Sit Still, Hummingbird!

by Susanne Dietze

About a month ago, a blur of brownish green whipped past my front window. A hummingbird! I love watching those tiny little birds, but my joy increased when I realized she’d built a nest—hardly bigger than a mandarin orange—in the crepe myrtle tree right outside the pane.

I’d never seen a hummingbird sit still, much less been able to observe its babies. What a gift! I checked in on her several times a day, watching her shape her nest and fluff it with tufts of dandelion. The kids and I did research to determine her species (perhaps Anna), incubation period (14-23 days for two white eggs), and lifespan (3-5 years, but sometimes longer).

As close as we could get to "Mama Hummie"

Right away, she represented several things to me: the joy of spring after a dark winter, the mastery of God in His astonishing creation, and the cycles of motherhood. All of the clichés about “empty nests” hit me afresh as I realized, around Mother’s Day, that soon after her babies hatched, they'd learn to fly and then they’d all be gone. The thought was like a little death, just like the end of every school year for me, that date when the familiar ends and my children are one grade closer to growing all the way up.

Through the hummingbird, God reminded me to cherish what I have now, be it children or a nesting hummingbird to watch. And to cling to the knowledge that when times are difficult, spring will follow, in some way or another.

So we cherished. We watched closely as she seldom left the nest, staying fixed in her spot despite noisy lawnmowers and intense winds. It reminded of the early weeks of my firstborn’s life, where it seemed I did nothing but sit and lactate.

“I’ve been where you are, Mama,” I said in a moment of female solidarity.

About the time I expected the eggs to hatch, I finally accepted that our hummingbird had abandoned her nest. For three days, she’d stayed away for long periods. Then one morning, she just wasn’t there. The reason is unknowable—a predator, undeveloped embryos, or a click in her brain that just told her to move on—but the “little death” I knew would hit me came far earlier than I’d expected.

Of course, that’s the largest lesson God’s taught me through the hummingbird. Change is part of His design, a teacher of sorts which makes me more reliant on Him. And he’s with me throughout my personal times of planting and harvest, sleeping and waking, holding close and letting go. For every dream of mine that dies, truncated in a blow or withering over time, something else grows and blooms, whether it’s a new dream or a deeper maturity in faith.

I’ll cherish the memory of watching a hummingbird sit still, of sitting at the computer with a kid on my lap as we researched species, of remembering to take joy in how blessed I am each moment. And in the dark days of winter, I’ll remember that change is coming. There’s a time for everything.

Even for second chances. Mama Hummie is currently fashioning a new nest in the same tree—not in as visible a spot, but I don’t care. I’m keeping my eye on her, and thinking with gratitude of the second chances and fresh starts God’s given me.

Postscript: This post originally appeared on Tea and a Good Book, May 23, 2011. Within eight weeks, Mama Hummie's eggs hatched and here, one day before they left the nest, are her babies.

Photo credit: K. Dietze

 

 Susanne Dietze has written love stories since she was in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today, she writes in the hope that her historical romances will encourage and entertain others to the glory of God. Married to a pastor and the mom of two, Susanne loves fancy-schmancy tea parties, travel, and spending time with family and friends. She won first place in the Historical category of the 2011-2012 Phoenix Rattler, and her work has finaled in the Genesis, Gotcha!, and Touched By Love Contests. You can visit her on her personal blog, Tea and a Good Book, http://www.susannedietze.blogspot.com/