Why?

Pastimes do not typically involve tagging along with Mother on her daily errands, and for myself that basic principle rings true. Yet there I was sitting in the front seat of the white, Ford van of ’92, accompanying one half of my genes on her monthly endeavor at the local supermarket. The day had been long and dreary, and as a young boy I had certain expectations of the grocery places, free samples. Disappointment met me around each aisle, not even the bakery had cutoffs of wheat loaves. This had placed me in the mood of complaining. “My legs are tired.” “You smell funny.” “The sun is too bright.” To this day I wonder why Mother took me to the market with her that afternoon.
Around five-o-clock the grocery list was marked from top to bottom with large checks beside individual items. Everything seemed to be accounted for, but to be sure we sifted through each separate bag and swiped another check beside that item on the list. This of course aggravated myself, and brought on another storm of complaints. “My back hurts.” “My hands are cramping.” “The sun is still too bright!”
Once the task was complete Mother, tired from shopping and my complaints, slammed the door shut behind her. And there we were traveling home in the white, Ford van, silence and frustration silently sitting above the two of us. I took a deep breath as we passed under the highway marking the halfway point between home and the grocery. The sun was starting to sink and it was penetrating my personal space. What gave the sun the right to blind my eyes? How dare it! As I opened my mouth to once again complain about the sun, something I could not ever fix, no matter how hard I tried, a flock of birds flew swiftly across the face of the sphere. And instead of a complaint rushing hastily out of my mouth, instead slowly came a question. “Mother, why are birds black in the sky? Where does all their color go?”
The response that followed has stuck with me for over a decade. “The closer you come to the bird the more understanding you have of who or what it is.”
At that moment the answer did not suffice for me. I proceeded to follow up with yet another complaint, something to do with the heat or the light. But sometime later, I am not sure entirely of the exact moment, but that answer, the question, it became a simple exchange that impacts each soul in an altering way.
Why are birds black in the sky? Because the background envelops the beauty of what exists right here, right now. The closer you come to the bird the more you understand who or what it is. You witness firsthand the intricate feathers that not only provide flight, but also foster a sort of protection for the bird. You become a friend to the child of nature. The opportunity to come close is always available, whether that need is to strive for the unlimited beauty of God, or whether it is to begin to use our hands and our feet to love those that are in our world, who have a beauty that at times is unrecognizable due to a sphere of a background that intimidates us with rays of heat and bright light that seem to blind us, or even both.
God, through small exchanges of questions and answers, has led me to this point in my life, a point of surrender. For the longest time I was bound by chains of crass judgment and slander that hindered me from connecting with birds of beauty, people who differed from myself. Over time God has taught me realize the sun is not the heart of the matter, the feathers are. Was I birthed to serve my self?
While finding that grocery shopping was not something to add to my list of pastimes I did gain something of value. I learned that every question has an answer. The answer however, the call, depends on my willingness to answer or adhere. So today I believe in questions, and I believe in answers, no matter how metaphorical they are in nature. The punctuation of a question can always be answered by a period at the end of the next sentence, as long as I prepare my heart for the answer God will provide. Today the question is, “Who do I love?” The answer, “The girl, the boy, the man, the woman, and the world who needs a hand to hold.” Together we can be homeward bound.