Sparrows in the Snow

MLK Day, Minneapolis 2026

Yesterday morning he came to snuggle. Mama. Small, tender hands around my neck. Let’s just sit and look at the birds outside for a while. And so we did. Sparrows, cardinals, starlings, juncos. When he hopped down from my lap, I realized that I had been missing this very much, this quiet attention to surroundings.

In his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” Dr. King wrote that in any nonviolent campaign there are four basic steps: collection of the facts to determine whether injustices exist; negotiation; self purification; and direct action.

What follows is a short compendium of some combination of those steps as they apply to my life in Minneapolis right now — a few more sparrows that I sighted this past week.

Love,

Abbey

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When I see an elderly Hmong man forced to stand almost naked in the snow on a 10-degree day, I see Jesus.

When I see a father taken from the bus stop while their child looks on and will never be the same, I see Rachel weeping for her children because they are no more.

When I see an ICE agent, I see a soldier whose ear I am tempted to cut off. But I know that Jesus would reach across me to heal him.

When I see an immigrant family hiding out in their home, I see Mary and Joseph and their newborn weighing whether to flee to Egypt.

When I see my neighbors organizing grocery drop-offs for vulnerable families, I think of Jesus feeding the 5,000 with just a few willing folks and their slim offerings.

When I see political powers of every stripe raging, I remember that their plotting is ultimately in vain and God in heaven laughs.

When people warn me to live in fear of earthly authorities, I am reminded of Jesus’ response. He called Herod a fox and called himself a mother hen longing to gather her chicks, all in the same breath.

When I think about officials demanding to see identity papers in St. Paul, I remember that St. Paul chose strategically whether he invoked his citizenship or not.

When I see humans faithfully recording injustices inflicted on their fellow man, sometimes at great cost to themselves, I think of the Old Testament prophets who spoke the truth and were killed or maimed.

When I see people dehumanizing one another with foul language from both sides of a protest line, I remember that Jesus was spit on and beaten, but utterly innocent. And I grieve our collective cruelty.

And when I hear about goofy sleds and winter water balloons instead of stones and insults, I am grateful to the tips of my toes.

Finally, when I see the messy white candle leftover from epiphany still burning, I remember that a faintly-burning wick he will not extinguish.