Love Bites

Spring is all over the Pacific Northwest and if the flowers hadn't been an indication, the increase in phone calls in March would have been.  When March hits, I start to get calls from parents about the behavior of their children, specifically teen age boys.  It is a known fact the appearance of blossom on fruit trees directly correlates with the amount of back talk single mothers get from their young men.  By April, backtalk has progressed to a never ending array of stupendous behaviors, such as throwing matches at friends near bonfires, hiding gym strip in hopes to escape exercise and lying to teachers in an effort to impose a substitute reality.  Usually one in which the teen sparkles with both good intent and self-righteousness.    By the time June hits, the sun deprived students have convinced themselves that skipping school to go to the river is in fact, extra credit for science class and can be heard muttering something about vitamin D and osteoporosis.

All of nature seems to join in the fray.  This morning while chatting with a friend, I met my nemesis, Monsieur Squirrel, who visits my deck every morning in order to dig up my flowers and hide his winter food supply.  We gave each other quite a shock when he ran up the stairs and found me in a chair beside his pantry.   He is clearly an omnivore, because he outdid himself the other day by digging up my hosta in order to store a vestige of what I think was a protein bar.   I’m trying to exercise good stewardship by talking sweetly to him and not throwing rocks at his head.

All this leads me to the subject of patience and if you’ve ever had a cup of tea with me, you know it is not one of my virtues.  Don’t expect me to wax poetic on this subject either.  The best advice I ever got from my spiritual mother was “Don’t pray for patience darling, let God work it in His time.  You never know where that prayer can lead.”  Smart woman.  Recently, I have had to exercise patience with Carl, who is going through her own springtime angst.  

If you don’t know who Carl is, might I refer you to the post “Quiet Riot” in October 2014?  She is our 1 ½ year old budgie, who both blesses and torments me daily.  Carl too, is feeling the joys of spring, but as she has no mate she is finding life a bit…….unsatisfying…..lonely….. 

Someone help me here. 

Carl has been pining for a nesting box but I am not falling for that again.  Last time she started laying eggs I almost had a nervous breakdown and the avian vet (wonderful person) got all my spending money.  So in an effort to find affordable housing, Carl has taken to diving into family members shirts to experience solitude, peace and quiet.  I am not lying.  She will sit on your shoulder and then, without asking permission, dive straight down your cleavage (or lack therein) and head straight for your belly button.  While there she will scratch at your shirt and run around your middle until she finds a suitable spot.  There she will sit, for as long as she is able, scolding you and screeching every time you move, or breathe, or make her angry.  Attempts at removing her from your clothing will cause her to charge while emitting a frightful battle cry.  

That is where I found myself last week, trying not to kill the bird while doing housework.  Every time my hands were full, the little beggar would dive down my shirt.  I would stop what I was doing, pull her out and place her somewhere else.  I was practicing behavior modification and patience and it was working.  I was stewarding nature and taming birds like Snow White.  I was a budgie whisperer and after about half a dozen corrections, Carl stopped diving down my shirt.  I was feeling that we had reached a mutual understanding.  I decided to stop our session for the day and placed her back in her cage.  Practice makes perfect.  Carl was on the road to reform.  I decided I would make dinner while I was still functional.   I turned on the radio and started cooking.  

I was lost in efficiency for the next while and Carl didn’t mind at first.  We chatted and sang together.  After a time, she got bored with me and started wishing my daughter was home.  As the kitchen work increased, I started ignoring Carl intent on cooking and baking at the same time.  Imagine then, how delighted Carl was to find I had not closed her cage properly.  She flew down the hall unnoticed to visit with her friend, Mirror-budgie, in the bathroom.  

After a time she returned.  She found me where she left me, hands full, straining a large pot of pasta into the sink while sauce simmered on the stove.  She flew around the corner landed on the counter.  I scolded her, because she isn’t allowed in the kitchen while I’m cooking and because she caught me by surprise.  Sensing a power imbalance, Carl hopped on my shoulder and jumped down my shirt.  I shrieked because the pot was heavy and my glasses were fogged up.  I decided I would continue draining the pasta before I dropped something.  I was trying to do things quickly, but Carl was faster.   

In an attempt to discourage her, I took to hopping and shaking,   Steam, bird feet, burning fingers - I was lost in sensory overload.  The whole event took on an element of impending doom.  I started asking Jesus for help.  I was praying complicated prayers too, I couldn’t figure out which would be worse, having Carl in my shirt, or her popping out the bottom of my clothing to become a steamed/poached budgie pot sticker.  I decided it would help if I started yelling.   It was at that moment that Carl discovered a freckle by my belly button.    

I feel like this is a good time to point out that budgie brains are very small.  Yes, I know, they are remarkable, sensitive creatures, ya da, ya da, ya da, but seriously.  Their grey matter is tiny, which is why Carl can be excused for thinking that the freckle on my stomach was a toast crumb.  Have I mentioned that Carl absolutely loves toast?  She loves it so much that I now keep the toaster unplugged.  She visits the toaster every morning, jumps into it if she can in order to digest all of its burned, crummy goodness.

Imagine Carl’s surprise then, to find a crumb on my navel and to have me start screaming, presumably to keep all the toast on my body to myself.  She bit down hard on the toast freckle and would not let go.  Well, I’m exaggerating, she might have let go once in order to get a better grip as she wrestled the pigment from my body.   At this point in our story, I started shrieking, which added to the intensity of the moment.  I dropped the pot of pasta into the sink, lifted my shirt and tried to shake her off my navel.  I looked like a middle aged woman trying to recapture lost youth with an intricate navel bird piercing.   It was ridiculous.  The Holy Spirit, who had been kept very busy up to this point, inspired Carl to let go.   I grabbed her, shut her in her cage, told her she was wickedness incarnate and walked away.  Carl had some choice thoughts of her own, which she shared at a fairly loud volume.  It wasn't until evening that we were speaking to each other again and even then it was at a distance.

That night, while consuming what my tall friend calls an adult beverage, all I could think was that life was complicated.  If I couldn't get along with the bird, what chance did I have of getting along with human family members?  I reviewed a couple of bumpy interactions I’d had in the past month.  I figured looking up quarreling in the concordance might help.

What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask.  You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions….Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you….Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.    James 4:1-9

I groaned.  Step away from Netflix and the BBC and get back to prayer.  I enlisted my husbands help.  The only thing that was going to set my heart right was a good, old fashioned prayer meeting.  That and a band-aid for my toast freckle.  

What about you friend?  Are you spending some time with the Lord when things get rough and the feathers fly?  When someone bites you and leaves you upset, are you taking it to prayer?  I encourage you to pray it through next time you find yourself with an issue that you can't shake.  Take time, take it to prayer and find the freedom you need.  

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren