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with Kathleen Gibson November 19, 2008 Don�t lose sight of the �buds� On his second Christmas, Benjamin Bean watched, mesmerized, as I assembled the artificial tree. When I finished, he hopped off the couch, leaned far into the branches, stuck his head in and said, �Buds?� I didn�t know what he meant�not until he began chirping. Clearly he thought that tree needed birds. Since babyhood, he�d known that the two go together. Our childhood fascination with birds may be our earliest gateway into a lifelong love of nature. If you�ve ever taken a child on a woodland walk or a shoreside stroll, you may recall how well they noticed things we �grumps� (as a youngster I once knew dubbed grown-ups) have long tuned out�particularly birds. Birds symbolize what we all seek, even children: unspoiled, tantalizing freedom. To ride the wind, nest in treetops with star nightlights, fall asleep lulled by a symphonic meld of wind in leaves, dine wherever, eating whatever�who hasn�t dreamed of such bliss? On an October day, Benjamin and his middle sister, Tabatha, three and two, accompanied the Preacher and I on a ramble down a lakeside trail. Canada geese dotted the lake�s surface. They rose suddenly in a noisy jumble, and began jostling into disheveled Vs. �Look, children,� said I. But both small faces had already tilted skyward to watch the geese practice for their southward flight. We�ve been practicing too, the grandbeans and I. Not flight�words. �A bunch of people make a crowd, a bunch of trees makes a forest. What does a bunch of geese make, guys?� �A bunch of geese make a mess, Nana!� Benjamin said. He�s been listening to the men in his life, I suspect. My grandchildren�s wonder increases mine. The frenzied pace of �grump-hood� easily blunts our natural affection for God�s creation. Today, even tiny lives grow too busy too soon, and that simple love of nature melts like a crayon in hot sun But like migrating geese, our fascination with birds often soars back. As though in rebellion to today�s demented pace, birding is one of the fastest growing adult hobbies in North America. Perhaps our �inner child�, amidst life�s whirl, cries, �You�ve ignored me too long! Release me to fresh air, freedom, beauty. Find me a bird to watch, a place to be still!� Those who heed the child feel their souls exhale. I�ve seen them tramping trails, their eyes scanning for wings, or pouring birdseed into numerous yard feeders awaiting the feathered fellows. Responding to deep longings obliterated by a lifetime of haste, some have reconnected with the God who made those birds, whose eye is on the sparrow. Jesus was a birdwatcher himself, I think. He encouraged people to observe birds closely, to catch a glimpse of God�s sky-high love. Don�t lose sight of �buds�. If you already have, take a child�s hand and find them again. They�ll point you to God. You�ll wonder why you waited so long. �2008, Kathleen Gibson Respond Home |
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