Nests

There’s a Wren or a Finch (I’m not a bird expert) making a nest in the window box in front of my kitchen window. I recently installed the window box and planted it with pansies so that I could look at them while doing dishes. Now I get the fascinating bonus of watching a tiny bird build a nest right in front of me. She doesn’t know I’m there. She flies in an out of her growing pile of leaves and debris and darts her tiny head from side to side searching for danger. She doesn’t see me. She can’t see past the reflection of the window pane. I’m not sure why that makes me a bit sad, but it does. I think maybe because it’s such a simple reminder that we do all that we can do as mothers, as people, to protect what is dear to us, to protect our children, but really we can’t control much. Sometimes bad things happen. We operate in all the wisdom that we have, but sometimes there are things much bigger than us and we can’t see past our own reflection. Which is why I pray for my little ones and for the things I cannot see. But even prayer is an act of surrender, or should be. I don’t pray because I’m worried or terrified or grasping for control. I pray because I am aware of my blindness.

Watching my little bird also brings me quietness and stillness. Once when I was a little girl I found a nest of blue eggs. What kind of bird lays baby blue eggs? I’m not sure. Maybe Blue Jays. I thought they were so beautiful. I took each egg out and rolled them softly in my hands. Then I put them all back. The next day the nest was turned over and the eggs were cracked on the ground. I went to my mother in tears and she explained that momma birds abandon their eggs if they smell like people. She explained that the mother bird was just protecting her babies and that she would go on to lay more eggs again another time.  I was so sad that my admiration had ruined those beautiful eggs. So, I’ve already told the kids not to go near the window box. I want to see this life cycle play out.  I let the children climb on a step stool to peer at the nest through the kitchen window. They don’t seem nearly as fascinated as I am, but oh well. It’s like a small gift to me.  A wonder. 

I’ve taken a break from blogging. I’ve wanted to examine some things, in quietness. I feel myself preparing for this new life growing inside me. I have ten weeks until my due date and I have been savoring solitude. I was talking to Jonathan one night and he said the most interesting thing. He said, “It’s the drowning person who makes the most splashes in the water.” I thought about this for a long time. I’m still thinking about it. For so long I was drowning. I made a lot of noise. I splashed a lot. I didn’t want to slip silently beneath the waves. Some of this blog was about that for me. I desperately needed someone, anyone, to see, to know what I was feeling. I didn’t want anyone to have just a vague idea of my struggle. I wanted to capture it in words, pin it down long enough to name it. I think there were times when I did, but words always fall short. Words are never enough. The greatest griefs are silent. So I felt that I needed a period of re-examining the motivation for my words. I needed a period of stillness. And I haven’t forgotten my book review. I still plan to continue with Chapter 2. Soon.

And I’m not drowning anymore. There are wonderful things in my life: beautiful beginnings, love, people to treasure, new life, old memories, and familiar loss. It’s all blended up together in an exquisite tangle. I will sit with it all for a while and familiarize myself, like turning a rubber band ball over in my hands.