and/or if it flies again....
Thanks for the story.
What a nice story to start off with on Thanksgiving day.