Fully fledged

In the life of a young bird, there comes a stage when it gets its flying feathers. Over time, the baby fuzz is replaced by firm feathers - including wing feathers that will be rigid enough to ride on air currents and support the weight of the bird. 

Until that happens, the baby bird spends more and more of its time - still in its nest - flapping its wings, exercising those muscles. Yet it still can't sustain flight. During the stage in which the adult feathers grow in, the bird is said to "fledge," and when there is no more fuzz, it is called full-fledged, or fully fledged. 

Sometimes a bird, even though it's been practicing in the nest and has even managed to lift itself up into the air a bit, still seems to want to stay in the nest; perhaps it is afraid of falling. Eventually, the baby fuzz that's been falling out will blow away from the nest and the rough sticks get more and more uncomfortable. 

Thanks to Jeff Ratcliffe at
www.freedigitalphotos.net for his
photo, "Eagle In Flight"

Before long, the desire to leave the safety of the nest is stronger than the fear of falling - and the bird takes that leap of faith into the invisible, making short flights to the ground, up to branches (or in the case of an eagle, rock ledges), landing on neighboring trees or other suitable perches. At this point, it doesn't leave the protection of its parents but continues to learn to use its wings and to feed itself by watching its mother and father. It only takes a few weeks to learn these skills. Many birds do maintain that family relationship. The family group is a great source of security. And some - just fly away to establish their own territory.

I guess that lately, I've been going through that transition period where the young one has left the nest but is still somewhat dependent, learning all she can to be self-sufficient, strengthening her wing muscles. It's a thrilling but frightening time (for both of us!) and both my daughter and I have been learning a lot from the experience. So far, she's traveled across the country nearly to the other side, lived in someone's car (with them and later with their permission), found a job, faced transportation issues to and from work, shopped for a second-hand car, hunted for an apartment, ... and the list is ongoing. While she's been having all these experiences thousands of miles away, my heart has been traveling with her, praying for her, supporting her, talking her down when she's upset, suggesting options when she's been out of her depth. I even talked her through preparing a chicken dinner for a lady who let her stay with her the first of this week! (And I'm not sure who was more pleased with the results - her or me!)

As someone in recovery from control-freaking and from obsessive care-taking, there's a fine line between letting go and abandonment, just as there is between being there for my child and trying to make her choices for her. It truly is a process where I, like she was when she was in my nest, have been growing my own feathers. 

I can see the day quickly approaching where she will have learned enough to be able to be self-sufficient. I am so proud of all that she has accomplished so far, and I believe in her ability to make it on her own. It's a process for her and it's a process for me too. As I support her in this transition while slowly letting go and allowing her to make her own choices and reap her own consequences, I grow another feather myself. 

And yes, I've been doing a lot of flapping, even some short hovers, and - admittedly - a fair bit of squawking. ;) 

Before long though, I'll make that leap myself - out into the unknown - and find that the invisible is strong enough to carry me too.

To be ...

This morning on the way to work hubby and I were treated to a rare sight.

A bird - perhaps it was a robin - flew right toward us and within 10 feet of the windshield.  It was slowing down so the tail feathers were fanned out, and we could see the underside markings - an arc near the tip of the tail, perhaps an inch wide, of white against the dark background of the tail itself.  

We remarked to each other about it.  Not often one gets to see a wild songbird up close like that, from such an angle.  We talked about how God loves beauty so much that He thinks to put such a detail, rarely seen and even more rarely appreciated, on the underside of a bird's tail.  How He puts stars in the sky that have been there for longer than we can imagine - only now are we starting to see their light.  All because He wanted them there.

But that bird kept our conversation focused on how the bird doesn't try to have plumage that is this remarkable, grunting and straining to push the feathers to the surface or have them be this color or that.  It just IS.  It doesn't try to be something it's not.  It just is what it is and that is the end of it.  It just lives its life and goes about its business and ... on rare occasions, God ordains that someone just happens to be looking in the right direction, for that moment in time.  

Same with the stunning voices of the songbirds we hear.

I remember hearing meadowlarks calling to each other when I was a child - low, harmonious tones with almost a haunting quality to them.  It was such a treat when they sang.

One of my favorites is the common tree sparrow - such dizzying heights and depths of melody, seemingly effortlessly coming from a little throat less than a half-inch across in a little plain brown and beige body.  It boggles the mind that they don't have a vocal instructor, yet produce the clearest, sweetest music of the season.  

And the yellow warbler - once rare in the Maritimes but now more common as the summers are hotter and muggier - their melodious pipings (as with all birds) are not taught so much as they are caught from their parents.  They are who they are, easily recognizable by their song.  They don't try to be nightingales.  They're warblers. They bring joy just by being who they are.

If only humans....

Free

The first time I remember seeing a horse, I was perhaps 5 years old. I remember saying to my dad, "What's THAT, Daddy?" He told me it was a horse. "Can I have one?" I pleaded with him right away.

It was love at first sight. Over the years, I've tried to have as much to do with horses as I could - limited when I was young due to financial constraints and now limited because of the allergies of the people I love. Yet I still admire the creatures from afar, and whenever I get the chance, I go to a barn and just drink in the smell of leather and horse dust - far more attractive to me than the artificial smells of perfume.

I've never been able to imagine anything that pictures freedom quite like the image of a horse galloping across a field. Rarely have I felt more free physically than when I have been astride a well-trained horse, out in the open, and a spontaneous race broke out between my mount and that of another rider. It was exhilarating. I felt like I was flying, trusting in the strength of the animal beneath me to take me where I wanted to go.

For some people, like my husband, they get this feeling in other ways. With him, it's flying in a light plane. For others, it's playing a favorite sport. Or riding a roller-coaster. Or hang-gliding, or bungee-jumping.

When freedom is removed - when it's curtailed somehow, or when it's limited - that removes the appeal. Like those canned pony rides that were so popular at zoos a while back. I hated those. Yes, you got on the pony. Yes, it moved under you. But it was kept to a walk, there was no mental connection between rider and animal, and you went where someone else wanted you to go. To me that wasn't riding, that was being led around on an animal. All the fun was sucked out of it.

I have to admit, that's what church feels like sometimes. Programmed, regimented, and revolving around someone else's idea of what it's like to live the Christian life. I'm not knocking going to church. There is a vital role that "community" plays in spiritual growth. But if that is all there is - if one doesn't "get on the horse" oneself, experience God for oneself, then where's the freedom in that?

His invitation is to mount up. Live life. Experience Him.
Be free.