Once upon a time there was a little Finch Mr. Finch flew from yard to yard hunting and pecking because that’s what Finch’s do. Under a leaf he looked to see what he could eat. The roll of a twig might reveal a small tasty delight. So day after day he flew, he hopped, he played hide and seek with bugs big and small. Then it happened, a little thought entered his head, as brief as a fly flies by, “This could be endless, what’s the purpose in life?” Little Finch concluded that he could very well be flying, hopping, pushing leaves around and turning twigs over for the rest of his life. Then one day something amazing happened. As he flew from nest to yard he saw something hanging from a tree. Some thing that looked really good, he saw something… like a jar, no more like a tube, were his thoughts thus far. Closer inspection revealed it was a long thin thing that held seeds and small bits that were ripe for eating and they were just the right size, how invigorating! He visited this tubular delight quite frequently now. Still finding time to fly, hop, and play from time to time but always being aware of what wonder was held in that tube on display. Just when the tube was almost empty amazingly the food multiplied while he was gone and very busy. “It is truly amazing” thought Mr. Finch, “All my life I flew, hopped and played hide and seek under leaves and sticks to find a sweet treat to eat. Now I just have to fly and sit on a stick and I can eat all I want and come as often as I want. Life is good this is really neat!” Then it happened – one day just when everything was working just fine, a wonder of wonders happened. Never had Mr. Finch been in this situation before… perplexing it was and yet enticing. Could it be? Is this really happening? How could this have taken place and he not have noticed? Next door just beyond one of Finch’s favorite hunting and pecking places he saw it. There in plain sight was a big black bird sitting on a bigger stick and pecking at ears of dried corn that seemed to be hung from a limb, like a perch. That black bird was eating these beautiful large kernels of dried corn as if they had been put there just for him. Mr. Finch was indignant! Well the audacity, the brazen behavior, after all he and Mr. Black bird had had this discussion many times. Black bird knew that that place was Mr. Finch’s favorite place to fly, hop and peck around. Well he would just have to go over there and tell ole’ Blackie a thing or two! But Blackie was big and Finch was small and sometimes these things didn’t go well for Finchie at all. “I will tell him all about it”, Finch thought, “Right after I complete my afternoon retreat.” Finally Mr. Black bird flew away gorged to the gills Finch thought with dismay. I’ll just fly right over there and see what is on display. As he flew and sat on the bigger stick looking at the larger than life kernels of corn. He swooned with delight and had to right his stance before he fell backwards in the joy of his plight. “Just look at this”, he said, “I could take one bite and be full. No more bite after bite of those little seeds my size… I can eat just one and be forever satisfied!” Stretched open his mouth did he. Wider, wider, wider yet, spread his beak did he. He did, He did, He tried very hard you see, to stretch his beak around the kernel just like Mr. Black bird did. Alas, to no avail he could do nothing but fail. Remembering a time before – when he pecked to eat, he began to peck at the kernel, but hard it was, trying to crack this kernel was downright infernal. The longer he sat on the big stick and peck the bigger kernel, it seemed yes to big – to hard - and then delight turned to the internal. “Why am I so small?” asked he. “Did not the One know how to make a creature like me? How am I supposed to eat this blasted thing when I have a mouth that’s made for smaller things?” Oh the indignity Mr. Finch felt; the shame, the embarrassment, the pain and defeat. Wishing he could slip away, wanting never to have seen the bigger stick, and the beautiful larger kernels of corn which hung on his favorite tree. Off he flew vowing never to look at his favorite tree again. “Sometimes pain and shame just rob us from our gain,” he said. “Off and away I must be, this pain and humiliation is just grief to me.” Day after day he sat on his little stick and ate his little seeds, his back toward the memory of happier days and prettier trees. Mr. Finch became quiet didn’t sing much anymore. He pushed the memory back farther than far, trying so desperately to close the door. The skies’ light was never as bright. The invitation of the breeze just got lost in the wind. The seeds seemed so small anymore, not nearly as good a quality as they were before. The stick seems a little shaky for one not very weighty. And the tube, the TUBE, oh how disappointing – the tube is not as clear anymore from all the pecking and scratching. Scratched now and scared, forever to be unclear, it lost its original beauty from simply doing its duty. Mr. Finch had lost his way in the land of delusion. Not seeing that his smallness was just an allusion. Finch rarely visits the tube with the stick that held the small seeds just his size. He just flutters right by that ole’ favorite tree, where Black bird now resides. Half blinded with remorse he has lost his course. His feathers are unkempt and his house is a wreck. Time passes so slowly when all the colors are faded. Day becomes night and night turns into day and now too often Finch just waits to see what he may. Littler and littler grow his confines’ of life. So little, so low, how far down can Finch go. One day I found him lying on the ground. Hardly breathing was he and his all feathers were worn down. I promise to tell the truth in this tale of misery and woe… I just touched him I did. I did just touch him with a loving kindness and caress… wishing to wipe far away - his little distress. Not knowing, did I, that such a small kindness could be, so powerful an antidote, so gallant a deed. Mr. Finch?, well the last time I saw him, he was flying you see. From yard to yard hunting and pecking cause that’s what Finch’s do and be. Under a leaf he looked to see what he could eat. The roll of a twig might reveal a small tasty delight. So day after day he flies, and he hops, he plays hide and seek with bugs big and small. He sings and he sees. The breeze, when it blows, is once again Mr. Finch’s invitation to fly high and even soar with his wings in extension. Soar on the wind to new places yet to be seen. For it seems, Mr. Finch realized, that he all along, first and foremost, was created, really to be a bird. Specially designed was he, to fly high over the earth. So high, in fact, that there are said to times, when even he can’t even see the tube with the seeds, or the stick where he sat. Or the tree, where hung the big kernels of corn. Remember the special place that was near his favorite tree? Well it’s been replaced with a love just to be free. Selah Brush Strokes from Heaven- By Kyler Thomas July 28, 2013
Posted on: Sun, 28 Jul 2013 15:26:11 +0000
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