How a Hummingbird Taught Us To Have Hope in the Middle of Uncertainty.

We found out about the dark spot on my husband Christian’s lung completely by accident. 

We found out about the dark spot on my husband Christian’s lung completely by accident. 

Chris was about to turn 51, the same age his grandfather and cousin had been when they died from heart attacks. The family pattern was heavy and something in Chris felt uneasy. So he went in for a heart scan - the kind you do more for peace of mind than anything else.

His heart was perfect. Zero calcification. The kind of result you’d expect from someone healthy and active like him. But the pathologist noticed something else. A dark spot on his lung.

We saw the pulmonologist. The recommendation was immediate: a biopsy. But we had a trip planned to Costa Rica - to pick up our son Arich who was completing studying abroad - and you can’t fly after a lung biopsy. There’s a risk your lung could deflate. 

We decided to go and do the biopsy when we returned. Not because we were being reckless. But because somewhere inside, neither of us believed it would be cancer. Or maybe we didn’t want to live like it would be.

We hiked through the Costa Rican rainforest with a guide, winding through thick green as the light filtered in. And at one point, our guide pulled back a curtain of giant jungle leaves to show us something - a small, hidden grove alive with thousands of hummingbirds.

All kinds. All colors. Filling the air with this wild cacophony of wingbeats and whistles.

It felt like a portal moment - like the veil between this world and something more mystical had become thin for a moment.

We came home. The biopsy was conducted. The waiting started.

Somewhere in the in-between, we ordered a hummingbird feeder, although I wasn’t even sure if Nebraska had them. 

The day after the biopsy, Chris went out to hang the new feeder on our back deck. While he was standing there - before he even finished - a hummingbird appeared inches from his face. 

He froze. Smiled. Connected with it.

“Well, hi there, little buddy,” I remember him saying. 

It felt like more than a coincidence. Like the hummingbird had shown up to deliver a message:

Be here. Be present. There’s sweetness in every moment. There’s hope. 

And that night, I randomly pulled a card from my spirit animal oracle deck that a friend recently sent me. It was the hummingbird.

The next day, we got the call: it was cancer. Christian would need 40% of his left lung removed. He had surgery and has made a full recovery.

However, from that moment with the hummingbird, we were changed. We started paying attention to the small messengers. The ones that show up quietly and invite you back into life.

Three years later, our back deck has become a hummingbird ecosystem. Chris tends it. We’ve had little families nest here. Last year, two babies were born.

We see hummingbirds every year now. They arrive during the spring migration and stay until early fall - delicate, fast, brilliant little things. And every time they return, they bring the same message:

Enjoy the sweetness of every moment. 

Because no matter what we’re facing, hope still shows up. Sometimes right in front of your face.