An Ode to the Nest

Meet my family, and let me explain the first-page dedication...

In the dedication for my new book Considering Sparrows, I wrote this:

For Benjamin the Owl,

Katelyn the Magpie,

Timothy the Mockingbird,

And Beverly, my adventurous nestmate.

I wanted to take a moment to explain each of those, as an opportunity to introduce you to my family.

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Benjamin is our oldest, a newly promoted college freshman. While the night-owl might be a fitting cliché for the majority of college boys, it bears a special significance for Ben. In March, he and I were on a mission trip in Costa Rica. In the early evenings after dinner at the “base,” there was often a block of free time, which I had been using to scout the local field and forest for birds (because, uhhh, Costa Rica…). Throughout the week I had heard the soft hoots of a Ferruginous Pygmy-owl, clearly uninhibited by the stereotypical owl conventions of day and night. One evening Ben joined me, and as we began walking the dirt road from the base, I asked him to help me in finding this little owl. He looked around and pointed, “You mean the one up there?” It was directly over our heads. Impressive, Ben, very impressive.

The story’s not over. Three months later I was on my retreat on Holy Island in England, and walked into a small shop called the Lindisfarne Scriptorium. The shop sells the art of Mary Fleeson, who depicts various verses of Scripture in the style of the Celtic monks who lived on the island in the early 700s and who illustrated the famed Lindisfarne Gospels. As I perused the prints, I found a gorgeous depiction of an owl in flight: a perfect gift for Ben. But when I saw the verse accompanying it, I had to choke back tears. The verse was Ben’s favorite, and I had just read it at his graduation the prior week:

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19)

Mary’s husband, manning the register, told me it was her newest piece; the first printing had just released a couple weeks prior. It felt like the Lord custom-ordered it for Ben.

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Katelyn is our spunky high-school daughter. About a year ago I took her to the local raptor center, where we wandered through a vast forest of twenty-four habitat enclosures. There were plenty of mightily impressive birds there, but mystifyingly Katelyn was drawn to the large exhibit housing a single Black-billed Magpie. The bird, named Echo, was definitely turning on the charm, hopping and swaying and performing his routine magpie antics. Katelyn promptly decided the magpie was her favorite bird, much to the surprise and dismay of the eagles, falcons, and other apex birds. I reminded her that the magpie isn’t even a raptor and technically has no business in a raptor center. I think she loved it even more for that.

In retrospect, the magpie is a perfectly fitting bird for our daughter. As corvids, magpies are among the most intelligent of birds (check). They’re gregarious and social (check). They’re also described as graceful, bold, and wonderfully talkative (check check check). Give Echo credit for being clever enough to get the attention of the daughter of a guy who writes about birds, and to work his way into a book dedication.

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Timothy is our one-of-a-kind miracle kid. “Timmo” has Down Syndrome, and while he’s been a super-healthy boy, he’s struggled significantly in learning and communication. That’s not to say he doesn’t talk; he’s actually quite verbal. It’s just that we don’t often understand what he’s saying; he chatters in a language all his own. His prayers at the dinner table are a favorite family moment; they’re usually fairly long, and when he’s done we all try to share words we recognized, often random words like “beatbox” or “birthday” or “dinosaur” — which cause us to wonder exactly what he and God are chatting about.

As is common with learning disabilities, Timmo often doesn’t know how to answer a question and settles for repeating it. What do you want to eat? Want to eat. Did you have a good day at school? Day at school. It’s called echolalia, and the mockingbird is a perfect mascot for it (see chapter 14 of the book). While we hope that one day Timmo’s conversational skills might improve so that he can truly share his heart and mind with us, we’re grateful that he and Jesus seem to have a special rapport. And we take comfort that Jesus understands every word.

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Beverly and I celebrated our twenty-year anniversary last year. When I met Bev she was preparing to migrate overseas as a missionary, but somewhere in our story the Lord had other plans, which included (in part) the creation of this nest of three. But that missionary-willingness should tell you a lot about her heart. She’s has supported me amazingly in my ministry (and humored me patiently in my birdwatching) while beautifully developing her own. She has the compassionate heart of a counselor, setting up support groups at our church, pioneering ministries to walk women through trauma, and supporting victims of abuse in some gutsy sacrificial ways. It was clearly the next logical step for her to head to seminary and get her degree in counseling, which she just completed last spring, and she’s officially begun her clinical practice. She’s keenly wired and gifted for this, and if you know someone in the Charlotte area needing support for their next step, Bev meets you where you are and brings out the best in you. She’s been doing that for me for twenty years.

Well, there’s my commentary on the first page of the book. I look forward to sharing the rest of it with you on March 24, 2026. You can pre-order your copy today.

(All photos are from our trip to the Pacific Northwest and Montana this summer.)