There was an amazing gentleness about this man, hand-feeding sparrows in the gardens surrounding the Louvre. He'd look up to a tree, motion to the birds by raising an eyebrow, and they'd arrive on his hand, one by one, never
too many at one time, a divine order. Then he'd feed them one by one, sometimes he'd put a breadcrumb in his mouth or on his hand. This was a mythic moment: the Heavens spoke about the tenderness of the Father, one who is ever patient, precise, loving, forgiving. We make a mistake or go astray and think we've lost Him, but He's there all along calling us back, feeding us with great care, knowing all along who we really are.