It’s been about five years since I began my work as an avian residential building contractor. Business has been slow, but we’ve finally had a breakthrough: our first tenants have moved in. A pair of wrens—delightful, diligent, and utterly devoted—have taken up residence in the home I provided.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve watched them with admiration. They built their nest together, feathered it just so, and prepared for the arrival of their little ones. And now, judging by the feverish pace of dad’s grocery runs and his occasional detour to the local sewage treatment plant (a.k.a. my compost bin), the babies have arrived. It’s a wonder to behold—this tiny father, no bigger than my thumb, giving his all for his family.
It made me wonder: what if human dads behaved like wrens?
Instead, too often in America today, we see the opposite. We’ve created an entire category—“deadbeat dad”—for the growing number of fathers who abandon their responsibilities, who vanish from their children’s lives, or who remain physically present but emotionally absent.
It’s not a new problem, but it seems to be getting worse. And it’s worth asking:
Why? What happened to fatherhood?
Some blame economics. The loss of stable jobs, the pressure of providing, or the shame of not being “enough” has driven many men away. Others cite cultural shifts: the erosion of traditional family structures, the glorification of independence over commitment, and media images that value power and pleasure over presence and responsibility.
Psychologists might point to generational wounds. Men raised without fathers often lack models for how to be one. Trauma, addiction, and emotional repression run deep. It’s hard to give love you never received.
But what would A Course in Miracles say?
ACIM would gently remind us that all loveless behavior is a call for love—no matter how distorted or damaging it appears. The Course teaches us that we have forgotten who we really are, mistaking the body and the ego for our true identity.
A father who abandons his child does not do so because he is evil or irredeemable. He does so because he is lost. The ego has convinced him that love is weakness, that vulnerability is danger, that responsibility is a trap. He is defending a false self, built on fear.
ACIM reminds us that “Only the thoughts I think with God are real.” And in those thoughts, there is no abandonment. No absenteeism. No fear. Only love, extended freely.
In contrast, the wren doesn’t question his worth, or overthink his role. He doesn’t ask whether he’s ready to be a dad, or if the mother wren is too needy. He simply shows up. Instinctively. Lovingly. He fulfills his function without complaint or calculation.
That’s the lesson, perhaps: love shows up. Not because it’s obligated. Because it is.
And maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten in our culture. We have glorified self-expression over self-giving. We’ve traded responsibility for freedom—and found ourselves imprisoned by the very ego we thought would set us free.
But the good news is: we can remember. Every father (and every human) can choose again. As ACIM says: “The past is over. It can touch me not.” We are not bound to repeat old patterns. We can choose love. We can reclaim presence.
So to all the dads out there, human or feathered: thank you for showing up.
And to the ones who haven’t: you can start today. Your children don’t need perfection. They need you. Just as you are. Just as God created you.
The wrens never needed therapy to become good parents. But we might. And that’s okay. What matters is that we choose again. Choose love. Choose presence.
And maybe build a better nest.
