That's the Way It Could Be…

Our family has been watching birds.  A particular set of birds.  A little over a month ago, a mourning dove couple decided to take up residence on the windowsill outside our family room.  It is just a little ledge, barely a few inches deep.  But somehow they made it their home for this season.  We first noticed the nest and then saw them work, back and forth, back and forth to build it.  It’s a pretty rag-tag nest – nothing particularly solid or defined-  just some pieces of straw, grass and dirt layed out together.  But apparently, that is enough.

Each morning we would come downstairs to see one of them sitting on the nest.  At first we thought it was just one mourning dove but after observing and reading, we learned that it was two.  We discovered that mourning birds pair and both participate in incubating the eggs and then in the care and feeding of the chicks once hatched.  One of them, often the male, sits on the eggs in the morning to afternoon, and then the other, often the female, sits on the eggs the rest of the day and overnight.  Both take turns sitting on them once hatched and on feeding them.  Wow!

And sure enough, they soon came… first one and then another small white egg.  A few mornings we got to see the handoff.  The dad mourning dove would coo and then arrive on the sill, the parents would have some kind of cooing conversation.  I wondered if it went something like, ‘hey honey, how was your night?’ ‘Oh, it was good, or look they’re growing!’ Or ‘where have you been, I’m exhausted!’ They would exchange some affection and then the mom would fly off and the dad would take his position on top of the eggs.

It became something we looked forward to each morning and evening.  ‘How are the eggs?” “Good, they’re getting bigger!”  or “I saw both the mom and dad today!”  Our anticipation grew with each day, wondering when those little chicks would arrive.  

It brought me back to memories of my newly formed and growing family.  All the expectancy of pregnancy.  All the hope.  All the waiting.  Each day passing by so slowly at the time.  Yet as I look back now, it was just a flash.  Such joy, such wonder, such anticipation.

After about two weeks, apparently right on time, we noticed there was more underneath those parents when they were sitting on the sill.  And first we saw one and then another tiny….baby….. chick.  Just magical.  The kids all chattered excitedly about our newest household members. “Oh my gosh, they’re so cute!”  “Oh, they’re so small!”  “I love them so much!”  

We watched the mom and dad react with protection when we got too close to the window sill. One flapped its wings hard against the glass.  The other pecked at the glass.  Both saying, ‘get back!’

And I thought, that’s right.  Good for you parents.  I reflected on my own moments when a rush of anger has surged in my heart due to feeling protective of my offspring.  I understand that flap of the wing and peck of the beak.  Stay back. You’ll have to go through me first!

One morning we got to watch a feeding session.  This was utterly incredible.  We watched those little chicks reach up and chirp and beg to be fed.  And the mom in this instance provided nourishment to those babies.  It’s pretty amazing to watch such a moment of nature.  We stared and awed.  And as sometimes is the case with nature, our commentary started as, ‘oh that so amazing!  Look how cute, they’re eating, so cool!’ and then changed to, ‘oh my gosh, it’s throwing up in their mouths!  Ewww, that’s so gross!”  “Ewww, Ewww, Ewww!” 

And while never feeding my children in quite this way, I thought of all the days and nights of feeding.  The sweet smelling infant, the messy toddler.  The grimy and sticky hands, the mess, oh the mess, of mealtime in those early years.  The hours upon hours spent dedicated to nourishing those little babies.

We spent the next week watching those chicks grow, growing a surprising amount each day.  “Oh, they’re getting so big!”  “Look, they’re sitting next to the mom now!”  And then, around two weeks after they hatched, exactly when our research on mourning doves predicted, we came down one morning and suddenly, they were gone.  

First one and then the other.  They had left.  And we experienced a surprising and collective feeling of sadness.  ‘They’re gone, they’ve left us, I miss them!’  So quickly we had become attached, so quickly, they were already on their way in the world.  

And again, it made me reflect on my own family, my own children.  Growing so quickly, so fast.  It brought a catch in my throat to think of them flying off on their own.  Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough it’s coming.  

And that noticing has made me slow down, just a little.  I think of those birds and I linger a little longer in a conversation; I agree to play that game, again; I squeeze a little harder and breathe in the moment.  For often, while I tell myself that I am listening to and present with my children, far too often, I am more absentminded than I realize, trying to make it through the day, get to all the places on time, keep everyone moving in the right direction at the right time.   

And then the days and weeks pass, sometimes without me pausing to just experience it all.  Experience the process, watch the growth, see the beauty, live in the miracle.  

So I am grateful for a mourning dove family that decided to take up residence on our window sill and offer me a lesson on life.  Slow down.  Watch. Be present.  Take it in.  For it will all be gone soon enough.  The rhythms of life and living will keep moving regardless of how much we notice it.  It will all pass. 

So pause and watch.  See the miracle.  It is a different journey for all of us, but regardless of what journey it is, it is a wonder…a miracle.  And if we don’t pause to notice it, we will surely miss it though right in front of our eyes.