June 18, 2023
Romans 8:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8
The little noio chick was convinced that her father didn’t love her.
I have to admit that she had some reasons for thinking this. Noio (or black noddy) nests tend to be kind of shallow, and her parents had chosen a rather bumpy section of the cliff shelf to place their nest. She was never able to get really comfortable, because a bit of rock poked her if she was here, and another bit of rock poked her when she was there, and for quite some time listening to humans she thought of something very different to the word “poke.”
She had to admit that they’d found a spot that kept most of the rain off, but when it was sunny she thought she was going to become a baked noio. If the wind turned the wrong direction while it was raining, well, it blew the water right over her. Big waves would toss spray in her direction as well.
There were plenty of other nearby noio nests, none of which had any great advantages over hers and plenty of them were even pokier, but she wasn’t happy.
There was also the issue of what her father fed her, which was, and forgive me for being gross here, what her father had just eaten. Again, this was no different from what other nearby noio chicks were eating in their no-more-comfortable nests, but she thought that a loving father would have found a better way.
Her father had been a great comfort when she was small, keeping her warm and protected from rain and spray at night, and even shading her from the sun by day. Along the way, however, father had done less and less. As the chick grew, of course, there was less and less room on the nest for father or mother.
The worst, however, had come when it was time to fly. Suddenly father had become the nit-pickiest tyrant ever inflicted upon a daughter. “Spread your wings. Hold them up. Twist the left one. Hold it lower. Lower! Now flap. Not like that!”
She thought she heard the words, “Not like that!” more than any other words in the day.
After a particularly hard day when her flying had been quite erratic and her father quite emphatic about “Not like that!” she settled into the nest. Father perched silently and, she thought, judgmentally on the rocky shelf next to the nest. “Why, Father,” said the young fledgling bitterly, “don’t you love me?”
“Who said I didn’t love you?” asked father, who was quite shocked.
“You show it every day. You watch me so closely, you criticize all the time, you hardly ever hold me close any more, and let’s not even talk about the food.”
Father had to admit that there wasn’t much to say about the food, but he did hop over and sheltered his chick beneath his wings.
“I do love you, and I’m sorry I don’t say it clearly enough,” he said. “First thing in the morning, I’m here to make sure you awake safely. The last thing in the day, I’m here to make sure you’re able to sleep safely, too. I am strict with you about flying, because the ground is hard and the sea is harsh. Hit either of them wrong and I’d be crying for you rather than criticizing you.”
His chick snuggled into his feathers and felt somewhat better.
“I’ll tell you what,” said father. “The quicker you master flying, the quicker you can start catching fish for yourself.”
“Which means?” asked the fledgling.
“You’ll enjoy your meals a lot more -and so will I!”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write the story. I memorize the course of the story… and when I tell the story, it’s simply not the same as the written version.
Photo by Eric Anderson
Author’s note: I originally wrote this story to be about a chick and her mother. Then I remembered it was Father’s Day. It does somewhat change the story’s character.
ordainedgeek 
I actually like it a lot this way (same problem as for those of us who used Sarah’s story for yesterday) and I think of it differently because of that.
Continuation of comment … it sent me into thinking about my father’s fathering, my partner’s fathering, my sons decision not to be a father, and how any parent gives what they think is best but it often tastes like second-hand fish.
You have a real talent for spotlighting metaphors, Maren. “Second-hand fish” has certainly been a part of my relationship with my father and, I’m sure, my children’s relationship with me. I’ve been blessed enough to realize not just the necessity of closely-examined flight lessons, but also the embraces through the years.
O yes, how important they both are and so hard to balance.