The sunflower seeds under my toes first caught Hernando’s attention.
The chipmunk who became my summer companion had amused me as he scoured for snacks to add to his underground larder as I sat on the porch swing.
Curious how close he’d come, I tucked a treat under my feet and waited.
Hernando darted closer and closer, nose twitching, until he was tickling my toes with his fur and stuffing his cheeks with seeds.
(A pause, here, to acknowledge what you may be thinking: Rodents. Destructive tunnels. Disease. Bad. Yes, yes. I know.)
Hernando — if you knew him, you’d understand that he simply LOOKS like a Hernando — quickly came to see me as a bottomless source of that sweet, sweet manna from heaven, sunflower seeds.
I’d settle onto the swing and, within minutes, Hernando would appear, eyes bright and eager.
Graduating from my feet, he soon took to hopping onto the swing next to me and then became a regular on my lap, sometimes skipping across my laptop keyboard and fingers in search of seeds.
When I’d flop over onto my back, Hernando stood on my torso, where he delighted in a constantly replenished pile of seeds.
Head propped on a pillow, I watched, giggling, as the silly creature stuffed seeds into his bulging cheeks with his tiny hands.
Many a summer morning began on the back porch in this human-rodent partnership, he eagerly accepting all gifts and demanding more, I willingly providing the good things he craved.
As long as I made no sudden moves, Hernando seemed fearless, occasionally appearing on my shoulder or nosing under the palm of my hand, oblivious to my bigness.
It amused me to think that Hernando anticipated our meetings with pleasure and considered me not only a food machine but a friend.
That doesn’t mean I can’t care about a chipmunk.
Call it foolish, if you like, but I have true affection for that small animal with the stretchy cheeks and greedy appetite, scurrying about meaninglessly and always in such a hurry.
He may be too little to love me, but I’m not too big to love him.
****
The lyrics of a song on one of the local Christian radio stations float to my ears as I flip through stations on my drive to work.
“I love you, Lord,” the singer croons, heartfeltly.
It’s not wrong to say we love God. Hearts and minds struck by who God is and what He does ought — truly — to fall in awe and gratitude and tremble with the deepest love a human can muster.
I can’t help thinking, though, that our love is that of a chipmunk, stuffing his cheeks and completely incapable of understanding that he stands on a giant.
We humans can’t feel feelings or say words big enough to make us worthy of the attention of One who knows our undermining ways, our sicknesses, our destruction.
We can’t understand how big God’s love is, because, each the center of our own little backyard world, we can never know how small we are.
And yet He loves us.
He gives and gives and gives us our daily bread — not only the food of our mouths, but the strengthening of our hearts, companionship and hope and peace where no peace belongs and tears that heal and struggles that mend.
Daily he comes to us, sits with us, waits for us to see Him, holds out to us the cross and the love that hung there, urges us to come to Him with our tiny needs so He can feed us and delight in us as we scamper this way and that, thinking we matter.
And, we do.
Because He loves us, we do matter, little as we are.
Today, I’ll once again poke my nose into the world, listening for trouble and dashing about, blissfully unaware of my insignificance.
And my Maker will hold out His hand, loving me with His big love, ready to give me all that my heart needs.
