Avian Science and Killers

"He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world." That was the first thought I had this morning when I woke up. Sometimes I need God to gently remind me of that, especially when it doesn't seem true. Really, for whatever reason satan has really found Rick and me especially fun to torment the last few years.

One time, I think it was after having Chloe at Good Samaritan Hospital, we were driving away, and saw a big, mean Scrub Jay picking on this little mouse hiding under a newspaper rack outside the hospital door. We actually stopped the car to watch. This big, mean bird kept picking up the little mouse by the tail and dropping it, over and over. The little mouse would scurry back under the newspaper stand, and the bird would grab its tail again and do it all over again. Really, probably the first time I ever felt sorry for a mouse. I even had a pet mouse named Frodo, and never felt the least bit sorry for it, since nothing that odoriferous should elicit sympathy.

And, when I gave Frodo to my little cousins, and it went "missing," and my aunt would not cross her heart to my questions of whether or not Tuffy the cat had really eaten Frodo, still I was not overly wraught with sympathy for that smelly rodent. I mean, you had to smell the stench to understand; however, when I saw that mouse trying to escape torture by the big blue bird, I asked Rick if I should jump out and scare the bird away. Rick, being the sensible one, said no. That was a smart answer, because when I took Avian Sciences in college, I learned that Scrub Jays will dive bomb people too. They are fierce birds, meaner than other jays, by far.

Didn't know I was such a wealth of useless knowledge, did you? Can I also tell you this, there was a Scrub Jay on the UC, Davis campus that befriended a student and the bird eventually got its own student ID card, and went to classes with that kid. Look, you CAN'T make up stuff like that, and let me also say this, that bird studies people are quite unlike any other people I've ever met, and I very much expect we'll see more violent acts done to humanity in the defense of birds any day. Because, all I know is that when some guy who apparently had not been listening to the overly zealous bird lover professor in my Avian Science class lecture, raised his hand and admitted that he was a hunter, that professor went three shades of red, and into a tirade against all hunters, fishermen, bird haters and fowl eaters all over the world! It was so completely amusing. I personally live for that sort of thing.

And, when we went on a field trip to go "birding," a sport I've not quite perfected yet, it was like God himself put that crazy fishing line in that big ol' tree and had that bird flutter around in it pathetically, as our big orange Suburbans pulled right up to the birding site. I mean, who could plan such a thing? The birdish looking professor leapt out of the first Suburban, grew red from the top of his head to the tip of his beakish nose and yelled, "Who here likes to fish?" Consider it a rhetorical question, friends: But no, someone - some guy who apparently had been daydreaming all semester long - raised his stupid hand. "Der, umm, I do." WRONG ANSWER!

Having learned to fly through his intense studies of birds for the last forty years, that professor flew into the face of the fisherman and screamed, "You are a killer of birds! You kill!" Now, frankly, this kind of field trip is right up my alley. Suddenly, birding seemed like a fun sport, one that I could grow to like. "Killer!" He screamed again and stomped the ground, stirring up dust. Then, the angry professor made a scared, compliant student climb on the top of the Suburban and unwind the bird from the fishing line, and it flew away.

What is my point? My point is that even though I feel picked on, and am exhausted by it, sometimes the reason for feeling picked on is a lot less about the one who picks on me, and more about my answers to things. I'll assume there were other hunters and fishermen in my Avian Science class, but only a couple heard the question, and answered it truthfully. Sometimes fear keeps us quiet about what we really think. If you know me, you know I may be scared, but I'm stupidly honest. At my fortieth birthday my BFF gave a little toast and said, "If you ever want the truth about anything, ask Michelle. If you don't, then don't ask."

Sometimes being under attack is nothing more than offending the status quo. Yesterday a friend wrote me this regarding my blog: "If you're not offending someone you're not doing the right thing! Jesus offended alot of people too! keep it up!" Thanks, Jim! Appreciate the encouragement.

I've been the compliant, scared student climbing on the top of a Suburban to untangle a stupid bird at the irate instructions of a agitated bird-lover. I found that even in my best compliance, I seldom pleased the critic: They were just emboldened, empowered, and evermore critical. I won't lie. I've done this as far as my relationship with Christ too, much to my shame - not a lot, but often enough. Christ is pretty clear about this; "So, because you are lukewarm -- neither hot nor cold -- I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

My feelings of being tortured and toyed with like a mouse under a newspaper rack perhaps wouldn't be happening if I'd stayed in my hole, but I am not a hole-dweller. I like, no love people. I love meeting people, being friendly to people, and getting to know people. I love people who are like me, and who are unlike me. I think the grocery line is a waste of time if I don't get to meet one other person in line, and the cashier. I love my swinger neighbors, and what makes that so painful are the countless times we spent getting to know them to have it all come to such a mess. All those Easter and Christmas baked goods we gave them to have them say to us everytime, "We're Jewish," until finally, it was just a joke between us and them.

Simply put, I think life just seems like torture when you're ready to stand up and give the wrong answer.