Leaning into Life

I tried unsuccessfully to contact Terry Sohl, the nature photographer who took this photo of the dear mother American Goldfinch sitting on her well-hidden nest. More of his sensitive and life-appreciating pictures can be found online. I expect he'd be glad for our checking in on his website.

There is a smaller-than-a-sparrow female American Goldfinch sitting on her nest holding four light blue, lightly speckled eggs, way out back at the margin where the garden transitions to woodland. She built the well-engineered wonder-nest not in a tree, but among the long leaves of clustered red/yellow striped day lilies. I came across the nest early one morning when dead-heading (cutting off yesterday's spent flowers). She darted out from the concealing leaves in bouncy, undulating flight, like a threaded needle working a canvas. 

Then it rained big heavy storms for a few days, and I worried that she and her unhatched family would be washed out. When, like Noah, departing the ark to assess the damage after the forty day deluge, I discovered her sitting there keeping the egg temperature just right, she looked up at me as if to say, "Oh, it's  you again - everything's okay, go and have your tea and toast." 

Then last night a nearby summer kids camp blew up thirty thousand dollars worth of fireworks, and the incessant bombing shook the house, and I grieved from my bed for the two-month-old spotted fawns and the birds, which I imagined falling dead out of the trees, and that surely the frenzied goldfinch mother would abandon her nest in the dark for grief and confusion. But at first light today she was there still, seemingly sane and intent on bringing her chicks to hatch. 


Bless God, seed eating
late nester
of grasses,
spider web
and bark strip.

Bless God, day lily homesteader,
back-dropped with
woodland shadow,
ferns,
wild raspberry
and weedy thicket.

Bless God, egg minding mother,
having changed into your summer dress
of olive green
and white flash,
smartly accessorized,
soft,
yellow-washed
face and throat. 

Bless God, heat wave beater,
thunder storm navigator,
fireworks survivor,
enemy distractor...
that I would lean into living too.

A Late Summer Thought on Christ

copyright R.W. Scott Birds in Flight

THIS TIME OF YEAR IN MUCH OF THE UNITED STATES people take delight in the American Golfinch which is found throughout large parts of the country. In the summertime the male is bright yellow with black markings. The female remains hidden and less observable as she remains brown.

In the Middle Ages, finches of varying kinds were painted in the hands of the Infant Christ. As seen here the Goldfinch has a preference for thistle seeds which are symbolic reminders of the Passion of Jesus. Thickets and thorny brush are favorite places for Goldfinch nesting ~ imaging Jesus crowned with thorns.

The legend is quite tender: that the Goldfinch (like the robin) flew near the Crucified Jesus, and as it pulled a thorn from Jesus' crown, a drop of Blood stained the bird's head. The sign of that closeness to the suffering Jesus has been passed down through the centuries.

To be marked  with the Passion of Christ it seems then that I need to draw near to the suffering of the other:

in an eagerness to offer comfort,
in my careful listening to the anxieties of the other,
in my non-complaint,
in my alleviation of suffering as I'm able,
in my prayer,
in not averting my eyes.