Kyork! Kyork! Kyork!

The sun was beginning to brighten the sky and I was sitting at my desk, trying to get into the rhythms of the day.

kyork! kyork! kyork!

The sound echoes. It sounds like a small cat or dog or some kind of mammal. And it sounds like it is coming from the closet space in front of me or under the desk. I look around, wondering how a wee beastie could have gotten in. I stand near the window and realize the kyork is coming from outside, thankfully. It is an odd sound… a sound that is deceptive, like it is coming from everywhere. I try to figure out where it is coming from. From the tree? From the driveway? Beneath me. I think it might be coming from the woodpile.

I step outside. The sound stops.

Chipmunk? No, that’s a high squeak. A hurt squirrel? Maybe… it’s not quite right. Jays are good mimics… but this doesn’t have the character of a jay. They are good mimics but not nearly as regular and steady as what I was hearing. A raven knocks in the distance, reminding me that odd sounds do come from birds.

I sit back at the desk and it starts again. I get up to look outside (understanding what is about is one of the key requirements of mountain hermitting I think). It seems like the sound is coming from the saplings or the woodpile behind them. Of course the fact I am wearing my glasses doesn’t help because my glasses don’t help me that much. I got them about twelve years ago when I last had eye insurance. Since then my eyes have, well, gotten a lot worse. I pay for contacts… but haven’t gotten around to paying for glasses which leaves me rather blurry eyed when I have them on. Certainly they are not good for seeing a creature who wishes to be heard but not seen.

A chickadee flies to the rail and I notice there is no seed out. So I oblige the request and pour some seed on the balcony rail and throw some out on the ground. I suspected what the sound might be, and seed on the ground was a way of finding out. Sure enough within a moment a plump bird with a tall plume and colors which seem painted on wandered out from beneath the saplings. It was a mountain quail and it was alone.

It stayed around a while, I got back to work. And so the day progressed from there, mostly consisting of my frustrations bubbling out followed by a restoration of understanding my calling… repeated through the day. I feel like some transition happened this past weekend, something which makes me feel different somehow, something which brings a new perspective to my eyes. Only I can’t explain it, or understand it. I just feel it, and all the world feels like it shifted, if only a fraction of a fraction of an inch. Maybe it’s nothing and it’s just a curious effect of the lingering sickness I’m feeling.

Still, it’s worth noting, and worth noting that I feel a profound hope and peace and a dawning light, despite no word from any quarter which would point me to such.

Such is faith, and the calling of those who have been called by God. At least I was able to figure out what was making that sound this morning.

I woke up at 2:30 this morning with a rather strong and dull headache. I found some aspirin and tried to go back to sleep. I think I must have, because time went by quick, but it sure did not seem like I slept. I got up in time to hear the first bird of the morning give its call to the world, before dawn, and before any light would reveal the first bird of the day.

This is a different sort of week for me, one in which I leave off my writing for a little while to devote to more visual creativity, by working on web design stuff and newsletter stuff… the kinds of things which one day I turned around and realized I could do with enough skill for others to ask me.

I had a fine morning, productive and a little whimsical, not really admitting until around ten that I was in fact sick. I had been sick but I wouldn’t let myself think so… until my eyes grew so heavy, I was a tad dizzy, and all around I felt the best thing for me would be to take a long nap.

So I did… and I got up, and back to work, admitting I was sick then forgetting. The fact is I’m still a little bit sick and really should go to bed after making sure to drink a lot of water.

It was a good, productive, if not overly inspired day in which I pressed forward through mundane tasks upwards towards the more vital. It’s all about laying the foundation… and the foundation must be deeper than one might initially expect.

Lesson one: Don’t open the door when there is a coyote underneath the deck.

Lesson two: Thank God that when the dog runs out of the door and starts barking madly, the coyote decides to run away rather than towards the little dog.

Given that the first lesson is difficult to precisely apply, the second comes in handy.

I also learned again this evening that a raven cawing at the top of a nearby cedar during sunset is an eery sound. When the nearby pack of coyotes gather for a round of yelping and barking while the raven is cawing this is a very, very eery sound on a late winter evening.

The Spiritual Life is one of learning these sorts of things. Sometimes there are lessons clear and straightforward, sometimes there are lessons which creep up on you after the fact and you hit your head realizing it was a lesson.

Sometimes stopping and listening becomes the best lesson of all. Occasionally saying something is a lesson, and not always a positive lesson.

Over the monthes I’ve learned that I do in fact have a pastor’s heart, only it is rather differently expressed than many in the business. I am an investor. I like to invest in people, doing what I can to see them see more, know more, and be more. This is a problem of sorts because I am really only interested in investing in those I know, whose soul I can determine. It is a problem because investing in people is not always a profitable venture… nothing like investing in a company or investing in a business.

The other issue is the old “do to others bit”. One should do to others what one would have done… only what I would appreciate from people isn’t always what they appreciate. So, I learn… learn that telling people they are gifted is a wonderful thing, to be spread about as it is seen. Mentioning something more negative needs a lot of caution, in a community of prayer, and with a much deeper awareness of the state of one’s own soul.

That being the case, the lessons are not learned without being willing to make a mistake. I’ve seen the damage of misspoken words, but also the wonderful fruits of a spontaneous reaching out.

Above all, I appreciate honesty. I love to know where I stand, and appreciate those people who I can always gauge.

The biggest lesson in this all is the height of discretion, knowing when to speak and when to remain silent, always fluid in determining one’s own soul as the soul of another is exposed.

The art of the perfect word seems to be one of the most impacting gifts which Jesus expressed. He knew. And certainly he knew more than he said he knew, only occasionally saying what he did know. Always it was the right word, for good or ill.

That’s a lesson and a gift to be treasured, and so I am excited when I get it right and bothered when I get it wrong, trusting that the Spirit is working in me to help me become ever sharper in all of this.

The day was gorgeous. A fair breeze blew through the trees creating that mystical symphony of nature which fills the mind with thoughts just out of reach and the soul with a peace which says everything is alright. The birds were active all the day, chirping and singing, flittering about, enjoying the first real full day of sun we’ve had in a rather long time. There were scattered puffy clouds moving across the sky, just enough to cause the occasional shadow, hiding the sun for a moment, long enought to be excited anew when it came out bright and warm.

And again my soul was opposite the weather. I had a bit of the melancholy today, my soul searched and could not find, leaving me a little confused and more than a little uninspired. I cleaned a little bit. That didn’t seem to help. So, I wandered the fields of my soul trying to find what it is that doesn’t seem to be quite latching together when a fair breeze comes through. Nothing new presented itself. So, I read a little, finding more wisdom in Oswald Chambers than I expected (the key is to read the rest of his writings beyond the daily bits). That renewed my quest if not my inspiration.

I’ve come to the solid and firm conclusion that the inspiration I seek is beyond me. I can do my part, and must do my part, but that which will be the spark pushing me beyond my present state is not within. Maybe, I think, that is why I cried in all the wrong parts while watching Finding Neverland.

But, my part is still to do and must be pursued, with or without, waiting for the moment in which the time is fulfilled, knowing in increasing measure that I wait for the movement of the Spirit like a farmer waits for rain after he has planted the crops.

So, I continue to do and to wait. For what remains in a fog, with shadows sometimes emerging, ghosts of opportunities float by, none coalescing into a palpable reality. Always I look and I think, is this the phantom that will become real? I grasp, and my hands slip through. It is a lesson to be sure, it is all a lesson, and one which drives me ever deeper into discernment. All is silent and dark, so my brain creates illusions and sounds for stimulation. But, the dark, silent cave is a path to something wonderful, or else I would not have been pushed through.

This was a day of beauty mixed with melancholy wrapped up in driving introspection seeking light in the midst of shadows.

And I made some very wonderful, delicious chili dogs for dinner. Mmmm… good.

I shall lead the blind along a way they do not know;
in paths unknown to them I shall make them walk.
I shall make the darkness that is around them into light.
I shall make crooked things straight.

–Psalm 180

I sit and listen to the sound of water dripping from the branches, condensation formed by cold, wet air. No rain, no snow, only stillness and the sound of water hitting wet soil. Not even a whisper of a breeze blows.

I took the dog for a walk this morning as I do everyday. We wander about in good cheer, sans leash. He minds with a whistle or word as well as any trained dog. We walked around until the path led again to the street. I was surprised to hear a delightful song coming from the cedar across from us. I’ve been here long enough to know that it was a steller’s jay, as they are mimics of surprising talent. It sounded almost exactly like the array of whistles and beeps of R2D2, mixed with the occasional phrase of a song bird’s tune.

It was quite a concert this bird put on, and didn’t seem to mind us watching, even nearby. It was a large, plump jay who seemed quite content with the chilly air and the coming spring. I stood and watched for several minutes, then looked down, where I was surprised to see my dog watching the bird as well, with the same expression of interest as I had been showing. He looked up at me, then we both turned and watched the bird some more.

Me and the animals… a person could certainly find worse company.

I didn’t get around to preaching to the jay, though I suspect it would have listened more than some church leaders I’ve known in the past. No, I let it preach to me, and let it preach good cheer on a late winter day.

I sit and listen to the sound of water dripping from the branches, condensation formed by cold, wet air. No rain, no snow, only stillness and the sound of water hitting wet soil. Not even a whisper of a breeze blows.

I took the dog for a walk this morning as I do everyday. We wander about in good cheer, sans leash. He minds with a whistle or word as well as any trained dog. We walked around until the path led again to the street. I was surprised to hear a delightful song coming from the cedar across from us. I’ve been here long enough to know that it was a steller’s jay, as they are mimics of surprising talent. It sounded almost exactly like the array of whistles and beeps of R2D2, mixed with the occasional phrase of a song bird’s tune.

It was quite a concert this bird put on, and didn’t seem to mind us watching, even nearby. It was a large, plump jay who seemed quite content with the chilly air and the coming spring. I stood and watched for several minutes, then looked down, where I was surprised to see my dog watching the bird as well, with the same expression of interest as I had been showing. He looked up at me, then we both turned and watched the bird some more.

Me and the animals… a person could certainly find worse company.

I didn’t get around to preaching to the jay, though I suspect it would have listened more than some church leaders I’ve known in the past. No, I let it preach to me, and let it preach good cheer on a late winter day.