Lessons in Sunbirdish (1)

I have no way of proving that God exists. For a long, long time I believed because I didn't think I had a choice. If it is a choice between heaven and hell, you do what it takes to secure your celestial seat. Somehow I never stopped to consider why I so strongly believed in a heaven and hell, but wasn't nearly as sure that there's a God holding the keys to them.

Then the sunbirds came. Slowly but surely I am being taught the dialect I need to converse with God. Or rather, to follow on what seems to be a trail that God leaves me. Being just up ahead and beckoning me all the while, it's not a chase after or a search for God, but rather a joint venture with God scouting and reporting back when my spirit runs low on this journey through life.

In A Rare Find and Bird on my window sill I touched on synchronicity. I have come to believe that consciously living our moments, awakens us to the fact that there are more things in this life than meet the eyeball. Things that are simply too uncanny to be called mere coincidences. I still don't have all the cognitive answers for God's "allowance" of suffering, but I am starting to trust that I am not in this alone. That there is a benevolent energy supporting me. Love. God.

This is why.

Female Olive backed sunbird building a nest
Photo by Michael Khor (flicker.com)

My quest for deeper meaning in life started in earnest about fifteen years ago, in the mid nineties. Like many women, approaching mid-life, my children were leaving the nest and the great void I have been trying to fill for all of my life was threatening to swallow me. I decided that I was solely to blame for my empty life and that the very shallow level of spirituality I was maintaining as a Christian was to blame. I needed to deepen my relationship with God.With my Calvinistic upbringing, I reckoned this to mean that there were some sacrifices to be made, a lot of earnest praying and deliverance from evil. My image of  a vengeful, male God supported this line of thought but I was determined to get closer to Him. Maybe even get to call Him my friend, like Abraham did.

Looking back, I now realize that what set my course was not my desire to lead a more holy life, but my simple need to have a relationship with God, if this was possible. God came to the party. I started journalling after decades of non writing. I became aware of the importance of the use of our senses, the way nature seems to "speak" to me through these senses and what this showed me of God's lavish providence and care.

A an active member of the local church  and community, I was, among other things, involved in organizing and leading retreats for women. I found that using examples from everyday life helped me to put across what  I was starting to grasp. This is how the first sunbird drew my attention.

One fine summer's day, from the upper storey of our home, I noticed a little bird building a nest at the tip of a willow lath of the huge tree growing right outside the window. This had been my home for almost 20 years  but it was the first time I became aware of this occurrence happening in plain sight about two meters from the window.

At first I thought it to be a weaver of some kind, as the shape of the nest was similar to that of the yellow finches in the area, but it was more disorganized – a glorious chaos of leaves and twigs and feathers with something shiny that caught the sun's rays and made the whole nest shimmer! I was fascinated!

I realised, at a closer look, that it was a female sunbird, building away fervently for close on two weeks. She was building alone, though I did notice a little male sunbird high up in the willow tree every now and then. I didn’t think highly of him for letting her do all the work!

I did some research and discovered that in this particular type of sunbird, the female does indeed go solo. The male's only function being to provide his genes and evidently to protect his territory by singing. The female builds the nest, then hatches the eggs and raises the chicks until they are ready to fledge.

At the time I felt it to be a parable pointing to the many single mothers I am acquainted with – my sister and grandmother, many of my friends. I have often wondered how they manage to survive. It seems to be a constant battle. The shimmering in the fabric of the nest, I discovered to be spider’s web, which binds the nest and makes it almost indestructable. The way the wind dashes a willow lath about, I knew that to be true. That little nest stuck all through winter and long after the little family was gone.

I started telling this parable to women at retreats and it seemed to strike a deep chord within them. The spider’s web I likened to God’s grace that is always available and which, when integrated, keeps everything intact.

At one such a retreat we had our sessions in a thatched roof hall. I had given my talk on the sunbird the Friday night and when we entered the hall the following morning there was an exited buzz. A little bird was flying about high up under the thatched roof and some thought it to be a female sunbird.

I laughed it off and thought they were making too much of my little tale. I couldn’t make out what type of bird it was at that distance but was aware of it flying around as we sat listening to a speaker.

During the session I took a friend’s hand and we were in silent prayer when suddenly I felt a flutter and saw the little female sunbird perched on my friend’s bag that stood between our chairs. I was dumbstruck. For what felt like ages there was dead quiet in the hall and the little bird just sat looking at me.

I felt an overwhelming urge to let go of my friend’s hand and to reach out to the bird, but rationally I thought that it would then definitely be startled and fly away. I sat motionless until it eventually alighted again and went back to flying high up in the roof space.

Much was made of this by everybody present, but I still felt it to be mere coincidence. After the session I stayed behind to tend the book table. A couple of women were browsing while the rest went to tea.

I noticed that the sunbird was tiring and only then realised that it was trapped and couldn’t find it's way out of the hall. She suddenly dropped onto the book table and again just sat there. I felt the same strong urge to reach out to her again. This time I did so. I carefully put out my hand and she got onto my forefinger without hesitation.

I then walked to the nearest open window and set my hand onto the window sill. She immediately flew out the window. People witnessing this were as amazed as I was.

After that I could never see a sunbird without being reminded of the parable of a single parent, but I never thought that I would be one myself in a matter of years. 

On a silent retreat in Lydenburg in 2005, where I went to make my final decision about the fate of my marriage, I saw such a profusion of sunbirds in the flowering aloes that it had to tell me something of the way God was showing me that I would be taken care of, but I didn’t really make the connection at that stage. 

I was still searching for answers to my many intellectual questions about God and his will for my life. I expected it to come solely from realms bordering on the super-natural, like angels descending or dreams maybe. I wasn't yet aware that God mainly answers to our deeper needs, to the questions we don't know we have until the answer crystallises in front of us, quite literally sometimes.

I was still not all that fluent in Sunbirdish. But I was due for more tutoring than I ever thought possible.

Matilda