Infatuation

Who was he? Who was this figure, this vision I couldn’t keep my eyes off of? I first saw him three weeks ago—handsome and serious. I couldn’t help but stop at the top of the staircase leading to the parking lot. He was there, looking down at me as if he could see through my flesh to the bone. Breathing ever so slowly, I waited almost a moment, wondering who would make make the first move. In the silence, I admired the strength radiating like an aura around him and found myself envying his air of genuine freedom. Without warning, he raised his wings and plunged down from the top of the telephone pole south toward the Horizon. The Hawk soared.

I’m not a bird watcher. In fact, except for the occasional stroll through Balboa Park or escape for an afternoon to La Jolla Cove, I’m afraid I spend little time in nature. Even then, my outdoorsy friends would argue that neither of those places is real nature. I haven’t climbed Cowls Mountain since June, and honestly, it’s embarrassing to live in San Diego and only make it to the beach twice between the months of August and May. Still, for many students who are trying to balance homework, research papers, a part time job, and ministry, this is not unusual. Nevertheless, I’m realizing the joys of taking the time to bask in the sunlight, to soak in the spring—to watch a bird.

Coming back from Spring Break, I had to catch up with the reading I did NOT do at home. So following my first class on Monday, I stayed on the top of hill on West Campus and found a spot to sit down and read before my next class. After a winter in the library, my egg-shell white skin was happy to get a little peachy in the sunlight. Still, being the bookworm I am, I could only take so much sun before I remembered mom’s old aerobics tapes: “Feel the burn!” So I stuffed by books into my backpack and decided to take the shortcut down the dirt path to the parking lot. Just as I took a step off the pavement, I felt him. A chill went down my spine as I sensed him only inches above my head; his stealthy swoop was silent. I stopped short in awe, realizing that he had flown right above me, and gasped as I witnessed his full wing span right before me, descending all the way to his new perch in a tree twenty yards away. The Hawk landed.

Late for my next class, I scurried down the hill and took just a second to glance back at him before ducking between the old school busses and heading toward the road. The wonder of the moment stayed with me throughout the day as I went from class to class. It was as if the hawk knew of my infatuation and had made an effort to display a little regal appreciation just like a king smiling to a small child who waves a flag with gusto as he walks by. Soon, though, my appreciation for the creature turned my eyes up higher—to his Maker.

I prepared for bed that night and picked up a devotional book. Grabbing my Bible, I turned to the corresponding passage in Job. After finishing the reading, I flipped the thin pages skimming over God’s first speech to Job. The tone was regal, powerful, and authoritative. It brought Job to behold the almightiness of God and in comparison to realize his own insignificance. My eyes skipped over the words with too much familiarity until I saw him—the hawk. Towards the end of a long interrogative monologue, God asks, “Is it by your understanding that the hawk soars, Stretching his wings toward the south?” (Job 40:26). I was almost shocked to see him even there, wings stretched, soaring south. The next verses referred to an eagle, but it did not diminish the impact of this one short verse and its implications. Of course, God did not ask this because He did not know the answer but to help Job remember: It is by God Almighty’s understanding that the hawk stretches his wings and flies to the south. It is by God’s understanding that the hawk basks in the sunlight on its telephone pole perch and stares down at the world with an air of strength and purpose. It is by God’s understanding that the hawk soars down the hill to capture its predetermined prey among the cactus and crab grass. It is by God’s understanding that he swoops only inches over me and spreads his wings right before me. The beauty, the majesty, the glory, it is all God’s. I clasped my Bible closer to myself as I closed my eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude. I realized what it was I admired in the hawk, what it was that made me stare and halt and gasp. It was everything that God had made him to be.

I still can’t say I’m a bird watcher. In fact, I googled local wildlife to see if I could find a picture of this hawk, but among the different images, I couldn’t quite pinpoint which type of hawk he was. Still, it didn’t really matter. In fact, it wasn’t the hawk who mattered anymore at all but the one the hawk lead me to. I’m grateful for this little encounter with nature amidst the turmoil of a student’s life, grateful as on other occasions when I take a moment to read, first on a hilltop later in my room. Grateful, for it led me to Him.