Skylarks and Writing

Yesterday I took a long walk through the fields. I spent some of the time praying for people I love and some of it laughing at my dog and her ridiculous enjoyment of her romp.

It was a gusty blustery day. The wind came howling off the water, up and over the cliffs. Sea spray was whisked off the waves and strewn across the meadows near the edge. It was a wild and wonderful day to be out in nature. I was even more alone than usual as most people had sense enough to stay indoors, but I loved it. Drinking in the wildness and the power, I was reminded that this is but a pale reminder of the power of God.

I rarely pause and sit on days like this, but as I came to a place that was partially sheltered from the wind, I decided to sit and take it all in. I found a springy bit of turf and long grass and settled into a little hollow. As I did, I noticed bird song wafting through the air. Over the din of wind and waves, a beautiful song sailing along. A single song from the throat of a creature I couldn't see. I could tell is was coming from far above me. I strained my eyes to find the source.

It took me a bit of searching to locate the tiny bird high in the sky. A single tiny bird struggling to gain altitude and singing his heart out. It was a skylark. He had ventured up into the sky on a violently windy day to sing his song in the hope that a female might be wooed by the beauty of his song and join him in the nest he had made in the meadow below. I watched for nearly 10 minutes as his song varied and changed, repeating themes. All the while his little body was being battered and flung about by the wind; his wings beating furiously, his song unwavering.

Then, suddenly, he dropped from the sky as if he had been shot. He dropped straight down probably 100 meters. Just above the ground his free fall morphed into an elegant swoop and with a flutter, he was gone; back into the nest he had created. His song stilled, his exhaustion complete.

I sat silently marvelling at the scene I hat witnessed. Wondering... Was I the only one who heard his song?  It seemed like a lot of fruitless effort. Such hard work, for what return? He utterly spent himself flinging his song into the universe, pouring all his effort into its creation, only to drop exhausted to the earth.

As I lay there in the grass pondering this, I felt the gentle call to self-reflection and conversation with the Father. I realized that my writing is much like the skylark. I have laboured long and hard to create, to express the song within me. I have striven to put my heart on a page and have flung it into the world, inviting others to learn from my lessons to profit from my pain. I am hopeful that it is not in vain, but in the end, I drop exhausted from the effort and wondering if any have heard my song.

What makes the skylark sing? What makes me write? He is compelled by instinct; an instinct placed within him by the all loving Father. I am compelled by the love of God and something in me cries out to be expressed in words. I believe that this too has been placed there by the Father. And so, he sings and I write all to the glory of God; not knowing what comes next, only playing our role as best we know how.