Tweets, Twitter accounts, Snap Chat, texting, Face Book, iPhones, cell phones, Vines, Pintrest and e-mails are invading every part of our lives these days, not to mention You Tube. I have to laugh when I think that just a few years ago the items listed above either were non-existent or had entirely different meanings. I'm sure this list is minute compared to the many communication possibilities found in cyberspace. Sadly, I am slowly losing my grip, as weak as it was, on the world of electronics. I have a cell phone, and think I am a fairly high-tech grandma because I can use the calendar, alarm clock, and stopwatch.
At a track meet this spring, two high school girls were sitting on a blanket in the grass and texting while waiting for their next event. Being the curious person I am, I finally asked one of them (a granddaughter, by the way) who she was talking to. She laughed as she told me it was her friend right next to her. They were having a private conversation.
I could probably become paranoid if I were around texter-tweeter-snapchatter teens very often. Whenever I saw fingers flying frantically on a keyboard or a girl making funny faces and sending the picture who knows where, I would think, I bet they are telling their friends about me. "My Grandma looks so silly--her hair is sticking out all weird LOLOLOLO."
Then there is the world of Face Book. I have an account. I think the recipes friends post look yummy. The jokes are usually funny. The animal pictures are adorable. I love seeing family pictures of weddings, graduations, vacations, and birthdays. The thing is, I don't want the world knowing and seeing that much about me. Even though I do have blocks on my wall (I guess that is what you call it) I don't want to tell all my friends and family that I'm excited about going to the big city or the beach or the mall, or a ballgame, and will be back later. All I need is to come home to a burglarized house. As an aside, For safety measures I always let my family know when I am going anywhere that will take more than a few hours.
There is one aspect of social media, though, that I have an entirely different view of. It is one that I hadn't realized had such a huge impact until I experienced it myself. In the early spring of 2010 I discovered websites of nesting birds. First came the eagles, then the owls, Molly and McGee to be exact.
Day after day, month after month, I sat in my recliner and watched in utter amazement and fascination as these birds raise their families. I watched the owls rear three clutches during hot California days as well as freezing nights. I watched the eagles during sunny, breezy days and torrential rain storms. During that time, my personal life felt like one big storm, too. Still not in therapy and still not coping with my husband's crimes, I was avoiding people as well as life in general. I must admit, though, I was not aware how much this was happening. I just sat in my chair and watched the birds.
During this time, I learned so much as I took it all in. Just before an approaching storm, I saw the eagles change the configuration of their nest by making the sides higher. I saw them change the usual diet of fish to freshly killed birds when the river was too muddied to fish. I watched mom and dad take turns sitting on the nest, hunting for food, and feeding the eaglets from dawn to dusk.
Molly and McGee, the barn owls, took up most of my time, especially nights. In contrast to the eagles, Molly took charge of the home. She sat on the eggs, straighten the owl box and fluffed up the nesting material. She fed the owlets, tended to a baby's sore eye by cleaning it, stood watch over a dying new-hatch, and at dusk, called impatiently for McGee to start bringing in food for the next day.
McGee slept all day in a nearby palm tree, but at night he hunted tirelessly. Gophers, mice, and small rabbits were all fair game. The larger the owlets got, the more food he brought in, not only for the little ones, but also for Molly. He worked so hard providing for his family.
As I watched, I also read comments and conversations in the chat room next to the video feed. I never entered into the conversations. I just a lurked--watched but didn't talk. By the time the eaglets and owlets fledged, I had gotten to know the other eagle and owl watchers. I knew their chat room names; their favorite TV shows, music, foods, sports teams, and movies; their health problems; their senses of humor; their political leanings and world views; and the ups and downs of their jobs. To me, they were my friends. I laughed at their funny comments and prayed for their concerns, but I never saw their faces, met their families, drank coffee in their homes, or shared a barbecued burger in their back yard. None of them even knew I existed. That was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to know I existed, that included those who did know I existed. Yet, they were my friends, my never-seen-friends.
But now, I no longer need nesting birds and chat rooms to fill my need for human contact. As a result I no longer have any idea who is nesting and where, although I did read that McGee disappeared (probably hit by a car) last year while Molly was sitting on their fourth clutch of eggs--one had hatched. In desperation and despite the freezing night air, she had to leave the nest to find food for the owlet and herself. By the time she finally returned, the baby had died and the eggs had gotten too cold to be viable. I also saw in the news a year or so ago that the mother eagle had been hit by an airplane, and the fairly large eaglets were relocated to a sanctuary because just one parents wouldn't be able to feed all of them.
During this time of withdrawal from the human race, I also discovered Bibi, the African Gray Parrot, who lives with her human family in southern Illinois. Whenever I am working around the house or reading these days, I have her website up and running on my laptop. I have mentioned her in previous blogs. She keeps me amused with her noises, requests for food, demands for attention, animal imitations, and ability to make her desires known--"I want to go to bed". She is one smart bird.
She also has a large following of people who talk off and on in the chat room as well as lurkers like me. But here is what is interesting. Bibi is on a road trip now, visiting her fans. The visits are aired live whenever possible. Sometimes they are visiting on someone's front porch. Other times they are sitting around a kitchen table or in a living room. There are even times she is sight seeing or eating out. During it all, Bibi's chat room friends from around the world are there together, enjoying the conversations, the laughter, and the thrill of seeing Bibi visit another fan.
Over the course of the visits, a common denominator appeared. Bibi and her family were life savers. Not only had Bibi brightened their dark days, she had given them something to look forward to. And it wasn't just Bibi. It was the friends in the chat room as well. Even though none of them had ever met, they cared about each other, encouraged each other, laughed, cried, and celebrated with each other. No one had any idea what kinds of homes the others lived in, how old they were for sure, what their weight was, or if their hair was bleached, dyed, or white. They just knew each others thoughts, words, and shared love for an African Gray Parrot. They were never-seen-before friends.
It was through the live broadcasts of Bibi's visits these past weeks that I began to realize more clearly the part this area of media played in my own recovery. It provided the human contact I needed even though it was just virtual contact. It let me see other people's lives--people who had hurts and heartaches too, my never-seen-before friends. They brought smiles to my face and laughter to my soul. Silly birds! Silly friends.
I can honestly say that God used the mysteries of the electronic age to show me the mysteries of his ways. I saw the majesty and tenderness of eagles as a reminder that God was even more so. As I watched Mollie Owl treat her owlet's eye, then both parents encourage their young to fly, I became more and more aware that God was treating me, feeding me, and encouraging me to fly once again.
I am thankful I have family and friends I can touch and see--people I can visit and who visit me. My heart aches for those who don't. I pray that people who are home bound by either emotional or physical problems will find healing, hope, and joy through some healthy form of social media. But even more, I pray God will reveal himself to them even if it begins with the awe and wonder of birds.
Amazed at how God works,
Jan
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