Hanging on for Dear Life

The north wind was strong and fierce, swirling and gusting, moving lawn chairs and tables, and “rearranging” the potted plants of Johnny Jump-ups that bravely decorated the patio.  The predicted cold front, what we Texans call a blue norther arrived as predicted and the wind was in full force, with ice pellets and snowflakes thrown in for good measure.

In the pre-dawn hours of that bitterly cold morning, I settled into my favorite bird-watching chair in front of the double windows that overlook the back yard. I reached for my journal to begin my usual prayer and meditation time before the tasks of the day began.  Gradually the sky lightened, and I could see the cylinder of bird feed swinging and swaying on the cedar branch. I abandoned my pen and paper in response to nature’s panoply.

On the top and sides of the tower of densely packed seeds clung a bright red cardinal, two juncos and a chickadee.   They were hanging on for dear life, as my dad used to say when describing someone’s desperate attempt to keep a physical or emotional grip on things. The gusting wind flung the food back and forth and round and round.  The birds persevered, having no choice but to cling to their roller-coaster meal. They filled their tummies as the temperature and the wind chill continued to drop.  In cold weather, birds must eat to keep themselves alive in an endless cycle.  The energy they burn by eating is instantly used to keep themselves warm so that they can eat, so that they can stay warm, so that they can eat… Howling wind and frigid temperatures were ignored as they clung to their feeder.  Those little birds were hanging on for dear life. 

On that cold and inhospitable morning, it would have been easier for the birds to hunker down with their feathers fluffed and seek shelter in the nooks of the large cedar tree.   Doing so, however, could lead to depletion, starvation and perhaps even death. The only way for them to live was to brave the wind and fly to the nearby food.  And yet… amidst the gusting wind, the jockeying for position on the feeder, the fluttering and the scratching, I heard other sounds: chirps and tweets, a snatch of a cardinal’s song, a single coo from the dove who flew in to join the feast of leftovers on the ground below.  On that difficult morning, the birds summoned the energy to make a joyful noise, bird-style.

My feathered friends may be merely responding to a survival instinct but they have something to teach me.  I wonder: To what do I cling when I am feeling depleted?  How do I ensure that I stay near to what sustains me when I am buffeted and blown around by whatever impacts my world? How can I nurture the kind and compassionate life to which I aspire while preoccupied with physical safety?   These are not trivial questions but even a bird brain can figure this one out:  You must stay close to what nurtures and feeds you if you expect to have a chance to live. Hang on and don’t let go until you have what you need.

I am typically a relentlessly, even irritatingly optimistic person, but even I sometimes struggle to hang on to my positive demeanor.  It is tempting to withdraw and isolate myself as I weather the stubborn storms of uncertainty. Hunkering down brings another sort of danger, the danger of self-absorption, the chill of cynicism, and the paralyzing freeze of despair.  Just like the birds, what swirls around me affects me profoundly and I must deal with whatever the day brings, knowing that much of it is beyond my control.  Many days, I am hanging on for dear life.  I reach out and cling to love, to faith, to hope.  With birdlike tenacity, I cling because I must.

Like the birds, I cannot let go of the nourishing power of Love, the solid ground of Faith and the Hope that is not a weak wish but rather a steely thread of courage. I am compelled to sidle up beside what feeds me. The secret, as all birds know, is keeping a dependable source of sustenance nearby. That means different things to different people.  For me, it is the nourishing power of kindness and compassion that God provides.   If all I do is hang on for dear life for a while, that’s okay.  I know that life IS dear and precious and worth hanging onto in all its messiness and beauty.   

The morning air was still quite cold, but the wind died down.  The birds casually flitted here and there in the trees, some pausing to take a few sips of the water that I poured over the frozen chunk of ice in the bird bath. Some stopped to fluff their feathers to insulate themselves from the cold. A few continued to peck away at the feeder with single-minded determination.  In the distance, I heard the cardinal from his new perch on the tip-top branch of a nearby live oak.  He sang and sang and sang some more. Soon he returned to the feeder to begin the feeding cycle once again. Birds know that life is not always about securing the necessities and staying safe in a nest.  They are wise, these tiny companions on my journey.  They know enough to stick with what makes them strong and to persevere under tough conditions, hanging on to life with dogged determination. They know enough to sing while they are doing it.

I closed my journal, the pages blank. I recorded in my heart something unexpected but much more comforting than my own jumbled thoughts.  Sometimes it is all I can do to hang on for dear life and that is more than okay.  It’s a good survival technique for creatures both avian and human. Life, however, is more than just survival. While I’m figuring out how to hang on for a while longer, I take another tip from the birds: I sing.

My life flows on in endless song,

Above earth’s lamentation.

I hear the sweet though far off hymn

That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife,

I hear the music ringing.

It finds an echo in my soul–

How can I keep from singing?¹

¹Excerpt from traditional hymn My Life Flows on in Endless Song, fiirst published in 1869. Available on YouTube and in various hymnals.

²Photograph by Forest Simon on Unsplash.com, the source of free photographs online.