Spring rebuilds, restores, and rejuvenates. I find myself spending more and more time outdoors listening to the birds, watching the sunset, and weeding my garden. A little Mama Finch has returned to build her nest in the corner of my porch. The friendly bird seems to enjoy my company as I watch her strategically restructuring her nest from last year. As a mother and grandmother, I understand her need to make everything “just right.”
Recently, I had one of those nights. Sleep would not find me. I’ve learned instead of glaring at the ceiling where all problems – real and unreal – enter my mind, I get up and either pray, read, clean, or watch TV.
I watched a documentary on the Cuckoo Bird, one of those late-night jewels certified to put even the toughest insomniac into a deep lull. Cuckoo birds are notorious for perusing the forest, finding another bird’s nest, depositing their egg, and flying away to live a carefree, no-responsibility lifestyle. Sadly, various mother birds, oblivious to the large, differently colored egg in their nests, nurture the cuckoo bird’s egg until it hatches and then work diligently to feed it and their young. The worms are never enough for all the baby birds and eventually, the mother bird’s babies starve to death or are pushed from the nest by the oversized bird. The Cuckoo baby bird thrives, consumes the nest, and destroys all that is around it.
How could a mother bird not know the baby cuckoo bird isn’t hers? And how can she, day after day, feed the cuckoo bird until it ruins her home and destroys her children?
It’s easy to recline on my couch and shout out to the mother dove, “Throw the cuckoo bird out of your nest!” But the reality is many of us have them in our homes, in our lives, and our hearts. We justify the blatant issues in our homes, surrounding our work, encircling our marriages by ignoring their existence or qualifying them by admitting things will get better or these are normal and will pass. In the process of “overlooking,” we blindly wreck our homes.
When I was a little girl, my sister Renie and I made a clubhouse out of an old chicken coop. We painted, cut down briars, raked up old manure, and spent hours establishing laws to govern this two-member club establishment. Several days after the reconstruction began, I noticed two large red whelps on my arms, followed by blistering red, oozing sores on my neck, stomach, and even in my ears. Since Renie and I were not supposed to be around the chicken coop because of rattlesnakes, I hid my deformities from my Mom and even my sister. She didn’t appear to be itching, so I assumed I was the only one. Before I knew it, I had spread the disease to my grandmother, and my sister and I were covered head to toe in impetigo.
Sometimes we first must recognize there is a Cuckoo Bird in our nest. Failure to see the signs of turmoil; to acknowledge its existence; or to continue feeding it daily, will result in our ultimate demise. Sometimes we recognize the existence of the elephant in the room or in this case – the oversized bird – but are too afraid to admit it or get help. We walk around blindly exposing others to our head-in-the-sand mentality.
What are the Cuckoo Birds in your nest? How long are you willing to feed them daily until all that you know and love is gone?
