Bird Watching

Friday, Jun. 03, 2016

I’ve been struggling with this column for a week.

This isn’t typical; usually I have it drafted by Friday and finished by Monday, but here it is the wee hours of Tuesday morning and it’s still not done.

Given that we go to press today at 3 p.m., that poses a problem. I feel something like sports writer Red Smith, who was asked whether churning out a daily column was difficult. He responded, “Why, no. You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.”

Unfortunately, as I sit at the keyboard, I’ve got nothing to pour forth from my veins. Several ideas are batting about in my brain, but none of them cares to take shape in such a way that I can bleed it onto the page as I have been trying to do since last Wednesday.

I’ve faced this difficulty before. My solutions are to sleep on it, sit with it in front of God, and go for a walk. Over the past week I tried each of these at least twice, but they failed.

Several hours ago I did all three: I focused on the idea that I thought had the most promise, and then took a nap. When I woke up, no brainwave struck, so I told God that, given that he was the one who coerced me into this weekly column gig, the least he could do would be to help with getting the words down.

He didn’t respond, so I went for a walk.

The first thing I heard when I got out of the car on the Jordan River Parkway was the liquid song of the red-winged blackbird. It was the time of day when the birds are settling in to roost. The California quail gave their laughing call and there came the raucous cry of the black-billed magpie.

They were more vocal than visible – the only birds I actually saw were a robin on the fence and a straight line of geese winging overhead. 

Preoccupied with my lack of column, I scarcely paid heed to these familiar sights and sounds; I’ve experienced them hundreds of times over the years. Only when I first came here did I find surprises: The flash of orange that could only be an oriole sent me scurrying to my bird book to learn that yes, Utah is well within the range of this species. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that kind of wonder on my regular walks, and the same can be said for my faith life. I’ve written about the prayers and fears that are as common as sparrows in my interactions with God, as well as the occasional flash that’s fancy as a falcon, and I don’t want to bore either you or myself by flushing these out of the bushes again.

So I’m stuck. Fortunately, I’m already engaged in what I think will be a solution. I’m taking a course in theology that is exposing me to new concepts, as well as forcing me to think differently about what I think I already know. 

Turning these concepts into coherent columns, however, likely will prove difficult. Take, for example, the idea that I’ve been trying to pin down for the past week. It’s like a species I’ve never seen – it’s got wings and feathers so I know it’s bird, but I can’t see feet or markings or beak shape, so I don’t know if it’s a duck or a dove. All I can do is read and study and wait until God sees fit to bring it into focus.

I just hope he hurries. I’ve got another column due next week.