Our backyard is filled with birds. During the winter months we feed the birds, and they are always here. Today the sun was out and we had eight inches of snow just beginning to melt. Though it is spring, we just finished a rather wintry storm.
The snow had just melted off the branches of the ash trees close by the deck. The sun was such a welcome relief. We had just finished class when David called me to come into the kitchen quietly. Right outside the window, on the ash tree, was a beautiful large Cooper’s hawk just sitting. No thought: beautiful dark brown mottled feathers full. So comfortable in his own skin. So quiet. No place to go. No rush. His eyes right, then left, then right, then left. Just observing. No thinking, no assuming, no deciding. Magnificent in his own strength and ability without any pride or real awareness. He was just himself.
We watched, too. We were quiet, we were aware, we understood ourselves as best we could. We didn’t move or make a sound as we looked one way and then the other way and then the other way again, and our eyes would fall back on that large bird.
Then a chickadee flew to the ash tree and landed three feet from the hawk. It was not afraid, nor was it quiet; it was upbeat and perky. It felt almost as if the chickadee was bouncing around. He saw the Cooper’s hawk. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t afraid because he didn’t see the hawk. He knew the hawk was there. There was a sense that he had no problem looking at him.
What was his deal? How could he be so audacious? For a small bird to be cocky around a Cooper’s hawk is quite dangerous and foolhardy. Yet the chickadee had no problem with the hawk. Why not? What were we watching? What were we witnessing? I decided the chickadee somehow knew that he was too small for the Cooper’s hawk. He knew that the Cooper’s hawk wouldn’t be interested in him.
A few months ago during Christmastime, we were downstairs when we looked out the window and saw a Cooper’s hawk suddenly dive into a tightly branched azalea bush. He pulled out a junco. The junco had thought he was safe in the twists and turns of the bush. And yet the hawk was willing and comfortable and fast enough to grab that bird. The hawk had no hesitation in this case. The junco was obviously worth the effort; he was plumper than a chickadee, a better meal.
Most of us think we should be the Cooper’s hawk, an apex predator, secure in our own environment. The Cooper’s hawk elicits fear from most animals he comes in contact with. As for us, we watch and admire his beauty and strength. But today I realized the chickadee was the one to be. Too small to be bothered with. Left alone to live quietly and thrive. Today I aspired to be like the chickadee: too small for anyone to even want to attack. Left alone to love God and all His glory.
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