The sound came again, a plaintive squeaking that resonated with desperation, so very close to where I was standing.
That's when I saw him. He was clutching to the tree in front of me, a foot or two off the ground, his body trembling with the effort.
A little baby squirrel, calling for his mama.
"Steve!" I yelled, waving my arms wildly so he would notice me. He turned quickly and headed to the house, anxiety suddenly hastening his steps.
"What's the matter?" he called back.
"There's a baby squirrel stuck on the tree!" I replied, pointing at the terrified creature.
My husband stopped in his tracks. "You screamed for me about a squirrel?" he asked, slightly frustrated. But given my track record with animals, he wasn't really surprised. "I thought something was wrong with one of the kids!"
"Sorry about that, dear. The squirrel needs help!" My mind was already racing, planning ahead for what bedding materials to use, mentally choosing key words to enter into search engines for advice on caring for a squirrel who wasn't even old enough to climb a tree.
My husband sighed. He had gone out of his way to save animals before, but not wild animals. He sat looking at me for a long minute before deciding it wasn't worth the argument. "Go get the cat carrier," he instructed, "and some blankets."
I gathered all my materials and headed into the backyard where Steve was now sitting by the tree. He was making soft squirrel-like sounds, which appeared to be working. The squirrel had released its death-grip on the tree and was crouched only a foot or so away from where Steve sat.
"What..?" I began, stopping as Steve raised a finger to his lips.
He talked quietly to the squirrel for no more than thirty seconds before the neatest thing happened: that little baby crawled right up onto his leg.
"Well, he's won me over now," Steve admitted sheepishly, reaching a finger out to touch the squirrel's back.
I opened the cage door, and Steve placed the squirrel on the grass in front of it. Needing no coaxing, he ran right in, burying himself in the soft, white blanket.
I ran inside and started googling for information. Remarkably, there was a Wildlife Rescue Center only fifteen miles away. I called them and they gave me the information I needed to keep the squirrel safe for the night.
We brought our new pet to the Center the next morning. Three weeks later, all healed and ready to scamper among the tallest branches, they returned him with three of his new friends to our yard.
He still lives in that very tree he fell from. Though his distinctive markings help us recognize him, the fact that he loves to sit on the thickest branch and stare in our patio door would identify him anyway.
He added himself to a long list of animals-in-need who have ventured through our lives: a stray cat with a leg wound so deep she wasn't supposed to live, hermit crabs we drove four hours to bring to a suitable home, a toad too big to jump out of his egress window prison, an abused dog who trembled when we put our hand out to touch him.
Maybe we have a heart to help them because we have been where they are. Lost, lonely, hurting. Needing rescue.
But our Savior did so much more than clean our wounds, travel long distances, lift us up, and calm our hearts.
He died to save us. Alone on a cross with nails through His hands, He died for us.
All so that, through His name, we could be rescued.
"Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me." (Psalm 50:15)
"For You have rescued my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling." (Psalm 116:8)
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