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| Black-chinned hummingbird, taken at Abilene State Park, March 2013 |
Amazing is the operative word when you think about how intricately they are made and how they operate. Hummingbirds flap their wings from 12-80 times per second, and they have the highest metabolism rate of all animals, with heart rates as high as 1,260 beats per minute. Can you imagine that? They have to visit up to 1,000 flowers a day just to survive, taking in as much as 100% of their body weight in nectar. I also learned something new - at night, hummers enter a hibernation-like state known as torpor, where that 1,260 b.p.m. heart rate drops to 50-180 beats per minute. This allows them to conserve energy and the need for food while they rest for the next day.
Earlier in Holy Week I had one of those days. I had frantically flitted from project to project, interrupted by others and my own lack of focus. During lunch I went outside to the labyrinth to breathe and calm down. Even though the blue heron wasn't around, there were some other large birds soaring over the water. That's when it struck me - I was having a hummingbird day, and it was my own doing.
Large birds - like herons, cranes, hawks and eagles - operate very differently from hummingbirds. Their wing action is measured and deliberate, seeming ponderous compared to a hummingbird's. Much of their time in the air doesn't involve flapping at all - they ride on the lift of air currents, soaring long distances. God designed them to soar, instead of flapping their wings 80 times per second.
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| Blue heron flying over Faubus Fountain Lake at ACU, Jan. 2013 |
I guess that's why God, through Isaiah, talked about us mounting up with wings like eagles, instead of buzzing around with wings like hummingbirds. And it makes sense that the phrase is then coupled with "they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not faint." But, truth be told, I tend to be a hummingbird in a society of hummingbirds. Overstimulated, overdosed with technology, multi-tasking my way to oblivion, with an insatiable desire for more - I'm afraid these things are more descriptive of me. And, true confession - part of me likes it. I like looking busy; it makes me feel important. I like the noise and stimulation; it distracts me from a long hard look at my inadequacies and spiritual poverty. But at some point I hit the wall - torpor sets in.
Shifting to eagle living takes more than a good night's sleep - it requires a change of my very nature. Perhaps that's why the text in Isaiah begins with this qualifier: "Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength." Hummingbirds don't really soar. If I really want to soar like an eagle, it requires waiting, patiently waiting, for the God of the universe to fit me with a new set of wings. And this kind of surgery can't happen while constantly moving - it requires a stillness in God's presence so that He can do the work He does best.
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| Migrating sandhill cranes over Hawley, Feb. 2013 |
I've been slowly working my way through Ruth Haley Barton's book, Sacred Rhythms. In the chapter on prayer, she talks about using "breath prayers" to keep us focused on what we really want from God. This prayer can be one way to slow my wings for a moment and let God in. Mine is a shortened version of the Agnus Dei prayed by Christians around the world:
Lamb of God, grant me your peace.
I might add a prayer for all of us:
God, giver of eagle wings, help us to soar.
