Tip of My Iceberg

There are these raucously loud birds, native to much of the U.S., which have found sanctuary in our back yard. I’ve discovered they’re also native to extreme northeastern Siberia. That right there should have told me something about the species. To survive there, they’d have to have a lot of moxie with some tenacity thrown in.

They are loud and annoying and act way too entitled for my liking.

They are sandhill cranes.

There are a few things I enjoy about these birds. Both parents participate in raising junior. Both help with incubating the eggs. Both help feed their young, intensively for the first two months, tapering off till the chicks are independent at ten months of age. That’s remarkably engaging for these feathered fathers–I know human dads that aren’t that involved.

There are, however, limits to my admiration for these birds. Because of their formidable size, I’ve seen them run off deer from our back yard when the deer have what the birds want. I’ve seen one chase a man into house. (The man must have angered it or threatened it. Or possibly it didn’t like what the man was wearing or how he smelled.) And they’ve attacked the rear view mirrors and windows on my car trying to attack the bird they see reflected there. Attitude doesn’t translate into smarts.

But they are tenacious. I was sitting in my kitchen with my friend, Lori, who commented on a lizard that had been caught between the screen and window for a few weeks. He was thriving quite nicely–he had his fill of bugs coming his way and was in no hurry to leave. Or couldn’t find the hole a few inches from him that allowed him to get there in the first place. We laughed, as he seemed positioned to get what he wanted without being attacked by any predators as he remained behind the screen.

The next morning I heard this loud banging that I couldn’t identify. I ran into the kitchen to see one of the cranes dragging the lizard out of a new hole it had made in our screen. You could almost hear the little pathetic cries for help from the lizard–who was soon being ripped apart by the parent crane and being fed to the baby. I was fascinated–if not a little disgusted.

Baby crane waited as parent fed pieces of lizard to it. The baby did nothing but squawk. Demand. Eat.

It was a little embarrassing to realize how much I’m like those annoying birds. Rather humbling.

I don’t want to think of myself as demanding, but I know I am. I typically want what I want when I want it. As a follower of Jesus, I’ve learned to put a kind spin to those wants. But I’m still that baby crane. Demand. Take.

God sees me differently. Because I’m His.

“The Lord is like a Father to His children, tender and compassionate to those who fear Him. For He knows how weak we are; He remembers we are only dust.”   Psalm 103:13-14

God knows my limits, my weaknesses. He’s not surprised when and how I fail. But because I have a relationship with Him, He joyfully provides for my heart needs.

Way better than a ripped up lizard.