That's not what I want this post to be about. You may be wondering why you're suddenly seeing personal posts on my photog blog. I'm in the process of creating a new blog which will be for personal entries and for photography. I don't know if this follows the rules of "blogging", but I know I have a hard time managing one blog, and that doing two would never happen for me. So there. I'll write more about what I think about blogging in general later.
These last few days have been really busy for me, in a good way. Our good friends from Texas were in town, so we spent time with them and did the "tourist" thing. It was nice. Even though we live right here in Virginia Beach, we don't spend much time in that "touristy" area. We stick to the beaches on base, because they are more private, and mostly because my fat dog is welcome there. We are country people, and our goal is usually to get away from the city. Whenever we have a chance, we head west to the mountains for some peace and quiet. The need for the country is etched forever in my soul. After being here in the hustle and bustle and red lights and sirens for an extended period of time, I start to feel like I'm choking in a way, and I know I just need to get out for a little while. Out where I can hear the wind, and see the stars, and hear what many people would call silence. I call it bliss. And it really isn't silent either, if you just stop to listen.
One of the things we did with our friends was a deep sea fishing trip. Now that was fun. I LOVE fishing. We got up early, and boarded our boat (or ship, whatever it was). I was a little surprised that people were drinking beer at 6:45 am, and wondered to myself if we hadn't gotten ourselves involved with some retired pirates or something. But I guess that beer is no different than one might have a 6:45 pm, and that doesn't cause me to blink an eye. But it seems different! Pretty soon we were all catching sea bass by the bucket full, and the pirates were cheering us on, and us them. (At some point, I was relieved to find that they were fishing too, and were not the crew.) This went on for hours. We moved to a new spot every few minutes, which was nice because I knew I would have an even tan rather than a burn on one side and not the other. You know how important that is. Maybe I'm not as country as I thought.
At one point, I noticed that one of the pirates was having a hard time. His line kept getting tangled up, and he couldn't get it to work properly. The guy was a pretty sad sight. He just looked like he had had a tough life. His hair was crazy, and his fat belly (yes, graciously, he took his shirt off) hung over his dirty pants. You know, the guy I was judging when I got on the boat. I realized the error in my thinking when I watched the man's face fall as one of the crew members barked rudely at him. We've all heard it, and maybe even done it. I'm afraid I have more than I know. You know, when one person talks down to another, because he's assessed the situation, found himself to be better than the other, and has an opportunity to make himself (or herself) look good by being condescending. Anyway, the man just looked down quietly, and my heart filled for him. What if this was his one chance to get out and have some fun? What if he had been saving for months just to do this? What if his life was horrible, and this was going to be a little resting place in the heartbreak we call life? And to have it crushed by some jerk. Then my mind took yet another step. I had been moved to compassion for the one I had initially judged, and almost felt protective over him before this jerk. But what about the jerk? Aren't we called to love the unlovable? I'm sorry to say that I didn't find much compassion for him in my heart. Maybe someday I will be ruled by Christ enough to find it. It hasn't been that long that I have been finding it for the dirty, poor, broken oppressed people that walk our streets. And even that it only every once in a while. To sum it up, in this moment, I came face to face with my own sinfulness. I have been indifferent, I have been the jerk. I have been the dirty, the poor the broken. I am now.
This is how my mind works. I know I might be wrong about that pirate man. Maybe he wasn't looking down in shame, maybe he had something in his eye. Maybe he was a Jerk too. I know the world isn't usually as I see it.
Then something else happened. I caught a monster 700 pound fish. Just kidding, I wish! But it was something that was almost as unlikely. All of a sudden, the tiniest yellow bird landed right on our friend's fishing pole. The little guy made quite a stir, as we were all pretty surprised to see him. After all we were 30 miles off shore. It quickly became obvious that he was not supposed to be out there. He flitted, and fell, wings splayed, right into the big blue ocean that was ready to swallow him up. My heart somersaulted in my chest. I have such a soft spot for life, all life. And there was something about this tiny, helpless creature that just tore at me. So little, so lost. I knew what I had to do. I'm not sure whether I dropped my fishing pole, or pawned it off on someone nearby, but I had suddenly found my sea legs,and was up in the "crew only" part of the boat, grabbing a big net. This bird was going home. With me. Just then, he managed to fly up again and land on the bow (that means front, right?) next to an old man. The man knew what I was doing, and motioned for me to wait. He slowly slid his hand along the railing, and stopped when his finger was right under the bird. The bird hopped on his finger. I dropped the net, and slowly moved forward, and tried to grab him quickly. Too slow. Back in the water he went. Anxiety filled my heart. I don't think I could have taken it if he stayed in the water and we left him. Finally, he found the rail again. This time I imitated the old man, and sure enough, the bird jumped on my finger. More quickly this time, I grabbed him with my other hand. He was mine. He was so small and cute! Here, let me upload a pic.
Isn't he precious? I had no idea what kind of bird he was.
***OK, so I started this blog on Tuesday with the best of intentions of finishing it later that day. Now it's Friday. Life happened, and I guess that's ok. I was busy this week, and no, I didn't see 5:00 am. 6 a few times, 7 mostly. I took advantage of the fact that my Marine had a slow week for the first time in a long time, and spent my mornings cuddling and enjoying him. I covet those times. :)
But now, to try to reconnect with the bird story.
So I had captured him, and it took me a few minutes to decide exactly what I was going to do with him until we got home. Ultimately, he ended up in my camera case, with a lens cap for a water dish, and some bread from a hot dog donated by the man next to me, and my camera ended up in my hubby's backpack. No, not my 7D, are you crazy? As if I would take that baby on a boat of any kind. My 450D is now getting to experience life as my constant sidekick.
At one point, the Jerk saw that I had the bird, and told me that it was on off-shore bird that lived on the buoys and that it would die if I took it on land. You know, from that invisible-force field that land has. If a sea bird touches land it will be fried instantaneously. I smiled politely, and thanked him for his advice. I told him I would research off-shore buoy birds, and if that is what the little guy was, I would buy another ticket and return him to the ocean. For a fleeting second, I was afraid he was right, but then I remember how the little thing kept falling in the water, and how desperate he was for a place to land. Which led me right into more thought-connect-the-dots (my brain is crazy, and always tries to fit things together to make sense). How desperate my little bird must have been! To abandon his survival instincts, and come willingly face to face with what he considered to be an enemy! His need for rest outweighed his need for self preservation. (Well, actually the rest was the self preservation, but the choice he was making was deadly, according to the instinctual behavior of birds. If we had been on land, he would have avoided humans at all cost, because birds perceive us as a threat.) Haven't we all felt like that before, so desperate for a place to land, for rest, for peace, that we abandon good common sense, and fly straight toward a threat? I think of addictions and suicide and insecurity and other destructive behaviors...the things we do to ourselves in light of our all-consuming need to rest.
Verses come, foggy in my mind: (need to work on memorizing)
28 "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11)
29"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?[g] And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. 30But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. 31Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows." (Matthew 10)
Did God really know about the tiny bird, dying in my camera bag? Did he know that when he took flight that day that he would end up the ocean? That's what it says. Why did you send him, God? And I can't comprehend that I am more valuable. But it says I am.
It was after dark by the time I got him home. We constructed a makeshift bird cage of of a cat carrier, complete with a branch and birdseed. He hopped in the cage and quickly tucked his head under his wing, and stood motionless. Not good. I knew he needed to be released, but I just couldn't put him out in the dark. Maybe I should have.
He was dead the next morning. It hurt me to think that there was a moment during the night when breath left his tiny lungs, his shape falling quietly as his life ended.
For the record, I did my research that night and there is no such thing as a small, yellow, off-shore bird that can survive by drinking saltwater (that was another thing the Jerk said). The only bird that can do that is an albatross. He was a pine warbler, who liked PINE TREES. I buried him beneath a pine tree.
I hummed an old hymn as I walked away, rather quickly because I was being destroyed by mosquitoes.
No comments:
Post a Comment