The crepe myrtles on the edge of our yard have blossomed deep pink, becoming objects of affection for the hummingbirds and butterflies that appear from the shadows of larger trees, drawn out by their perfume. The timid and the tiny divide their attention between these, and the planting of Ruby Slipper Butterfly Bush and surrounding geraniums that occupy a sunny spot just in front of our covered porch. While the butterflies come to their meal indirectly, creating complicated flight patterns that meander evasively toward the goal, the hummingbirds come in hot, little sweet-seeking missiles that only veer off target to engage in aerial dogfights with one another over rights to the nectar found at this address. The multiple perches provided on the feeder that hangs under the porch eaves are wasted on these characters; they are not interested in sharing space.
A container of black oil sunflower seed also hangs from the front of the porch, and a good variety of feathered creatures frequent it, every breed with different personalities. The Phoebes are fearless, going so far as to attempt a nest in an artificial floral arrangement conveniently next to the feeding station. The male Cardinal is so shy he hides in the bush beneath the porch railing, hoping to catch the crumbs, and will only land on the feeder when no one is watching. Best of all, the Nuthatches stare us down assertively and sort through prospective snacks with a finicky air, shoveling the rejects to the chipmunks in the bushes below. One of these, whom we have named Chipper, has become trusting, and will follow little sunflower seed trails along the porch right to our feet. I predict he will end up in my lap if I am not careful. All this activity is motivated by the common call of hunger. The porch is a great place to witness the law of supply and demand. Such that when the supply wanes in the hummingbird feeder, the little critters start to demand a refill with frequent fly-bys and insistent chirping.
Not long ago, when some good friends were up for a mountain weekend, someone spotted bear cubs in the yard across the street. The mama was not far behind. We watched them from a distance-- it was a sunny morning and they were most certainly feeding on blackberries and blueberries in the overgrown field beyond, just emerging for a moment to romp in the open. A few weeks later we arrived to find a tree had toppled onto the same neighbor’s roof. On inspection, my husband discovered it was a cherry tree that was rotting and hollow near the base of the trunk. Because there were no storms in the area and no other damage, we presume a hungry bear brought it down while trying to reach the wild cherries ripening above.
Flyers have appeared recently in the area warning the human population that as the availability of berries and fruit begins to wane, and the mast crops of acorns and other tree nuts are still maturing, bears are eager to supplement their diets with bird seed from our feeders, food waste in garbage cans, even the peanut butter granola bars in a backpack. From butterfly to bear to man, all living creatures need and seek sustenance for energy, for life. But sometimes, we may need to take a closer look at what we spend our time hunting and gathering.
Not long ago I visited a local nursery with some friends. I was hoping to find a large planter for a certain spot in my yard. The place has a huge variety of plants, and since we are the types who browse a plant nursery for fun, we walked up and down rows, in and out of greenhouses, reading specifications and admiring color and fragrance. I was investigating a Jessamine variety, a climber with tiny, white, fragrant blooms, when a pale yellow creature fluttered down in a crazy spiral, avoiding all those succulent petals, and landed squarely on the picture of the flower printed on the identification tag. There it sat, antennae twitching, proboscis unfurling futilely. It attempted to feed for long seconds, crawling to various positions on the photograph, to no avail.
If butterflies could write restaurant reviews: “Presentation was alluring, but the culinary offering on this shrub was a huge disappointment. So bland I thought I was eating plastic. The actual experience is a far cry from what is advertised. Don’t waste your time here.”
Appreciate the irony. In spite of the beautiful appearance of this faux flower, an attempt to gain nourishment from an image met with unsatisfying results, proving all that glitters is not gold, and a rose, by any of its names, may not smell sweet at all if it is just a replica. If a butterfly, which has no issues with the lust of the eye or the pride of life, can be shortchanged thus, how susceptible we pitiful humans. Just think of that prodigal son, wining and dining one minute, and filling his belly with corn husks the next. Such hunger cannot be sated with mere fodder.
“All things are full of labor, man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.” In Ecclesiastes, Solomon tries to get down to the nitty gritty of life; what makes it purposeful, what makes it joyful. He finds that no matter how much wisdom, power, pleasure or property we amass, there’s still something for which we hunger. In the physical world, meaningful work, contentment with daily bread, gratitude for companionship and community get Solomon’s highest marks. Filling the spiritual void is more difficult, in fact, impossible from a human perspective.
Like the butterfly duped by the image of a flower, humanity tends to mistake the waxen fruit for the palatable, to grasp desperately at the poisonous apple while shunning the groaning tables laden with all that is delectable and satisfying.
Solomon in his time observed that “all the labor of man is for his mouth, and yet the soul is not filled.” Ecclesiastes 6:7
Luke 16:15 says “what is highly valued among men is detestable in God’s sight,” and more often than not, the converse is true. What matters most seems of little value, gets overlooked, pre-empted for other pursuits. In the book of Luke, Jesus tells a parable of a rich man who prepared a great feast to share. The rich man’s neighbors should have known his generosity, the desirability and worth of this offer, a place at the table. But they were too busy with more interesting things to show up to the party. Those who refused to be fed and nurtured, who ignored the invitation, remained weak, isolated and starved for the Bread of Life. Yet those who knew they were destitute, who felt their great need, were compelled to come in, where they were welcomed into a Presence. They were filled.
Self-sufficiency and self-determination are very important in western culture. In many practical areas of life they prove themselves worthy values, but in matters of the spirit they often mislead and distract people from uncovering their greatest need and desire. In My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers wrote that “an end to self-sufficiency is a beginning to a spirit-filled life.”
It is humbling to know that without grace we are with that bear, out on a limb for something unreachable, clinging to something decayed, and inches from a long fall; or as confounded as that butterfly, chasing a cheap imitation and missing the taste of love needed to rise heavenward.
