The year would have been about 1982. I was 600 kilometres west of Brisbane, driving to appointments, listing farms and country businesses in a real estate catalogue. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was going down. I decided to cut off some distance by going down a dirt road. That short cut would save me much time, as it was quite a wide road, and reasonably smooth. I had about 150 kilometres to travel to the nearest town.
As I was travelling, I noticed my speed was about 120 kilometres per hour, the houses were about 20 kilometres apart, and so I felt reasonably comfortable doing this speed, with not another car in sight. As I looked in my rear-vision mirror, all I could see was a thick trail of dust.
I had been travelling for about an hour, when from my left a beautiful little bird flew right in front of my car. I hit it so hard it sounded like I had hit a rock, it was such a loud bang. When I saw what I had done, I said aloud to myself, "Oh, no!"
I stopped the car. I didn't know why, for this little bird would surely be dead. But I was remorseful, and felt sorry for one of God's little creatures.
I got out of the car, but all I could see was dust. I waited for the dust to settle, then walked to the place where I had hit this little bird. Then I saw that poor little creature in the middle of the road.
I picked it up. It was stone dead, and seemed to have many bones broken. With both hands, I held this little bird up to God and prayed a simple prayer: "Lord Jesus, please restore this little creature to life again."
I repeated similar words, and looked at the still form in my hands. When I saw a little movement in one of its wings, hope sprang up in my heart. Within 30 seconds, this little bird was standing in the palms of my hands.
It was looking right at me. "Hello, little fellow," I said to it. I saw a tree in front of me with a suitable branch on it, so I said to my precious little feathered friend, "Go on, fly to that branch." I repeated those words, and it flew right to the branch to which I had told it to fly.
I went quickly to my car and fetched my camera. When I returned, my little friend was still there, looking at me. I took a photo of it, and then thanked God for what He had done for His precious little bird, and my friend. Reluctantly I bade the bird goodbye.
As I drove away, I thought to myself, Just a little creature, dead at my hands. I had unwittingly killed it. But Jesus heard my simple, but earnest prayer, and resurrected this little bird, right in the palms of my hands. Not even a sparrow, worth only half a penny, can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. . . . So don't be afraid; you are more valuable to him than a whole flock of sparrows. Matthew 10: 29, 31. Raymond Dale is a hospital orderly, originally from England, who now lives in Scarborough, Queensland.
This story is used with permission from Signs Publishing Company. More of these stories can be found in these collections: Ordinary People—Extraordinary God, Ordinary People—Faithful God, and Ordinary People—Generous God