In the forests and savannas of South America, there lives a tiny, emerald-green bird no bigger than a thumb. It’s called the green-rumped parrotlet. Cute, chatty, and utterly unremarkable to most who pass by — unless, of course, you listen a little closer.

While studying these birds in the wild, Dr. Karl Berg and his colleagues discovered something extraordinary. These parrotlets don’t just squawk or chirp — they name each other. Each adult bird has a unique, learned call that functions like a personal name. When a chick hatches, the parents don’t pass down their own signature sounds — they create new ones. Individual whistles are composed for each chick, who learns to recognize that special call as its own. Not inherited. Not borrowed. Invented — then learned.

But it doesn’t stop there.

The chicks don’t just receive a name. As they grow, they begin to use the signature calls of others — calling out to siblings, responding to their parents, even using their parents’ names. These are not random squawks in the dark. This is a system of recognition, belonging, and relationship. They’re not just talking. They’re calling out someone. “I know you. You’re mine.”

And they answer in kind.

The scientists were amazed. But should we be? This level of social intelligence — this careful, intentional exchange — was built in. Not evolved. Not random. Designed.

From the moment we draw breath, Jehovah knows our frame. He sees not just a species, not just a crowd, but individuals. “I have called you by your name,” He says in Isaiah 43:1, “You are mine.”

If birds can do this for their babies, how much more so our Creator?