The Guy With The Bird In His Hand

A few months back I attended a men’s conference at Malibu Club, a young life camp tucked neatly into the Canadian wilderness.  (You may remember this from Small Puffy PouchDiscipleship.)  It has been my habit when at Malibu to wake up early, take a short run, then a long shower and finally to wander down toward the center of camp to find a quiet spot near the inlet and enjoy some devotion time alone with Jesus.  Well this time, Saturday morning had other plans.

After my short run and after my long shower I headed toward the center of camp.  Now, generally, at this time in the morning there aren’t a lot of people around camp.  Or perhaps I just don’t notice a lot of people outside the narrow space between the margins of my periphery.  However, this morning I noticed a young man walking toward me.  He was grinning like he knew a secret.  I suspect he tried to catch my eye, but I looked away just in time to protect the sacredness of my aloneness.  Maybe you’ve done this before as well?  Anyway, as I passed by him I realized he was holding a bird in his hand.  I did a quick and inconspicuous double take, still guarding my pursuit of devotion time.  “Yup, that’s a bird,” I thought to myself and proceeded to walk by.

Now, you know that stillness that erupts into a storm inside you when God tells you to do something really important, or at least is trying to get your attention?  Noah knew it.  Elijah knew it.  Peter knew it.  Well, all of a sudden I knew it too.  I was already twenty feet beyond the point of passing and on my way down the steps to my quiet spot when I looked back.  I stopped and thought for just a second or three, which if you’ve ever experienced this feeling, you know the “stopping and thinking” part is really an act of submission and in your mind you’re already heading back while waiting for your feet to catch up.

I called out to the young man as I started back in his direction:  “Hey, what do you have there?”  He spun around quickly and held out his hand with the bird in it.  I had seen this young man around camp days prior.  He walked with a slight limp, tilted a bit, like a boat with too many people on the starboard side.  His build was slim.  His hair was dusty brown and usually feathered past his ears, though this morning it was tossed like he’d just woken up.  His face was narrow and pale with a defined nose, a slender chin and a chiseled Adams apple.

Again, he was grinning hugely.  His left cheek was pitched with a long dimple and his lip curled to show some teeth.  His dark eyes squinted just enough to ration the joy that streamed out.  I looked down at his hand where the bird lay.  It was soft and gentle…his hand that is.  His words were simple and listed, and they emerged with a slow intentional pace:  “I think he’s tired.  So I’m going to let him rest here and let him go later,” he said, about the bird.

I asked him where he found it.  “Down by the pool.”  Then I asked his name.  “Brett…from Enumclaw.”

“Brett, it looks like he feels pretty safe in your hand.  Are you a bird guy?” I asked.

“I have seven cats and four dogs,” he replied.

I tried to joke:  “Better not tell the cats about the bird.”  It flew past him.  His grin was not into sarcasm.  My feeble attempt to come down to his level totally missed.  He was already above mine.  Mostly I proved my discomfort in the presence of something greater than me, which is really how sarcasm works.

Sparing me the awkwardness of my ignorance, Brett skipped to taking a picture of the bird in his hand.  He moved the bird into his other hand with such gentleness, like he had just formed it from clay and it wasn’t dry yet.  He got set up to point and click, but his battery was dead, so I took a couple pictures on my phone so this moment wouldn’t be missed.  After exchanging just a few more brief comments, I got his email address from him so I could send him the pictures and we parted ways.

But the thing of it all is, when I walked away, just for a moment I was overcome with the sense that something very significant just happened.  Then I distracted myself by remembering the favor I’d be doing Brett by emailing him the picture.  “Yup, Andy, that’s a fine way to love a young man who has probably encountered only a fraction of the social challenges he will over the course of his life.”  I know…ugh.  How arrogant we can be sometimes.

Moments later though, as I found my quiet spot near the inlet and began journaling this very event, the significance of the encounter struck me.  “I think I just had my devotion time alone with Jesus,” I thought.  The fact is Brett had no particular form or majesty that we should look long upon him with any great awe.  Shoot, I walked right by.  And even then turned only to see what he held in his hand.  I guess most would say he had no particular beauty.  I imagine he has seen his share of dispisement and rejection.  Probably carries a reasonable sized burden of sorrow and grief…though you’d never know it by his grin.  Probably even been assumed by many to be smitten by God with disability, afflicted even.  But there he was with the brokenness of creation in his gentle hand.

Later that morning, just after breakfast, I saw Brett walking toward me…without the bird.  I stopped him and introduced him to a couple of my friends that were there with me.  Then I asked him what happened with the bird.

“It flew away,” he quickly replied.  And he proceeded to show us how he had held it; hands cradled, arms pulled tightly to his chest, protecting it really.  Then, after some time, he lifted it up with enough force to intend flying.  His hands gestured with an inertia that must have told the bird it was time to fly.  And like the Creator, releasing his creation, the small bird flew away.

As I said earlier, this all took place a few months back.  I’m just now getting around to writing it up as a blog post because the whole episode has been jostling around in my mind trying to find a settled place; a category or a location in which to land and wherein it can find context and application.  I suspect as you read, rather than getting lost in questionable theology of comparisons between Jesus and Brett (which are not intended), instead you heard several things…things maybe you identified with.  Well, frankly, I’m not sure this event has yet found a settled place in my mind, but it has certainly produced not a short list of lessons…lessons maybe you can learn from too. 

·         Prepare for my plans to be interrupted by a greater Planner and His plan. 

·         Broaden the space between the margins of my periphery to include others passing by.

·         When the stillness within erupts into a storm, listen carefully.

·         Lose the sarcasm…it only proves my discomfort in the presence of God’s greater work.

·         Avoid the distractions of the inner and often arrogant dialogue with self.

·         Jesus shows up elsewhere, in people and places other than just my quiet spot near the inlet.

·         Devotion time alone with Jesus isn’t always devoted or alone.

[Brett and I talked more as the weekend went on.  I asked him at one point what he does; a simple enough question with a nice open end for an answer.  His was precise and strident in his response:  He’s going to college to earn his AA.  Then he wants to transfer down to California to pursue a degree in youth ministry.  After being a youth pastor for 5-7years, he wants to move over seas to be a missionary.  He said he wants to feed children.  After doing that for a “long time” he would like to come back and travel the country speaking as an evangelist.  It sounds a bit grandiose, even idealistic.  And the truth is, it may not happen like that.  One piece may fall through.  They may all happen, but not in that order.  He may not travel as extensively.  Who knows?  God only knows the time and places set for Brett.  But the thing of it was, he spoke with a measure of assurance that seemed to say it already happened that way; as though he knows confidently Him who wrote the story, that he’d glimpsed the coming forth, and can now share with clarity the plan for his life.  I just asked him what he does.  He gave me his plan in present tense.  And even more, he shared with authority that suggested he’d described the ideal life.  No fancy job.  No mention of money, wife, kids, car.  Only what he’ll do and be for the Lord Jesus.  I have learned much from you Brett.  Thank you.]