I watched a birdfeeder on a hooked stake sway like a pendulum, giving evidence of the advancing wind before the storm.
The noon sun hid behind a soft veil of gray, while blades of grass stood as wobbly infants waiting to be fed. I watched with calm eyes, waiting for the first drop to fall.
I cracked open the sliding door that led to the backyard. A sweetness from the flowered weeds tickled my nose. As I reached toward my face to satisfy the itch, I noticed the many wrinkles on my hand.
In my childlike gratitude for life, sometimes I forget the age of my body.
My breath caught itself somewhere between a girl’s giggle and an older woman’s sigh as I saw a cardinal perch upon the feeder.
The red outline against the grey offered an easy view of his belly being filled. He did not appear hurried, nor did he seem to fuss against the wind. He simply swayed with the pendulum, keeping time with the course of nature.
A loud thunderclap shook the glass of the sliding door, and I jumped. My gaze returned to the cardinal. He looked at me. It was as if my movement caught his attention more than the thunder.
As the thunder drew nearer and more frequent, I retreated further into the kitchen. The cardinal remained. Nothing about him appeared anxious despite the sky turning from a soft gray to a deep bruise.
I felt foolish that the approaching storm unsettled me as I remained safe in my shelter, and my face flushed in embarrassment as my husband came into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup.
“Why is the cardinal not afraid of the thunder?” I asked him, nodding in the direction of the backyard.
He observed the bird and then me. “Why would he be?” he said.
I thought about his answer for the remainder of the afternoon, pondering its simple truth.
When will I learn to sway in confident faith like the cardinal?
When will I learn to trust the indwelled Holy Spirit’s unmoving truth more than what is fleeting around me?
When will I stop being surprised by the bruises of life?
Disappointment can become a full-time activity. It is easy, almost reactionary, to be disappointed in others, ourselves, and circumstances. Before we realize it, we retreat with each thunderclap, further and further away from recognizing the sun’s reemergence. Eventually, if we are not careful, we can convince ourselves that the sun no longer shines despite having to squint to dull the brightness to focus on our disappointments.
Maybe the answer is to be like the cardinal who does not dull himself in the storm. Instead, he remains, swaying with the wind in faith rather than trashing against it in fear. His back may be blanketed against a sky of bruises, but his belly still heaves with life. And he continues. He continues.
The feeder awaits despite the weather.
“Come to me, all weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” Matthew 11:28.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.