The Friends of Rib Mountain group has hosted Birding Walks for at least the last few years. In June I finally made it to one. I’m a nature nut so walking in the woods was a joy, even if it was a quieter experience than most group walks. My goal is to learn a few bird songs and calls so after the group leader finished his welcome, I asked what app he or the other birders recommended. He mentioned a few that he favored and directed us to a free app from The Cornell Lab that includes visual and aural identification. Before we had entered the state park a few of us had already loaded the app onto our phones.
At some point during the walk, someone (me?) mentioned the 4:00 a.m. summertime songfest that we hear outside our bedroom windows.
“Robins.”
Just robins? Really? I’d been listening to these twenty-minute serenades on (thankfully) rare, early wakings since at least my teen years. In my imagination, all the birds of the neighborhood would start singing, knowing that the day was near, celebrating that they were alive and had made it through the dangers of another night. Sparrows, finches, woodpeckers, starlings, wrens, vireos, nuthatches, cardinals, sapsuckers, jays… I’d held this image for fifty years. It gave me joy, maybe even helped shape my mindset. It never occurred to me that robins were the only ones singing.
Since that walk on the back side of Rib Mountain, I’ve been using the Merlin Bird ID to become familiar with local bird calls. (The cardinal has more if them than I’d ever realized!) And I’ve come to accept that, yes, those predawn songs are usually entirely from robins. Who knew?! My illusion has been reshaped by knowledge.
But that’s okay. That even one species does this is still a marvel. And having spent more time observing robins and other feathered neighbors recently, I have renewed my commitment to celebrate each new waking. Yesterday, after rising even before the robins (yuck!), I lifted the muslin panel from the east window and sat in the wing chair with a pint of steaming chamomile tea, watching and listening to a still-sleeping world. I got to notice how early the sky begins to lighten in this season. Even watching fairly attentively, I was caught by surprise when the house across the street and the plastic skeleton hanging from that porch were easily seen.
A commitment, even one as small as finding joy on waking to a new day, can be hard though. I’ll admit, I’m struggling with all the stuff around, and even within, me. How are you doing?
In my illusion, the birds face death every night (and day). Somehow they know that nothing is certain except for this moment. Matthew’s Jesus knows this too. He calls us to observe the birds and to remember that they don’t fuss about what might happen tomorrow, or even this afternoon (Matthew 6:25-27). This text is not about a holy rescuer, G-d in a red cape flying in to save the day. Rather it's about the life that can be too easily missed amid the 3:00 a.m. wake-ups, foreclosures, diseases, fires, death, corruption and greed… (you get the idea).
We humans have beset this world with challenges possibly beyond its (or even our) capacity to rectify. We have reason to be angry, anxious, stressed and fearful. We know the work that’s required of us. Yet our power and agency continue to be undermined. Contacting elected officials seems futile this week. Joining protests and volunteering, while they can leave us feeling good, are such small acts. Practicing self-care and love-in-action even for the people we don’t even like is also needed, yes. But none of this is easy! I'd be lying if I said otherwise. Trying to be more like a robin might help. Maybe. It can't hurt. What might help you?
For this moment, I'll be like the robin.
No comments:
Post a Comment