More Yellow Bird Stories

Years ago, I wrote a blog post titled Does God Speak Through Yellow Birds?

At the time, I was hesitant to share it. The story felt deeply personal, and honestly, I knew it might sound unusual. But it was too meaningful not to write down.

That original post was published on June 12, 2013. I did not realize until much later that it had been published on my mom’s birthday. That detail has become especially meaningful to me in recent years.

Since then, the yellow bird story has become one of the most-read posts on my site. It was later included in my book, From Success to Surrender, in a chapter about hearing God’s voice. And of all the stories in the book, this is one readers most often mention.

I have thought a lot about why that is. Maybe it is because many of us want to believe God still speaks personally. Maybe it is because we have all had moments where something small felt too timely to dismiss. Maybe it is because we are longing for reassurance that God sees us, knows us, and meets us in ways that are personal to our own story.

For me, yellow birds have never been something I control, chase, or build a theology around. I do not make major decisions based on whether one appears. I do not treat them as a formula or a superstition. But I have learned to pay attention.

Over the years, there have been moments when God has used yellow birds to remind me of His presence in ways that were too personal to ignore.

On July 20, 2023, my mom passed away. We knew the time was close. Kim, Kandice, Lisa, Mike, and I were all at the house. It was one of those sacred, heavy days where time feels different. You are present, but also waiting. Praying, but also grieving. Watching, but also surrendering.

That afternoon, I was praying and asking the Lord for confirmation. Because of my history with Him and yellow birds, I was watching. I was listening. I was asking in the quiet way you do when you are walking through something tender and holy.

Around 1:26 that afternoon, I saw a yellow bird. It circled around for much of the afternoon as we waited, and in that moment, I sensed the Lord confirming that this was the day.

Later, Lisa and I went in to say our final goodbyes to Mom. I leaned close and whispered in her ear that God had sent a yellow bird that day. I told her I believed today was the day.

A few hours later, at 4:50 p.m., she passed.

There are parts of grief that are hard to explain. There is pain, of course. There is sadness. There is the strange finality of knowing someone you love is no longer physically here. But there can also be peace. Not because the loss is small, but because God is near.

That yellow bird did not remove the grief. It did not make saying goodbye easy. But it was a reminder that we were not alone in it. God was present in the waiting, in the timing, and even in the final breath.

A couple of months later, in September, I had a deeply meaningful spiritual retreat day. It was one of those days where the Lord seemed to be reaffirming several things at once. I was continuing to sense the phrase “go your own way.” I was reflecting on the bigger picture of what Lisa and I were being called into together. I was thinking back on a lake house vision, on the formation of something new, and on the unfolding sense that our future work would be shared in a more intentional way.

Toward the end of that day, I found myself sitting on the back bumper of my car, almost chuckling with God. I said something along the lines of, “God, I really thought You were going to send some yellow birds today.”

I had not seen any that day. Then, almost immediately, I looked over and saw two yellow birds in the parking lot.

That detail stood out to me. It was one of the first times I remember seeing the yellow birds in pairs and sensing that they represented something more than personal encouragement for me alone. They felt like an affirmation of the work Lisa and I would do together in the future. Not just me, but us. Our shared calling, our shared obedience, and our shared surrender.

That moment has stayed with me.

Then, on September 23, 2023, I went to my mom and dad’s house for the final time. I was there to pick up the last of their belongings, and it was bittersweet.

Their home sat on about ten acres, with a beautiful hilltop setting overlooking a creek and field. We had cleared a path down to the creek so those coming to see the house could walk the property and experience that part of it.

As I walked down that path one final time, two yellow birds began flying around me. It felt like they were with me nearly the whole walk. In reality, it may have only been a minute or so, but in the moment it felt longer. They were circling, surrounding, accompanying.

At first, my mind went back to what the two birds had come to represent for me and Lisa. The reaffirmation of us. The future work together. The calling we were still learning to understand.

But then my thoughts shifted, and I began thinking about Mom and Dad.

In that moment, the two yellow birds felt like a reminder of them. A reminder of their life, their love, their presence, and perhaps even the way heaven feels closer than we often realize.

I am careful with language like this. I am not trying to explain everything or turn a moment into doctrine. But I know what it felt like. It felt like kindness. It felt like reassurance. It felt like God meeting me in another tender goodbye.

Looking back, what strikes me most is not simply that yellow birds appeared. It is when they appeared. They came on the day my mom passed. They came at the end of a retreat day where I was seeking confirmation about direction. They came on the final walk at my parents’ home.

In each case, they came at moments of transition. Moments of surrender. Moments where one chapter was closing and another was beginning.

That is what God has so often done in my life.

He has not always given me the full picture. He has not always answered as quickly as I wanted. He has not always removed the pain, uncertainty, or waiting. But He has reminded me that He is near.

Sometimes through Scripture. Sometimes through Lisa. Sometimes through prayer. Sometimes through a timely conversation. And sometimes, for reasons I still do not fully understand, through yellow birds.

I realize some people may read this and think it is coincidence. I understand that. But after years of walking with the Lord through these moments, I have become less interested in trying to convince everyone else and more interested in being faithful to notice, remember, and give thanks.

The yellow birds are not the point. God is the point. His kindness is the point. His presence is the point.

Maybe for you it is not a yellow bird. Maybe it is a verse that keeps showing up at exactly the right time. Maybe it is a song, a phrase, a number, a place, a memory, or something in creation that continually reminds you God is near.

The invitation is not to chase signs. The invitation is to listen. To pay attention. To be still long enough to notice the ways God may already be speaking.

I still believe He speaks. I still believe He sees us. And I still believe that sometimes, in His tenderness, He uses the smallest things to remind us of eternal truth.

He is with us. He is leading. He is near.

And every now and then, He may even send a yellow bird.

God bless,
Chris