Blessings can fly into our lives at unexpected times

By Joan Treadway
Contributing writer

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something up in the gray, windy sky was zooming straight toward me – but I did not know what it was. So, I stopped walking my dog along the sidewalk and turned toward the street to face the unknown.

My first thought was that it might be the small drone a neighbor occasionally operated by remote control.

As it drew closer, however, I saw feathery wings framing a parrot-like face. Two shiny black eyes looked intently at me, as if sizing me up.

Suddenly, a gust seemed to be carrying the bird up and over me, and I figured the odd encounter was just a matter of air currents – until I felt it land on my head and begin trying to enmesh itself in my thick hair.

I tried to shake it off; it tried all the harder to stay in place. I couldn’t remove it with my hands, which held my dog’s leash, a pooper-scooper and my cane. Knowing I had a commitment to keep in a few hours, I decided to seek help.

A holy flight in faith

Little did I imagine, at this point, that the wild scenario, which began March 4, 2020, soon would become holy as well as hilarious and would heavily engross me along with two other adults, and would also strengthen our shared Catholic faith through the tumultuous times that we did not realize were almost upon us.

Stanley and Sabrina Minor, friends of mine, quickly entered the picture. Theirs was the first doorbell that I came to, as I moved our comical procession forward through our quiet suburb, across the Mississippi River from New Orleans. Sabrina answered my ring, was stunned for a moment at the spectacle before her, then rallied and began untangling the bird from my hair.

By the time she had brought the little creature down into her arms, her husband Stanley had joined us, and the three of us got our first clear look at what turned out to be a stunningly beautiful parrot, a cockatiel that was mostly cream and gray colored with bright yellow feathers on its head and a circle of bright orange feathers on each cheek.

Within minutes, we realized the bird was as charming as it was lovely. It moved around at ease in Sabrina’s cupped hands. It nibbled her fingers with the same gentleness it had shown when it had perched on my head.

We thought the bird was possibly a beloved pet which had gotten loose and was seeking refuge, as a rainstorm approached the area that afternoon. I told them I could not take it, because my dog would chase it all around our house. My friends, though, said they would like to keep it and that, amazingly, they even had an empty decorative bird cage to welcome it.

Finding a home

That very day, the bird found exactly what it was looking for and immediately made itself comfortable in its new home. The Minors first named it “Lucky,” then a few weeks later rechristened her the more girlish “Luckette,” after they found an egg in her cage.

Once we had settled the parrot’s future, I hurried home, changed and rushed off. I wanted to be on time to greet about two dozen young women and men whom I prepared for the  sacrament of confirmation that night at Christ the King Church in Terrytown. After we mentors had met up with the young people, I sat down in a rear pew, trying to collect my thoughts, after so much had happened so quickly.

Soon, the presiding bishop began calling upon the Holy Spirit to give the group his seven gifts, including wisdom and fortitude. Next, the teenagers walked single-file down the aisle toward the front of the church for the bishop to administer confirmation. He dipped his thumb in a container of consecrated oil, then pressed his other four fingers firmly down on top of each young person’s head before him, and used his oil-coated thumb to trace a cross on the participant’s forehead.

Watching this activity centered on people’s heads, I suddenly had a powerful personal revelation.

A flashback to a prayer

I remembered that when the confirmation program had begun in the fall of 2019, I had asked God to help me guide the young people well – and also when they were finally being confirmed to pour blessings down on my head, too, because I had entered my mid-70s, and I felt that I needed them. I had promptly forgotten the second part of my prayer – but God had not. I concluded that God had sent the bird onto my head, just three hours earlier, to jog my memory and to let me know that he would grant my request that very night. I was profoundly touched.

A few days later when I was outside near my house, the Minors happened to drive up with the parrot, on their way home from a visit to their veterinarian, who had pronounced the bird healthy, although one of its wings was found to be injured and was treated. I shared the enlightenment that I had received at the confirmation. Then Stanley said that he had learned that “blessings come in unexpected ways.” And, Sabrina and I excitedly hugged each other.

This idyllic period ended abruptly March 9, when state officials announced the COVID-19 virus had apparently arrived in Louisiana. Since the Minors and I were all retirees – he from the military, she from Jefferson Parish government and I from journalism – we all felt particularly vulnerable because of our age and because of some health issues. We began hunkering down inside instead of moving freely around outside as we had before.

Calling from a safe distance

Only recently have we really caught up with each other’s lives, over the phone. And we also agreed to try to publicly share our unusual tale. Our hope: that it would uplift people, make them laugh a little and lead them to believe God sends everyone personal blessings, their own “birds,” tailored to their own needs and circumstances.

For my part, during the ups and downs of the past 24 months, I have often repeated to myself, “I have a God who loves me so much that he even remembers the prayers that I have sent up and forgotten.” My sense that God is always with me and for me – through my joys and sorrows, my scary and sweet times – has deepened.

Last summer I went to a local hospital where my niece, a nurse who cared for COVID patients early on, had just delivered a lively baby girl. Her husband placed the infant in my arms, and I felt thrilled and extremely grateful to God.

Many times during the past year I have anxiously entered another hospital to get care for myself – to have surgery and then get treatment for the cancer that had been diagnosed.  When the arm of the radiation machine came down on my body, I prayed to the Holy Spirit, asking him to direct the rays away from any good cells and instead into any cancerous cells. Later when repeated check-ups showed “no evidence of disease,” I shared my happiness with the Lord and with loved ones who had supported me.

This past August, as Hurricane Ida approached, my sister and her husband offered me shelter in their sturdy New Orleans home. When we heard the roar of 150 mph winds passing outside, we were somber; when we realized we as well as the house had survived intact, we were relieved. I thanked them profusely for taking me in and praised God for his might and his mercy.

Recently, in a quieter time, a new friend and I went to City Park together to relax. He and I sat on a bench in front of a lagoon, watching ducks and geese swimming by and smaller birds flying by. Suddenly, out of sheer joy and an acute awareness of the Creator who made us all, we burst out singing, “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.”

Looked for owner

Meanwhile, Sabrina and Stanley have been on their own faith-enriching journey.  Even though they quickly became emotionally attached to the parrot, they considered it important to hurriedly contact area animal shelters to see if anyone had reported it as a lost pet. No one had.

Now, two years later, Sabrina said, “She’s become part of our family.”

The Minors’ two daughters and four grandchildren sometimes come to visit, and they and Luckette are gradually learning how to interact with each other.

But often it’s just the couple and their pet enjoying themselves. The parrot takes short flights around the house, perching on Stanley’s knee as he sits watching television or cozying up to Sabrina for a while, nestling on her shoulder then taking off for its spacious cage. Usually on warm days, the three of them go out onto their patio for a breath of fresh air.

The Minors have discovered that their colorful cockatiel loves music. Whenever she hears songs coming from the radio, she perks up. She regularly joins the Minors as they sit in front of their computer at 10 a.m. on Sundays to watch Mass being celebrated inside their West Bank church, St. Joseph the Worker. Luckette is very attentive as the choir belts out its rousing Gospel music, they reported. And she has developed her own ways of expressing her feelings, sometimes squawking, sometimes whistling.

“My husband and I have always believed that God has a plan for each and every one of us, and we have approached each change in our 27 years of marriage with anticipation, knowing that God will order our steps,” Sabrina said.

Even so, they are still utterly amazed that a pretty but bedraggled little bird, missing all but one of its tail feathers, suddenly appeared at their doorstep one day, and, with its antics and its affection, began helping them through a once-in-a-century pandemic.

The term “empty nesters” may have applied to them in the past, Sabrina said, laughing, “but our little nest is not empty anymore.”