I was on retreat, told I was supposed to be silent for thirty minutes! I wanted to ask if it was okay if I took a nap… Me? Silent for a half-hour?
I headed to my car and after the surreptitious checking of my email, I began to reflect on a scripture from Ephesians that I preached on last Sunday. But then a bird, a thrush, I think, landed on the hood of the car. I waved him off to no avail, and finally closed the door to frighten him off.
When did I become that person, the one who worries more about the bird pooping than about recognizing that I had a “bird’s eye view” of one of God’s magnificent creations?
I know it didn’t happen overnight. And it wasn’t even about the car. Maybe it was the breach in my schedule, or maybe it was the proximity to something new. But I’m afraid I’ve become like that about a lot of things – and I want to turn the tide.
See, as soon as I shooed away the bird, I wanted it back. What else should I be looking at with new eyes (or is it old eyes)?
What part of my marriage, or time with my kids, or my love of my job, do I need to get back?
What, in the stillness, with a bird, is God trying to tell me about time, space, and, well, eternity?
I know I don’t want to miss it. But I’ve got a long way to go to experiencing God’s presence and peace.