So there we were, bundled up like Arctic explorers on this ridiculously cold January day.
It was one of those Pennsylvania winter days where even the trees looked like they were shivering!
But you know how it is when you’re trying to get the family out of the house – sometimes you just need fresh air, even when that air could freeze your eyebrows off.
We ended up at John Paul Park at Lower Nike, and honestly, I was mostly focused on keeping everyone warm and moving.
But then my son spotted this interesting sign about something called a “Chimney Swift Tower.”
Now, I’d never heard of chimney swifts before, but the sign described these little birds as “cigars with wings” – and that made me smile even in the freezing cold.
As I read about these tiny creatures, something stirred in my heart. Here were these birds that had lost their natural homes, and someone had built them a tower. A refuge.
And I thought about how we all have those cold January seasons in our souls, don’t we?
God’s Strong Tower When Natural Refuges Disappear
The more I learned about these chimney swifts, the more amazed I became. These little birds used to nest in the hollowed-out trees of old forests.
For generations, that’s where they found safety, raised their babies, and weathered life’s storms. But as those ancient forests disappeared, the swifts faced a crisis. Their natural refuges were gone.
That’s when the Pennsylvania Game Commission stepped in with something beautiful – they began building chimney swift towers.
Artificial refuges, yes, but refuges nonetheless. Safe places for these “cigars with wings” to roost, nest, and find community.
Standing there in that cold park, I couldn’t help but think of Proverbs 18:10: “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.” Sometimes our old forests disappear too, don’t they?
The job that gave us security vanishes. The relationship we counted on crumbles. The health we took for granted fails. The church we grew up in closes its doors.
I remember when my father died at just 48 years old. Suddenly, the strong tree I had always run to for wisdom and comfort was gone.
The old forest of my childhood felt empty and hollow. Maybe you’ve been there too – watching the familiar refuges of your life disappear one by one.
But here’s what I love about our God: He doesn’t just grieve with us over the lost forests. He builds towers. He provides new refuges, often in the most unexpected places.
After Dad died, I discovered that God had been quietly constructing towers all around me.
My church family became a refuge where I could process my grief. My husband Vic became a tower of strength when I felt too weak to stand.
Even my morning devotional time with “Our Daily Bread” became a daily tower where I could find fresh strength.
The chimney swift tower isn’t just about providing shelter – it’s about purpose and community.
These birds don’t just hide in the tower; they use it as a launching pad for their incredible journeys.
They gather together, support each other, and prepare for the adventures ahead.
That’s exactly what God’s towers do for us.
Our church isn’t just a place to hide from the world’s storms – it’s where we find our mission. Our families aren’t just safe havens – they’re training grounds for love.
Our quiet times with God aren’t just escapes – they’re preparation for the work He’s calling us to do.
When I think about the times I’ve needed refuge most desperately, God always provided a tower. Sometimes it was a friend who showed up with soup and tissues.
Sometimes it was a verse that jumped off the page at exactly the right moment. Sometimes it was my little Shichon dog, Mia, curling up next to me when words weren’t enough.
The beautiful thing about God’s towers is that they’re not just for our own protection. We get to be towers for others too. When someone’s old forest disappears, we can offer them refuge in our friendship, our prayers, our practical help.
Living on the Wing: Your Miraculous Migration Journey
But here’s where the chimney swift story gets even more incredible. These tiny birds don’t just use the tower as a permanent home – they’re migrants.
Every year, they make an absolutely astounding journey from Pennsylvania all the way to the Amazon Basin in South America.
Can you believe that?
These little five-inch birds travel thousands of miles, timing their journey perfectly with the seasons.
And here’s the amazing part – they practically live on the wing. They drink by skimming over ponds while flying.
They gather nesting materials without ever slowing down. They hunt insects in mid-air. These birds have mastered the art of living fully while constantly moving forward.
Doesn’t that sound like the Christian life? We’re not called to build a permanent nest in any earthly comfort.
We’re pilgrims, migrants, people on a journey guided by God’s perfect timing. Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us that “to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”
I love Psalm 84:5-7, which talks about pilgrims whose hearts are set on the highways to Zion: “As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.”
That’s us!
We’re going from strength to strength, season to season, always moving toward our ultimate destination in God’s presence.
But just like the chimney swifts, we need to learn different skills for different seasons.
There are wintering seasons in our lives – times when we need to rest, restore, and wait on God’s timing.
I think about those seven years when Vic and I struggled with infertility. That was definitely a wintering season, a time of waiting and hoping and learning to trust God’s timeline instead of our own.
Then there are nesting seasons – times of building, creating, and nurturing new life. When our son Michael was finally born, we entered a beautiful nesting season of raising him, teaching him about Jesus, and creating a home filled with love and laughter.
But here’s what I’m learning: even in the nesting seasons, we’re still migrants. Even when life feels settled and comfortable, God is preparing us for the next part of our journey.
He’s building our spiritual muscles, teaching us new skills, deepening our faith for whatever comes next.
The chimney swifts don’t question their migration route. They don’t demand to see the whole map before they start flying.
They trust the instincts God gave them and the timing He’s built into their very DNA. They launch into the vast sky with complete confidence that they’ll find their way.
What would it look like if we lived with that same trust?
What if we stopped demanding to see the entire plan before we took the next step of obedience?
What if we believed that God has built His perfect timing into the very fabric of our lives?
Your Migration Has Purpose
Standing in that cold park, reading about those remarkable little birds, I felt God whisper something beautiful to my heart: your migration has purpose too.
Your journey isn’t random wandering – it’s a carefully guided adventure with a loving Father who has already prepared towers of refuge and seasons of purpose along the way.
Maybe you’re in a wintering season right now, and you can’t see the spring coming. Trust His timing.
Maybe you’re in a nesting season, and you’re afraid to think about what comes next. Trust His guidance.
Whatever season you’re in, remember that you’re not flying solo.
God has equipped you with everything you need for this part of the journey, and He’s already preparing the next tower of refuge.
And here’s your challenge: be a tower for someone else who’s migrating through a difficult season.
Let them find refuge in your friendship, your prayers, your presence. After all, we’re all just little “cigars with wings,” doing our best to follow God’s perfect flight plan home.