The Bird Killer

Hey everybody, welcome back to Tell Me Your Crazy, where we talk about the wild things we think, say, or do—and what they teach us. Because everybody has a story, and hopefully, we learn something from it.

So here’s mine.

I heard a firsthand story about how my neighbor’s careless action injured a dove. And all I did was ask why.

She’d been swinging a broom at a bird in a tree—trying to scare off what she thought was a pigeon so that it wouldn’t crap all over her back patio.

She kept waving that broom above her head… until suddenly, a baby bird hit the ground. And what looked like a mama bird with a broken wing tried to scramble away.

A few days later, I was on the couch with a friend when we saw my neighbor in her backyard.

My friend looked out the window, laughed, and said:

“The bird killer. Don’t talk to her.”

I was startled.

Word gets around fast, I guess.

Now, we didn’t know what happened. The neighbor hadn’t realized the bird was a dove with a baby in the nest. Her husband managed to get the baby back up there. And a few days later, they saw an adult dove sitting there again.

Maybe the mama bird healed.

Maybe she didn’t.

But what surprised me most was my own reaction.

While my friend was building a wall against my neighbor—someone she’d met only once—I noticed I was building my own fence… against my friend. I was judging the judge.

I know judging others is wrong. I wanted her to see that judgment is what keeps us from knowing people, let alone loving them.

Our concrete judgments convince us we know everything—when really, we don’t know a damn thing.

So I said gently,

“Listen… God doesn’t love us because we’re good. God loves us because God is good.”

And that’s when it hit me.

This is how we build walls—not always with bricks and fences, but with our judgments.

One silent decision at a time:

That person is toxic.

That one’s too negative.

This one did that.

And before we know it, we’ve locked ourselves into a tiny space.

Safe, maybe—but alone.

It reminded me how easily we do this, even with people we barely know. I’ve done it in friend circles, at work, even in my own family.

One wrong word, and suddenly someone becomes that person. And I’m not like them, because—I tell myself—I’m better.

So here’s my crazy:

I judged someone for judging someone who judged someone who may or may not have hurt a bird.

And all of it built a wall around my heart.

But here’s my breakthrough:

Love looks anyway.

It sees every act among the billions we commit in a lifetime, and it can still tell the difference between a wrong act and a wrong person.

Love stays open.

It doesn’t excuse harm but refuses to shut the door on humanity.

So maybe today, just ask yourself:

Whose name have I quietly carved into a brick I didn’t even know I was stacking?

And what would it take to tear that wall down—just a little?

Let love look again.

Because behind every wall is just another story we haven’t heard yet.

Thanks for listening.

And hey—if you’ve done something wild and learned something real, tell me about it. Seriously.

I know we’re all experts on other people’s crazy…

But I only want to know your crazy.

Let me know if you’d like a shorter version or an audiogram caption for social media!