On Meadowlarks and Prayer

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At the nature preserve, the dust-colored bird scuttled in front of my car, paused for a moment at a clump of sagebrush, then ducked out of sight. I killed the engine. Closing my eyes, I tried to picture the bird. In the moment that it stood still, it looked almost like a grouse, with an elongated body and stretched neck. But grouse tend to be pudgy-looking, and the bird I’d glimpsed didn’t seem to be quite that large.

Then two other dust-colored birds flew past, flashing white outer tail feathers. Another two followed, and although I didn’t see the telltale yellow markings I was fairly confident that the birds were meadowlarks. The species is common year-round in Utah but more visible in the summer months, when the males perch on fence posts or the top branches of bushes to sing their liquid song. I’d only seen them singly before, never in a group, but the white tail feathers, low flight and stiff wingbeats were solid hints that the birds were meadowlarks.

I remained in the car, watching the brush where the birds were hidden. A few minutes later one emerged. From that angle the bright yellow eyebrow and underparts were clearly visible, confirming it as a meadowlark. It scurried to the nearby water and proceeded to splash about, bathing and preening. Another birds hurried to a different spot near the bank and did the same. Not too long after, it began to forage in the brush. If it turned its back to me I could spot it only when it moved; from the front, its yellow markings betrayed its presence even if it remained motionless.

I can’t tell you why I enjoyed so thoroughly the 20 minutes I spent watching the birds. There was nothing unusual about the experience – as I’ve mentioned, meadowlarks are a common species, and none of the photos I took of the pair were noteworthy, but even after I put down my camera I continued to watch until they flew away, first the four that had remained hidden in the brush, then the two that had been bathing. Only then did I restart the car and drive off.

That evening I read the day’s reflection – at the moment I’m doing a study guide on The Imitation of Christ – and then sat in prayer. A couple of the excerpts that had caught my attention were “[God is] to be heard in silence and received with great humility and great affection of the heart” and “People undertake a long journey for a little reward; for eternal life many will hardly lift one foot from the ground.” I pondered both of these thoughts, but derived no great insight. I picked up the book and read through the section again. Still nothing happened on a spiritual level, at least not that I could discern.

When I first started meditating these blank periods annoyed me. After all, I was taking the time and effort to pray; shouldn’t God reward me? But now I know that even the great saints didn’t always receive tangible fruits when they prayed, so when the well seemingly runs dry I’m content to merely sit in God’s presence.

As I ended my meditation, it finally occurred to me that God had allowed me to enter his presence while watching the meadowlarks, for the birds had displayed the beauty of his creation. And I had to laugh, because the prayer that ended the chapter in the study guide started, “O God, sometimes I am so hard of hearing” – words that perfectly captured how I felt.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Contact her at marie@icatholic.org.