To the Pheasant living at the corner of Linwood and Gladstone

5/4/2020

Dear Bird,

I confess that your family’s presence here in the city is more than a little shocking.

Last week, during an early morning walk with Becky, I saw what must be a cousin of yours in the side yard of a house two blocks down. A few weeks before that, I drove past another one on Woodrow Wilson St. right by the on-ramp to John C. Lodge Freeway. And then back before Christmas, one of your clan spent the better part of a day back in the weeds behind our duplex.

Yesterday, when I was taking a long Sunday afternoon stroll, I saw you. You were strolling too--through the houseless corner lot at Linwood and Gladstone. I can’t say it was an empty lot because a thriving dandelion empire occupied the space, and a good number of violet villages were in residence as well. Anyhow, you were promenading through the dandelion domain as though you rule it. Perhaps you do. You certainly look like royalty: dazzling in your deep burgundy and iridescent navy headdress. Your carriage is absolutely regal, and your tail feathers long and lordly. (A peacock’s got nothing on you, in my opinion.)

I was quite awed by you and wanted to approach you and offer my regards in person, but it seems that you were anxious to avoid me. I know you saw me because I watched as you dropped your imperial posture, flattened yourself into the grasses, and scurried behind a rotting stump, making sure to keep it between us as I walked past. I understand, of course, that a noble pheasant such as yourself can’t be associating with mere peasants like me. Still, I wanted to express my admiration of your beauty and gratitude for your presence here among us. I trust this letter will find its way to you and will sufficiently convey the sincerity of my praise and my best wishes for your health and well-being.

May you live long and may your tribe increase.

Humbly,

Miriam

The pheasant himself (and his tree stump)

From the Coffee Shop Window

“It’s snowing,” reports my brain.

The corner of my eye had caught the motion of graceful white flakes drifting towards the earth.

Hearing this, my soul lights up and instinctively half-turns to welcome the wonder of falling snow.

From somewhere in another corner of my brain, a grumpy realist voice rasps, “It's sunny and May. It’s not even snowing. You know that. What are you thinking?”

Conflicted, my soul stops in its tracks and throws a questioning glance toward my eye: the resident data collector.

Eye, suddenly defensive, glances out the window to verify its initial observation.

And.

Heartmelt.

We were all right. It IS snowing, but not snow-snow. Small white petals from the crab-apple tree outside the window gently waft downward, coaxed by the light breeze.

Beautiful. Wonder-full.

And even the realist, too pleased to monologue, dances with delight.

Image by Alois Grundner from Pixabay

Tropism

Do you remember learning about "tropism" in the plant section of your 4th grade science book? You know, phototropism, hydrotropism, and thigmotropism? I remember being intrigued and looking for examples of tropisms in the plants around me.

The Biology Online dictionary defines "tropism" as "A movement or growth response of a cell or an organism to a stimulus, which may either be positive or negative depending on the source and kind of stimulation." The entry goes on to differentiate "tropism" from similar phenomena such as "kinesis" or "taxis" and then offers examples of various kinds of "tropism."

You wanted to know all of that, right? (But really, it's pretty cool.)

Over the years, the idea of tropism has grown deeper roots in my life. According to the Bible, the God who made the world, crafts each human individually, and orders every day with personal attention and care is continually calling people to come to Him and to know Him. He's always pursuing relationship with people. There's a very real sense in which He intends for every single facet of your life in every single stage of your life to act as a stimulus in your relationship with Him. The Christian's interaction with life should be "theotropic."

That being said, I wanted to share two tropism parables with you.

1). Thigmotropism (response to touch stimuli).

I wrote this little poem-prayer back when I was in school (and when I thought that writing poetry in Elizabethan English was a thing. I've since learned differently. Don't judge.).

Thigmotropy

As vining plant, when touched by stick,

In glad dependence graspeth quick,

Let me, dear Lord, when touched by Thee,

Display a like thigmotropy.

2). Heliotropism (response to the sun).

When I took a walk a few evenings ago, I noticed these field clovers craning their necks west, turning full face toward the setting sun. The responsiveness of the plants to the sun echoed in my own heart as a prayer for myself and the people I love: "May our hearts always turn toward You like that."

What have you seen recently that has helped your heart grow toward God?

Everyday Beauties

Snapshot: The sun climbs steadily; its rays filter through the trees to reach the grassy field. The fingers of light touch unassuming dewdrops, who glow with a shy, pleased radiance. Oversized blackbirds strut through the scene drinking dew and daring bugs and worms to surface, while smaller songbird-spectators chirp encouragement from the sidelines. It's  a new morning in New Washington Heights.