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

The Far Kingdom

Gusting winds roll the maple leaves, flashing their silver undersides. Sunlight and shadows play in the blue-skyed afternoon, and the birds chirp out their pleasure at the whole scene. 

I sit in the car, treasuring the few minutes of solitude, wishing to talk to God, yet quivering with that inside exhaustion that makes it difficult to do more than just stare. These days of battle blur together; they live heavily yet pass quickly, leaving the past hidden under a dust-cloud while a deep fog hangs over future. The war can be relentless; the days grueling. And sometimes, in the middle of it all, the outcome feels murky and uncertain. Except for one thing. 

There is one thing that not even the battle-haze can completely obscure: the Far Kingdom. It is visible even here in the raging present. There are promises. There is a river. There is a city of God. There is a King, and there is a Kingdom. And though everything else crumbles around us, we as believers have received a Kingdom that cannot be shaken (Heb. 12). The promises of God cannot fail. God cannot lie. So here in my car, in the middle of the battle, with all its noise, danger, and exhaustion, I will pause to look up for a glimpse of the King and the Kingdom. I will remember that I have been given two solid realities: today and the Final Day: a Now and a Forever. Everything that lies between these two realities must be taken in by faith. 

O God, give me courage to live today. Help me to look up, to see the Far Kingdom, to ride into battle with the joy of faith, to believe that every sword-stroke leaves its mark, that every wound works a weight of glory, and that nothing will be wasted. In Your love, grant me this grace as You have promised.

(I would be remiss and less than generous if I didn't share this jewel of a song with you: Far Kingdom. It has helped me for many weeks now. Click the link. Listen to it. And while you are at it, also listen to Shadows of the Dawn by the same artist, The Gray Havens.)

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.