A Lesson in Faith and Magic

I looked up today and noticed it was August. On the homestead, we recently moved into our new tiny house setup we had designed for over a year to fit the perfect meadow with the perfect view. The projects leading up to this, and the projects yet to come, have collided with summer kid activities and traveling for work to make this summer feel downright chaotic.

Moving, even from one tiny house to another, is overwhelming. We’ve been trying to make sense of our new space and where everything should be. We’re bumping into each other navigating the kitchen. There are piles of things to organize. And I have been particularly grumpy about it.

Why? I’m asking myself seriously. Why?

This is what we wanted. This is what we’ve been working towards.

It must be resistance to change – a common theme of mine. Also, there’s still so much more to do, and I have many, many things in my head at all times. When I’m on service at the hospital, a week goes by and nothing gets done except for patient care. And I always have endless projects and ideas I’m working on to spread the word about leaning out and everything that goes with it!

Amongst the chaos, all the to-dos and to-buys and reminders I’ve written all over little scraps of notes lying here and there, I had to stop and share with you this story and what it taught me. It was one of those moments, kind of like the time Aspen asked me to do things that were not on the list. Today, something happened that caused a shift.

A fixture on our tiny house – both new and old – is the hummingbird feeder. It hangs right in the kitchen window, providing endless entertainment from hummingbirds all summer long. Hummingbirds are crazy! They buzz around, hover, divebomb, and do all sorts of things just to drink a little sugar water from a plastic flower. Our feeder has four little flower-shaped holes, and I’ve seen as many as seven birds there at one time.

The hummingbirds in these parts know of our feeder and have spread the word; we get many buzzing by the windows on the opposite side of the house, hovering around the car windows and the like, looking for the nectar. I guess we make a mean brew…

So this evening, a hummingbird flew straight into the glass door. I happened to be sitting right there scrutinizing over ordering window coverings. I witnessed it face plant into the glass, falling with a thud to the ground. We all stood up to look. It was upside down, wings sputtering slightly, neck sideways. Immediately, my husband and I said he would probably die any second because his neck looked broken. We tried to explain it to Aspen, but all she wanted to do was go out there and try to scoop him up. Get him flying again.

With somber faces, we explained to her that he was not going to fly again. “He made a bad mistake,” Trent said.

“These things happen, it’s part of the cycle of life,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe a hawk will come and eat him,” added Trent, always thinking of the practical and the logical 😬. Cue dramatic sobbing as Aspen ran to her bedroom and buried her head on her bed. We tried to smooth things over and comfort her, but she was inconsolable. After a few minutes and a few hugs, I suggested we take a walk to get some fresh air.

At first, she wanted to go out the other door to avoid the bird. Then she decided it was ok to walk by him. “Why don’t we do a little prayer for him. A blessing,” I said.

She agreed. When we got outside, she started gathering blooms off nearby flowers. The bird’s wings were still twitching. She carefully laid blooms in a small circle around him. I could hear her quiet sobs as she held back her tears.

She gathered a few more blooms. Then, she sprinkled them on top of his body. In a split second, he flopped over and flew away into the pines, fast like hummingbirds do.

Then I was the one crying.

In this moment, I realized so many things.

When we get older, we lose faith. Aspen knew not to; she wanted to try saving the bird. At her age, she still believes in magic.

I want to be present enough to witness magic when it happens. And I don’t want to give up on anything or anyone that easily again.

I want to remember to listen to her wisdom. She has such an amazing creative spirit, and lately I’ve been letting it hum in the background while I tend to my own frustrations.

Lastly, this was a sign – to remember again what is important and not get bogged down in all the minutia of life.

A few minutes later, we were still standing at the scene, hugging and laughing and crying. A hummingbird buzzed by us and hovered in front of our faces for a second. It could have been one of many. But we like to think it was our guy, saying “thank you.”

(If you want to listen to this post in a podcast, you can find it here.)