The Gift of the Kingfisher

 

At this time of year it's good to remember that bare branches are one of winter's many gifts.    Spring’s hopeful unfurling, summer’s rich fullness and autumn’s treasured passing are all echoed in the seasons of our lives, and so is winter’s unveiling.  This too is gift.   Walking along the side of the canal the branches are outlined clear and stark against the water, no place to hide, the early winter sun turning the still water into a glimmer with a hint of gold.  Then we see him, the still point around which the universe moves, intent, looking at the water, poised, ready, his incandescent blue like a hidden sapphire.  

It is SO easy to miss kingfishers, even in winter.  Their very stillness makes them almost impossible to see.  At least in winter if we stop and look carefully and patiently in the right places we may have a chance.  Their darting flight is so brief, sudden and unpredictable we just catch a flash out of the corner of our eye.  We stop in our stride, long for more of this avian mercurial wonder that never fails to lift our hearts… just one more glimpse…please.   The greyest of days, the starkest of trees are lit up by the blue red and white flash that speaks of life and beauty, miracles and wonder and the sheer unexpectedness of the world.

We are creatures of habit and routine who love our known places and safe areas.   We have our habitat both in the physical world in which we live and also in our inner world of ideas and spirit.  The familiar streets, parks, shops and faces of our neighbourhood are mirrored by known and trusted ideas, beliefs and values.   

The wonder of a kingfisher lies in the rarity of its’ coming, a freedom to grace our lives according to its’ time, not ours.  With kingfishers it can never be on our terms.  It is such a wonderful experience that unexpectedness, that sense of wonder, the catch in our throat.   It's tempting to want to have a kingfisher in a large aviary in the garden but we know deep down this would simply not be the same.   

We can wish the same for God, to capture that moment,  that experience and try to replicate it.  Or long for a more predictable and domesticated God who shows up when we want him to.  Just as we want  the kingfisher to become part of our habitat we want God to move into our inner neighbourhood, bless it and give it his seal of approval, to become a tame kingfisher.   The magic and wonder of the kingfisher touches our life with grace because it is a gift.  Breeding him to be part of our habitat leaves us with a bird that only looks the same but without the gift of the wild unexpected.

I lived for almost nine years near a river and saw kingfishers on  three fleeting occasions, but somehow that was enough.   I knew I lived in kingfisher country, a country where there are kingfishers and that the deep magic of wild grace still could burst in and out of my life.