Learning From Eagles

My son is not home today, so I am using his computer to write this, and will do so until I can get a new one. Loss is always difficult, and my latest loss is no different. You see, I lost a good, faithful friend Friday evening.  We were playing a game together when my friend quit responding to anything I said or did.  The only option I had was to head off for help as soon as I could.  That meant Monday morning.  Several times over the weekend I had tried to revive my friend, all to no avail.  There was never any response of any kind.

By 10 am Monday the diagnosis was complete and the verdict was in.  My friend of over four years was dead.  Nothing could be done to save it.  The many years of filed-away memories are now lost to me. The pictures, the letters and journals, the budgets and financial records are all in that memory somewhere, but not retrievable.  The doctor tried, but its brain made of chips and circuits was no longer able to communicate with the outside world. Summed up in three words,  It Is toast.

When I was given that news, many of my lost records, photo memories and work flashed through my mind.  I was at the same time sad and yet given a slap alongside my head when I suddenly remembered that inner voice I kept hearing the past month that said, "You should really save onto a disc or flash drive or you are going to lose it." Laughter, though subdued, bubbled up inside me as this thought hit me, "Jesus saves.  I didn't"

Computer and I had spent hours together everyday, maybe too much time. I don't know.  But I clearly remember that first spring, four years ago. We spent hours sitting in the recliner watching a pair of nesting eagles with a nest high in a tree, and a pair of owls, Mollie and McGee, in their nesting box. These nesting pairs provided, each in their own way, security, comfort, and insight as they lived their lives as God intended.  I also watched Bibi, an African gray parrot, who talked, sang, and counted her way into my heart while bossing the dogs and demanding berries.  She brought much amusement and laughter into my life.

Eagles are beautiful birds. The pair I watched were no exception. I watched in awe as they took turns sitting on the eggs, turning them, arranging the nesting material of twigs and grasses, all the while keeping an eye on the sky above them.  Oh so ever watchful.

Once the eggs hatched, the parents took turns sitting on the naked, then fuzzy eaglets.  They took turns bringing in fish and feeding the kids, ever aware of who was getting food and who wasn't. I loved watching the never-ending watchfulness of those parents. But the most impactful event took place in a downpour that went on for hours.

Before the rains came, it started getting windy.  The parent on the nest began building up the sides of the grassy indentation that protected the babies.  No one was getting tossed out, that was for sure.  I had to quit watching at this point because of an appointment.  When I returned home, I immediately turned on my computer to see how windy it had gotten.  All I could see was what seemed to be a large piece of shiny, black plastic over the nest. Although the tree rocked and rolled with the wind, the shiny, black "plastic" was motionless. It couldn't have been plastic or it would have moved. What in the world was it?  Where had it come from? And where was the parent. I tried to make sense of it.

In my befuddled state, I continued watching until I slowly realized it wasn't just the wind I was watching. I was watching a torrential downpour.  Then, from out of nowhere flew an eagle with a fish in tow.  The black piece of plastic then moved, shook out its wings and stood up.  To my amazement, the guardian eagle had been spread out flat over that nest, wings outstretched instead of folded in, head extended,  taking the brunt of the rain and becoming black and shiny as the rain ran off its back. Those future eagles were not getting wet.  The guardian parent made sure of that.

It continued standing over the nest, keeping the rain off the vulnerable babies, while both parents slowly feed them. Once finished, the shiny, black plastic parent gave a little jump, spread its wings and flew off.  The other eagle straddled those little eaglets, settled over them, spread out its wings a little, lowered its head and assumed the exact pose the other eagle had been in.  In a very short time, the nest once again was covered by a shiny, black piece of "plastic".

After watching that first eagle not only endure the fierce wind and rain, but also completely cover its young with its wings, thus providing much needed warmth and protection, then the second parent do the very same thing, a light dawned on me. Another bird, like a large hawk or a vulture, wasn't the babysitter during the storm. The park ranger didn't climb up to hold an umbrella for awhile. It was the other parent that came, the one who knew and understood exactly what was needed for their children's survival and how to provide it. It was no other.

In the following hours and days, I slowly began to understood a little more about Jesus' words to the disciples when he told them he would send another comforter to them after he left. The word he used for another, "allo" meant someone exactly like he was, not merely similar, but exactly like. He could have used two other words with similar meanings instead, but he didn't.   Jesus sent allo Comforter, the Holy Spirit, someone exactly like himself, who knew what we need, when, and why. He sent no other.

Thank You, Jesus.