God Made Fragile Things

Jessica Pettit-Tarquinio wrestles with why God made birds — and all of us — breakable, and the beauty of it all. 

My second-oldest son loves birds. He could tell you all the different species that frequent the bird feeders he set up in our backyard. He did, however, trade their scientific names for more endearing names such as Blueberry the grackle, Pancake the hawk and my favorite, Jeffery, the greedy, rotund finch. It wasn't surprising that soon after we put up bird feeders in our yard, the birds had begun to make nests in our little trees, but other surprises came, like the shock when our dog found a baby bird on the ground one evening and picked it up in his slobbery mouth.

It was young enough that its eyes were still closed and could fit just inside my hand. Its quickened heartbeat moved against my palm, and from its beak came a sad, wheezing sound as it drew its last breaths of air. It never had a chance to see the lovely tree its parents called home, taste the seeds that my son left out, or do what it was born to do by soaring through the air with feathered wings and drinking in the vastness of the sky.

What a paradox God has created in birds! In order for a bird to accomplish its purpose of flying, it must first hatch from a paper-thin shell, dangerously high in the boughs of a tree, with bones so fragile and hollow — completely vulnerable until it is finally old enough and brave enough to dive out of the comfort of its nest, spread its wings, and soar instead of shatter.

Is Fragility a Liability?

In this fallen world, we are taught that fragility is a liability. We are soft things wanting to be steel. But how easily we forget that the creator of the universe who made steel also made each tiny and delicate flowers. As mothers, we know this almost instinctively. Our children are knit in our wombs first, each day growing bigger and stronger until the comforts of our body can no longer provide all that is meant for them. We break to give birth of them, cracking open, much like the thin and fragile shell of a bird's egg.

And once our little ones are born, they are completely reliant on us, not only for nourishment but the love that only we as mothers can give. In time they will grow, but we will never forget what they once were and what we were once too. That fragility moves us–like little birds, we are designed by God for growing and breaking to achieve our purpose.

Try as we may to live up to that design, the worries of the world can and will harden us. Just as the skin that protects us can bleed when cut, our hearts that are filled with love can also become heavy-burdened. There will come times when we are unwilling to leave the comforts of the nest, so to speak, and become despondent of our vocation. Like the little bird my dog found in the grass, those moments leave us feeling fractured, alone, and unseen. But we know that with God, not even the littlest sparrow falls to the ground without the Father’s knowledge. He lifts us up (with much less slobber!) because our purpose isn’t to be broken forever; it is to be broken so that we can mend into something greater. If we feel lost in the endless sea of motherhood, know this: God created us to break, so we may be filled completely by Him.

This Is My Body, Broken for You

We have a unique privilege as mothers to co-create with our divine Father. And the fragility of life that He crafted only reminds us further of how tender the Father truly is. What is more sacrificial than sending down his only Son, entrusted in the most fragile state imaginable to a human woman, not only to become one of us, but to break and be crucified by the very people He had come to save? Without His fragility, we could never see the mind-blowing and boundless extent to which He loved us.

Perhaps we feel fragile because of the sheer number of times we've been broken by the sacrifices we make in the day to day. And perhaps we feel like we are scattered into a million tiny pieces, broken to the extent that maybe no one can truly see us at all. But God sees each and every little piece, and still he's given us mothers fragile little things like our own little baby birds and the nests we tend: this is the sacred gift of motherhood. Not because we are whole, and certainly not because we are strong enough to prevent all the hurts that inevitably come from life, but because He hopes that each time we are broken apart, we break only to cleave to Him.

Who better than Our Lord knows what it means to break? Yes, God made us as fragile things, but He only allows us to break so that one day we may soar with Him.

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Copyright 2026 Jess Pettit-Tarquinio
Images: Canva