I like to sit on my patio with my coffee in the morning, just me, God and the birds. Last week the birds were in an uproar. The mama’s were protecting their nests and they were all “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.” Beyonce and contemplation? Not so much.
Usually, I view the birds as living their lives in my space. They leave dirty white messes on my patio, my chairs, my van. Occasionally, I get one that spends hours upon days, upon weeks slamming his twisted little head into my front window. They say that putting an owl on your porch will help this sort of sicko. Do not print out a picture of an owl thinking that you can trick this feathered foe. You must actually go and lay down a 20 at Lowe’s for the ugliest plastic owl ever to send that sucker packing.
Last week I had a personal encounter with a big fat robin. He perched above my new vertical herb garden. He snarked at me and then jerked the herb care for dummies tab straight out and tossed it halfway across the patio.
I promise you, he then looked right at me and said “whatcha gonna do about it.” My husband witnessed this scene. I am not being dramatic here. I don’t like confrontation, but when it comes to a robin getting all up in my pinterest perfection. I will run like a flailing pink giant with no thought to appearances.
While I’m mesmerized by the chatter of the birds, their music has always served as a soundtrack to my drama, unfolding in my head. And when they disrupt my story? Craziness.
I’ve been trying to listen with a heart and mind that desires more.
The day the mama’s were protecting their nests, in a tiny corner of my mind for one brief moment, I could see that I’m actually disrupting their lives. Shooing them out of my herbs and screaming like a fool when they eat my newly planted grass seed. I view the world one dimensionally, from my perspective only. And by “my perspective” , I mean of course, selfishly.
I caught a glimpse of the incredible 3-D movie in which we each playing a starring role. A view that I think God must have as he looks down on his creation. I felt an interactive connectivity that I’ve experienced only a handful of times, and I heard the call to join the story.
If you let the door crack in your mind, and more importantly, your heart, the chirps and chatter and cheeps of the birds will call you up to the most beautiful view.
Our lives are woven into a scene with intricately made airborne creatures warring over the best branches in the neighborhood.
My soul got all filled up that day, and when my soul gets filled, there’s a huge bubble of happy that sits at the base of my throat.
The very best part is that after I got all throat bubble happy, I randomly opened up Psalms and landed in chapter 104 and read that the birds of the heavens have their nests’ and they sing among the branches. On that particular morning, with that change of view, I read that scripture. Have I told you that I don’t believe in coincidence? Under any circumstance? Ever?
There I was again, transported into the most amazing story ever told. Me, a part of creation, side by side with the birds of the air. And God was personally reminding me that not only did he make it all, but he caused my eyes to see and then he wrote me a story about it.
That he gives us all our food and sustains us and we think we’re in charge of our lives but ev-er-y-thing that is good about this life is from him.
It’s in this ancient book and all these years later, those same birds are singing and nesting and chirping insults at each other and calling for me to drop my ideas of pinterest perfection and listen to the song that ‘s been written to invite me into a bigger story.
There is always a battle that occurs when we desire to live better story.
Thankfulness sprinkled my heart on the day that I heard that call, but judgment and comparison pushed their way in and deep sadness pulled up a chair and hung out. I think it’s the longing for heaven, and the perspective of a creator and the constant war between knowing that he’s the director and if I want to have the peace, I have to join the story as a cast member. I can’t be the writer.
So, I’m stopping to listen. As I listen, I’m hearing very specifically the call to play the part that was written for me. The part that was written with all of my baggage and hang-ups and gifts and talents in mind. The part that doesn’t require me to act, but to be.
And there’s a part that’s just yours as well. Will you join me in listening? Will you silence the guilt and the striving and just be for a moment? Sometimes the silence brings anxiety, but keep listening. Just be.
I know it’s early, but six a.m. with coffee and the birds? It’s worth it!