“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he flew through the sky.
“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he sipped on ohi’a nectar.
“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he settled down to sleep at night.
“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he woke in the morning.
“What is wisdom?” is, in fact, an extremely good question whether you’re an ‘amakihi or a human being. Wisdom, after all, tends to prevent a lot of foolishness. Foolishness, on the other hand, tends to happen in the absence of wisdom.
“What is wisdom?” wandered the ‘amakihi over the course of the day.
One of the features of wisdom is that when someone who is wise doesn’t know or doesn’t understand something, they do things to learn more about it. They look around at things. They measure and they think about what they’ve measured. If they’re human, they might read something, or a lot of somethings. They ask others to see what they know.
Whether you’re a human or an ‘amakihi, a good one to ask would be tutu.
“Tutu,” asked the ‘amakihi, “what is wisdom?”
Tutu was pleased. It was a wise question – if you don’t know something, wisdom says, “Ask.” He’d made a wise choice about who to ask – grandparents often know things. And he was asking about something important, wisdom itself.
She replied with a question of her own: “What is knowledge, grandson?”
“Knowledge?” he asked. “I hadn’t thought much about that… it seemed kind of obvious. If I know something that’s true, that’s been demonstrated to me, that’s knowledge. If I think I know something that isn’t true, or if I simply don’t know something, that’s not knowledge. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” said Tutu. “Now let me ask something else.”
“Are you going to answer my question?” asked her grandson, who was starting to worry that if he answered all her questions she wouldn’t get around to answering his.
“I am,” she said. “Now here’s my question: Can you fly with your wings closed?”
He opened his beak to reply, then stopped. It doesn’t make much sense, but he realized that sometimes while flying, he would close his wings. Not for long. Not all the time, obviously. But for a few moments in many flights, he would be flying with his wings closed.
“Yes,” he said carefully. “For a moment or two.”
“How do you know whether to close your wings in flight?”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “How high up am I? How much do I need to rest my wings for a moment? Will I need to make a quick turn or slow down to land? There isn’t a simple answer.”
“That’s right, there isn’t,” she told him. “Knowing that you can fold your wings in flight is knowledge. You know it’s something you can do. Choosing the right moment to do it – or the right moment not to do it – that’s wisdom.
“Wisdom is when you consider what you don’t know for certain, what might happen, or what might not happen if you do something, and then make a good choice. Wisdom looks at what you know, and asks whether you should.
“That, grandson, is wisdom.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and inspiration on Sunday mornings. What you have just read does not precisely match how I told it.
Shepherd 1: A tender of sheep Shepherd 2: A tender of sheep and one goat Sheep: A wooly creature Goat: A non-wooly creature Lead Angel: A messenger to shepherds Angels: A backup chorus of messengers Mary: A young woman Joseph: A young man Magi 1: A scholar dressed a lot like a king Magi 2: Another scholar dressed a lot like a king
SCENE 1: A hillside
[SHEPHERD 1, SHEPHERD 2, GOAT, and SHEEP enter]
Shepherd 1: I can’t believe you brought a goat.
Shepherd 2: Why not bring a goat? Goats are cool. They don’t get lost as often as sheep. And they give milk. That’s useful.
Shepherd 1: OK, all that is true. But you only brought one goat. Shouldn’t you have brought a herd of goats?
Shepherd 2: Of course I’ve heard of goats.
Shepherd 1: Ha, ha. I’m not sure that joke is going to be funny even if two thousand years go by.
Shepherd 2: I thought it was funny. And I’m sure the goat heard. Did you think it was funny?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 1: Why did you bring just one goat?
Shepherd 2: I’m picky.
Shepherd 1: So brought just one goat because…
Shepherd 2: It’s the best goat.
Shepherd 1: Just how do you choose the best goat?
Shepherd 2: The best goat has great hair, great hooves, great ears, and most of all, great horns.
Shepherd 1: And this one is the best goat, is it?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 2: You hear them? They agree.
Shepherd 1: That sounded like “Bah” to me.
[The LEAD ANGEL and the ANGELS enter]
Shepherds: Aaaggghhhh!
Sheep: Bah!
Goat: Bah!
Lead Angel: Do not be afraid!
Shepherd 1: Why not? I’m terrified!
Shepherd 2: Me, too! I planned on the best goat, not the Lead Angel.
Angels: Us, too!
Shepherd 2: Plus the other angels. Sorry.
Lead Angel: I bring you good news!
Shepherd 1: We’re getting good grass this season?
Shepherd 2: The price of goat’s milk is going up?
Shepherd 1: My family is going to learn to spin and weave wool?
Shepherd 2: This really is the best goat ever?
Sheep: Bah!
Goat: Bah!
Angels: Hush and you’ll learn something!
Lead Angel: Think bigger, shepherds.
Angels: Much bigger!
Shepherd 2: I need a bigger goat?
Goat: Bah!
Lead Angel: No. Down the hill in the City of David…
Shepherd 1: The what?
Lead Angel: Bethlehem. It’s where King David came from.
Angels: Now stop interrupting!
Lead Angel: Down in the City of David a child has been born to save all people. He is the Messiah, the Lord.
Shepherd 1: Wow.
Lead Angel: Go to the city and look for a newborn who is wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.
Shepherd 2: Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt, but… what are swaddling cloths?
Lead Angel: You don’t have children, do you?
Shepherd 2: No. I have the best goat, though.
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Lead Angel: Swaddling cloths are light blankets you wrap around a baby to keep him warm.
Shepherd 2: Oh. OK. Good. And… One other thing?
Lead Angel: Really? All right. What else do you want to know?
Shepherd 2: A manger? Like, a feeding trough? We should be looking for the Messiah in a stable?
Lead Angel: Where else would you look?
Shepherd 1: Don’t argue with the angel.
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 2: Right. We’ll look in the stables.
Shepherd 1: Thanks for the good news!
Angels: Hallelujah! Glory to God!
[ANGELS and LEAD ANGEL exit]
Shepherd 2: What do we do now?
Shepherd 1: You might want to argue with angels, but not me. We’re going to Bethlehem.
Goat: Bah!
Shepherd 1: Don’t forget your goat.
[SHEPHERD 1, SHEPHERD 2, GOAT, and SHEEP exit]
SCENE 2: A Stable
[MARY and JOSEPH enter with baby]
Mary: Did I just have a baby in a stable?
[JOSEPH looks at the bundle Mary is carrying]
Joseph: That’s a baby you’ve got. I’d say yes. Yes, you just had a baby in a stable.
Mary: No wonder I’m so tired. Can you hold him for a bit?
Joseph: Sure. Wait. There’s a manger here. It’s got straw in it. That should be soft for a baby, right?
Mary: Put him in it and see if he cries.
[JOSEPH puts the baby in the manger. No crying]
Joseph: No crying.
Mary: Not from him, maybe. I’m about ready to cry. What a night!
Joseph: It’s all right, Mary. It’ll all be quiet from here.
[SHEPHERD 1, SHEPHERD 2, GOAT, and SHEEP enter]
Shepherd 1: Hi. Sorry to bother you, but is there a baby here in a manger?
Shepherd 2: This is our sixth stable tonight and boy are my feet tired.
[GOAT looks in the manger]
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 2: Would you look at that?
Shepherd 1: It’s a baby in a manger!
Shepherd 2: And my goat found it. He really is the best, you know.
Joseph: Excuse me, but who are you?
Mary: And why are you looking for a baby in a manger? Why would you even think to look for a baby in a manger?
Shepherd 1: Oh, we didn’t think of it.
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 2: We don’t think very much, really.
Shepherd 1: Some angels came and told us to look for a baby in a manger.
Shepherd 2: It was pretty scary, actually.
Shepherd 1: It was scarier after you started arguing with the angels. Who does that?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 2: I don’t do it often.
Joseph: Slow down. You say angels told you to come here?
Shepherd 1: They told us to look here.
Shepherd 2: And six stables later, here you are!
Mary: Why? Why did the angels tell you to look for a baby in a stable?
Shepherd 2: Oh. Didn’t we mention that?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Shepherd 1: I guess we didn’t. You see, the angel told us that this baby is…
Goat: Bah!
Shepherd 2: The Messiah!
[Everyone looks at the baby]
Shepherd 1: So… that’s what a Messiah looks like?
Mary: When he’s just been born.
Shepherd 2: Oh. So you knew already?
Mary: Let’s just say I’ve had my own conversation with an angel.
Shepherd 1: I’m sure she didn’t argue the way you did.
Mary: I just asked questions.
[LEAD ANGEL and other ANGELS enter]
Lead Angel: You didn’t argue at all.
Mary: It was weird, though.
Lead Angel: Of course it was unusual. You don’t think we send Messiah every day, do you?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Lead Angel: Well said.
Angels: Hallelujah!
Shepherd 2: Of course it’s well said. He’s the best goat.
[MAGI 1 and MAGI 2 enter. MAGI 1 is really tired.]
Magi 1: Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.
Lead Angel: Hey, that’s my line!
Mary: Yes, I’ve heard that one before.
Magi 2: I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive him. He’s been carrying the heavy stuff.
Joseph: If you don’t mind, who are you, and why are you barging into our baby’s bedroom – er, stable – at this hour?
Magi 1: Barging? We haven’t got a barge. Not a sign of a boat at all. No, we’ve had camels.
Magi 2: Our other friend is parking the camels.
Magi 1: Why didn’t he bring them in here? It’s a stable, after all.
Magi 2: Because of the newborn baby? Really. Put the gold down. It’s not helping you think.
[The MAGI put their bundles down]
Shepherd 1: Did he say, “Gold”?
Shepherd 2: I think he said “Gold”.
Mary: Gold?
Joseph: Gold?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Lead Angel: Yes, he said gold.
Mary: Why are you carrying gold?
Magi 1: I’m not carrying it any more. I put it down.
Magi 2: What my exhausted friend means is that we’re here to celebrate the birth of the newborn Messiah. That’s him, isn’t it? In… Why is he in a feeding trough?
Joseph: There wasn’t any room in the inn.
Magi 1: I guess the inn was an “out.”
Magi 2: That’s not going to be funny if you wait for two thousand years.
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Magi 1: Is that a goat criticizing my sense of humor?
Shepherd 2: Yes, sir, but rest assured, he’s the best goat. The best goat ever.
Magi 1: Oh. Well, that’s different. The best goat ever.
Joseph: Could we go back to why you’re here?
Magi 2: We’re here to welcome the newborn king, and to make sure he’s greeted with proper respect.
Magi 1: And presents.
Magi 2: Right. Presents for a king.
Mary: Kings get presents?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Magi 1: Oh, yes. Kings definitely get presents. And given that this one is sleeping in a manger, it seems like a good thing.
Joseph: He’s got a point.
Lead Angel: Oh, while we’re talking about it, you’ll probably want to sell the presents and go to Egypt for a while. And, wise men? Don’t go back to tell Herod where this baby is. OK?
Goat: Bah!
Sheep: Bah!
Angels: Amen!
Magi 2: Well. All right. We’ll go home another way.
Lead Angel: Good plan.
Mary: Could you tell me one more time why you’re all here in this stable with my baby in the middle of the night?
Shepherd 2: Well, you see, we’ve got the best goat…
Shepherd 1: I can’t believe you brought up the goat.
Shepherd 2: No, really. We’ve got the best goat. But when I listen to the wise men here, and when I listen to the angels…
Lead Angel: When you’re not interrupting the angels…
Shepherd 2: I realize that while I might have the best goat, here in this manger you’ve got, I mean, we’ve got, I mean, the whole world has got:
The young people of Church of the Holy Cross UCC in Hilo, Hawai’i, performed “The GOAT” on December 21, 2025.
Author’s Note
I began writing Christmas pageants a few years ago when I realized that we could violate copyright if we streamed a commercially available script via live stream. It says something about me that I was more willing to write a script than I was to dig through the marketing of pageants to find one that included a streaming license.
It also means that I can adapt the script to the available actors. I once wrote a script with no Joseph because we simply didn’t have a youngster willing to do the role. In this case, the children were very impressed with a story featuring a goat that our Associate Conference Minister, the Rev. Jonathan Roach, told them some months ago. One of them announced that he wanted to be a goat in the pageant, and therefore the pageant needed to include a goat.
As is the way of some creatures, the goat took over.
One of the things I like about this pageant is the way everyone notices all the things that simply don’t make sense, such as a newborn monarch born in a stable rather than a palace. It emphasizes the truth that God does what God does, not what we expect God to do. A Messiah was born in a stable. What more might be waiting in God’s imagination?
I don’t know how it came into the ‘apapane’s head to organize a Christmas pageant. I don’t even know how he’d heard about Christmas, let alone a Christmas pageant. Nevertheless, he flew all over the island, searching for creatures to take part in the pageant.
He asked the I’iwi, who was feeling grumpy that day and didn’t say yes, or no, or anything at all.
He asked the ‘io, which was very brave of him. The ‘io said she might come and looked… hungry.
He flew down to the shoreline to ask the honu. She said no, she wasn’t going to swim up to the mountain forest, which seemed fair. A house sparrow said he might fly up after he’d finished his bath.
A saffron finch thought it sounded odd but said he might hang around for it. The ‘apapane asked a yellow-billed cardinal and a myna. They both looked doubtful, and then the myna started an argument with some other mynas that wasn’t over when he left to talk to more shorebirds.
The auku’u looked puzzled, but said he’d come. “I’m coming, too,” announced a kolea. “I’ve flown thousands of miles for this. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“If the kolea is coming, I’m coming, too,” piped up an ‘akekeke, and a hunakai said the same.
The koa’e kea announced that she would play Mary, because didn’t Mary have a long tail? The ‘apapane wasn’t sure, so he didn’t argue. An ala’e ke’oke’o asked if there was a good fish pond up in the forest, and when he was told there wasn’t, looked skeptical.
The ae’o said she might turn up. If she felt like it. If she didn’t have anything else to do. The cattle egret said, of course he’d be there. One of his ancestors had been present at the original birth, hadn’t she?
The ‘apapane left the shorebirds to spread the word further and returned to the forest. The oma’o stopped singing barely long enough to say, “Yes.” The ‘alawi just looked nervous and kept hunting insects without saying anything.
He searched long and hard for an ‘akiapola’au, who asked, “What’s that all about?” After listening to the ‘apapane’s explanation, he gave a whistle and flew off into the forest. The nene just stared at him.
When it was pageant time, it was chaos. Creatures stepped into the clearing the ‘apapane had selected, then faded back into the trees again. Frightened chirps flew back and forth, and so did frightened birds. Mejiro and ‘elepaio peeped out from the trees. The mynas announced that they would be the angel chorus, then exploded into another argument.
“What do you need to settle down and play your parts?” shouted the ‘apapane from a tree.
“Is the ‘io here?” asked an ‘amakihi. “Yes,” said the ‘io from the sky overhead. “Are you going to eat us?” asked the ‘amakihi. For a moment there was silence. Then the ‘io said, “No. Not today. Today there’s a pageant to do.”
The ‘apapane spent the next hour answering the questions. The koa’e kea had just flown in from a lava fountain, and since she wanted to play Mary, she did. A kioea had flown up from the shore and wanted to play Joseph. “You’re a rare bird,” said the ‘apapane, so he did. The little ‘elepaio played shepherds while the nene played sheep. The I’iwi didn’t want to cheer up, so he played the grumpy innkeeper. The sleeping pig was cast as a sleeping cow and did it very well.
High overhead the ‘io provided the voice of Gabriel, while ‘apapane, ‘amakihi, mejiro, and mynas sang as the angel chorus. Seabirds and shorebirds took places as creatures of the stable.
When the time came, birds from other shores – a northern cardinal, a red junglefowl, and a pair of zebra doves – played the magi.
The ‘akiapola’au lay just one egg and very rarely, so a young one played Jesus.
When it was over, the creatures vanished back into the trees, leaving the ‘apapane alone in the silence. He’d answered every question, met every need, somehow.
The trees rustled in the breeze, applauding the ‘apapene’s Christmas pageant.
The End.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
On this occasion, I read from the prepared text (and still made a couple of changes).
The kolea is a pretty mellow bird. They’re not terribly skittish, though some will keep a sensible distance from people. We are a lot bigger than a kolea and probably look kind of scary to them.
The myna, on the other hand, is not a mellow bird. They sing a fair amount, but they also screech and argue. They’re pretty sociable with one another, and one moment everybody is happy and content, and the next moment everybody is hollering at one another.
Which makes them a lot like some people, now that I think of it.
Mynas fly, of course, but you could call them homebodies. They don’t tend to go very far. Kolea, on the other hand, fly long distances from where they nest in Alaska to where they spend the winter here in Hawai’i. If you’ve ever flown on an airplane to the North American continent, you know that’s a long flight. Well, kolea fly it with their own wings and they don’t go as fast, so it takes longer.
The mynas find it all rather puzzling and strange.
A myna was picking worms and seeds alongside a kolea one day. The two of them were quiet most of the time, because by chance most of the myna’s other friends had had a big argument and flown off to continue it somewhere else. So it was just the two of them.
“I’ve always wanted to know,” said the myna to the kolea. “Why do you fly so far?”
The kolea thought about it. “I’m not sure anyone has asked me that before,” he said.
“Well, I’m asking,” said the myna.
“I do like the change,” said the kolea, “and I know that it gets awfully cold in Alaska during the winter.”
“Then why not stay here?” asked the myna.
“There are different things there,” said the kolea, “and it just feels right to raise chicks there.”
“Then why fly all the way here?” asked the myna. “What do you come here to see?’
The kolea was quiet for so long that the myna was about to ask the question again, but then the kolea spoke:
“I come to see different trees, trees that blossom red and purple and gold. I come to see soaring mountains crowned with snow when there’s green all around the island. I come to see waterfalls that make rainbows. I come to see mountains with fire and beaches with black sand.
“I come to see birds that also live in Alaska, like ‘akekeke, and birds that don’t live in Alaska, like ‘apapane and nene and saffron finches.
“I don’t think I’d appreciated, though, that I also come to see mynas, and to be asked questions I was never asked. The next time I fly to Hawai’i, I’ll be coming to see you.”
“I’m glad,” said the myna. “Next time you fly from Alaska, I’ll be very glad to see you.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory (and inspiration). The story you have just read is not identical to the story as I told it.
Photo of a myna (on left) and a kolea (on right) by Eric Anderson.
An ‘apapane wanted to know what the best way to be a flock is.
There are plenty of examples if you journey around the island. He found an i’iwi, who said, “Keep it small, less than ten. And chase everybody else away. Speaking of which, ‘apapane, it’s time you got out of here!”
He checked with a myna, who said, “Oh, just get a few birds together.” “Yeah,” said a second myna, “but make sure they don’t argue.” “What do you mean by that?” demanded a third myna. “Don’t you get cross with me!” said the first, and the ‘apapane flew away as the mynas argued about… nothing.
The ‘akiapola’au, the ‘akepa, and the ‘amakihi said that it’s useful to join a flock because then some of the predators, like cats and such, get intimidated. “A good flock is one that keeps us safe,” they told him.
That sounded pretty good.
He looked in on the ‘akekeke, who said, “Just stay together!” He asked the kolea, who prefer to keep some distance from one another. He thought about asking some fish, but they weren’t coming to the surface to talk to any hovering birds.
It was the nene, however, who gave him the most to think about.
When he found a nene to talk to, they were gathered around one of their number who’d hurt her wing. The little group was hungry and rather footsore as they trooped along, looking for ‘ohelo berries (or pretty much anything they could eat).
“Why aren’t you flying?” he asked one of them.
“Because she can’t fly for a while,” said the one in front.
“Can’t you leave her while you go eat?” he said.
The nene looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind,” the nene said.
The ‘apapane returned to his part of the forest, and gathered his friends and family and any other birds he could. Together they could find food and shelter. Together they could scare off some of the dangers. But most of all, he told them:
“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory plus inspiration. As a result, the recording of how I told it does not match how I wrote it.
Caterpillars don’t have the easiest life. They don’t get around very much – but then, when you move mostly to find another leaf to eat, you don’t need to move very far. There are things about that, while you’re eating leaves, would be very happy to eat you, and that makes for more than a few anxious moments. A lot of the birds I happily tell stories about would happily eat a caterpillar, and that makes them rather sad.
Caterpillars are among the most hopeful creatures on Earth, however. Each one of them hopes to go from an animal that crawls slowly across the branches to one that flies through the skies. They hope to go from someone that you hope will be overlooked (and so not eaten) to one that glows brightly in the sunlight. They hope that the beauty they feel on the inside will be mirrored on the outside.
What’s amazing is that that’s what happens.
Two caterpillars were sharing their hopes on a branch one day between bites of leaf. I’m going to leave out the biting and chewing, because it actually took more time than the conversation. Caterpillars are serious about eating.
“I’m really looking forward to being a butterfly,” said the first.
“Me, too,” said the second.
“I can’t wait to fly,” said the first.
“Me, too,” said the second.
“I’d like to see more of the world than this flower patch,” said the first.
“It’s a good patch,” said the second.
“I’m not saying it isn’t,” said the first.
“You’re right, though,” said the second. “It would be nice to visit another one.”
“All we’ve got to do,” said the first caterpillar, “is wait.”
“Just wait?” asked the second.
“Just wait,” said the first.
“That doesn’t’ sound right,” said the second. “I think we’ve got to build a chrysalis, and stay in it, and then come out as butterflies.”
“Don’t be silly,” said the first. “You hope for it, and then it happens.”
“I don’t think so,” said the second. “I think you hope for it, and then you do something about it. And then it can happen.”
I don’t know what happened to the first caterpillar. I hope it made a chrysalis and became a butterfly, because the second caterpillar was quite right. Caterpillars become butterflies in the chrysalis. They’ve got to make things happen to make other things happen.
Dream of better days. Hope for them, and believe they can come to be. But don’t forget to do the work for them. Hope is good, but hope and effort are better.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them on Sunday from memory plus inspiration. The story you just read will not be identical to the story as I told it.
The common waxbills may be the smallest birds in Hawai’i – meaning how big the adults get. Newly hatched chicks even of very large birds can be smaller. But if you see a very small bird with a rosy beak, it’s likely to be a common waxbill.
They like to eat the small seeds of grasses and herbs, and they tend to move about in flocks of anywhere from a pair up to thirty or forty birds. With a flock, of course, comes the problem of decision. If I’m the only one who needs to make a choice, well, I can make the choice. I decide whether to go this way or that way. When there’s somebody else, though, now we have to work out our direction, our left or right, our up or down.
Waxbills have the same problem. When they’ve eaten the seeds in this plot of grass, how do they decide where to go next?
A waxbill decided one day, after a certain amount of chirped argument, that somebody had to take charge. Somebody had to make the decision. Somebody had to rule.
“We’re going this way,” he called, and took off. Most of the other waxbills took off with him, but not all, so he circled back and screeched at them until they, too, joined the rest of the flock and flew with him. Some of them were relieved not to have to argue any more. Others were irritated that they had ideas that nobody listened to. And there were a few that didn’t want to go in this direction at all.
One of the nice things about being a bird that eats grass seed is that, pretty much any direction you go is likely to have grass in it. They flew. They found. They ate. But not everybody in the flock was happy.
The next day, the waxbill in charge decided to take charge again, but this time some of the waxbills wouldn’t go at all. He chirped at them. He screeched at them. He even flew at them as if he was going to hit them with his wings. But they wouldn’t go.
Eventually the flock settled back to the ground again, and one of them said, “I don’t mind following you, but we need to take trouble to agree which way we’re going to go.”
“No, we don’t,” said their self-appointed leader. “I know what I’m doing. I’m in charge.”
“We all have ideas about where to find seeds,” said the waxbill speaking for the others. “Some might be more right. Some might be more wrong. And that includes you. If we all share, we’ve got a better chance that the ones who are more right will be heard, and that we, as a group, will find more seeds.”
“You’re a fine leader,” he went on, “but you’re not the only one with good ideas. We’ll follow – but we’ll also contribute. If you don’t want to listen, well, somebody else will have to lead.”
It took longer that way. It did. But this little flock of little birds did better than they ever had before at finding good clumps of grasses in seed, and they did it with birds who felt better about their leadership and their fellow fliers in the flock than they ever had before.
It can be a challenge to make decisions. It might be that the most important decision you can make is how you make a decision for yourself and with others.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation). As a result, what you read and what you hear will be different.
It’s been a while since I’ve talked about nene school, which hasn’t changed what’s gone on there a bit. Goslings have gone to school, they’ve learned about advanced eating and flying, and some of them have wondered about becoming nene teachers themselves.
There was a time when there were just two nene teachers. Both of them were solid at the job. They could coax a timid flyer into dramatic aerobatics. They could coach a fussy eater into finding a much wider diet – sort of a nene version of heavy pupus. They held their students’ attention. They taught their lessons. Best of all, the students learned.
That’s the mark of a good teacher, when the students learn.
One of the students noticed something else, too.
Both teachers taught that it was important for nene to care for the flock. If you see a storm coming, they said, warn your neighbors. If it looks like a mongoose might be close to a nest, drive them away. If you found a good clump of ‘ohelo berries, call your friends over. Take care of the flock. The other members of the flock will take care of you.
That was an important lesson, and they mentioned it every day.
One of the teachers, though, seemed a little confused about its application. When her students were learning about finding food, she was very helpful. “Look for these colors as you’re flying about,” she’d say. And when they found some, she gave them lots of praise. “Well done, my friends!” she’d say to the beaming young nene.
And then she’d eat the food they’d found.
The other teacher did things differently. He was helpful about finding food, too. “These are the colors to watch for,” he’d say. “Make sure to look side to side.” And like his colleague, he had good things to say to his students when they found that tasty clump of ‘ohelo. “That’s exactly right,” he’d tell them. “Well spotted.”
But then he said, pretty much every time, “Call the other students in. Is anybody hungry?”
As I said, one of the students notice this, and one day he asked his parents about it. “My teachers help me a lot,” he told them, “but when we find food, one of them eats it. I suppose that’s OK; she is the teacher, after all. But the other one invites us to share. Which one am I supposed to learn?”
His parents looked at one another, and then they looked back at him. “Which one makes you feel better?” they asked. “Which one makes you feel like you’re an important part of the flock? Which one seems to be strengthening the flock as a whole?”
“Well, that’s easy,” said their son. “It’s the one who invites us to eat.”
“So which example will you follow?”
He thought about it.
“I spotted some ‘ohelo a few minutes ago,” he told them. “Are either of you hungry?”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them on Sunday morning from memory and inspiration. The recording does not match the prepared text.
Life isn’t always easy in the mountain forests. Sometimes it gets really wet and uncomfortable, and while feathers are pretty good at keeping you warm and dry, they’re not perfect. Sit in the rain long enough, and an i’iwi will feel pretty cold and wet.
Worse, though, is when it gets dry, because the trees and the plants rely on water. When there’s been no rain for a good while, they have to save their energy. It’s like when you’ve been running around a lot and need to rest for a while. The way a tree rests, or another kind of plant rests, is to hold off on making flowers or fruit. When there’s more water, then it’s time to bloom.
The birds can mostly cope with that. The ‘elepaio eats bugs, and lots of the bugs eat things other than nectar. The ‘apapane and the ‘amakihi eat lots of nectar, but they can make a good meal from worms and spiders. They miss the nectar, but they can feed themselves.
The i’iwi has a rougher time. They will eat bugs, but they’re built to eat nectar, not bugs, and when the flowers aren’t blooming, they get hungry.
It was dry on the mountain. And the i’iwi were hungry.
As I’ve mentioned, while some i’iwi don’t get along with other birds, some i’iwi get along just fine. So there was a little flock of ‘apapane and ‘amakihi and ‘akepa that were worried about their i’iwi friend, who wasn’t saying much, but she was clearly getting hungrier and hungrier.
“What can we do?” an ‘amakihi asked an ‘apapane, who replied with a bird shrug, because he didn’t know, either.
“What can we do?” an ‘elepaio asked his friend the i’iwi, which was the same question but had the advantage of being asked of the right bird. Unfortunately, she didn’t know either.
“You’ve showed me where you’re finding some bugs to eat, and that’s helped some,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’m not as good at catching them as you. I don’t think you can get me more food any better than that.”
“I still want to help,” said the ‘elepaio, and all the other birds did the same.
“You know how you can help?” said the i’iwi. “Stay right where you ware. Stay close to me. Show me you care.”
“How will that help?” asked the ‘apapane, who had a very practical mind. “You can’t eat that.”
“Perhaps not,” she said, “but when you’ve done all you can to help me eat, I’m glad to have your company. It may not feed my stomach, but it feeds my heart.”
So they perched there together in the same tree. Sometimes one or the other birds would sing, and once the ‘amakihi caught a spider and gave it to the i’iwi, who ate it with a hearty “Mahalo.”
Mostly, though, they sat in friendship, friendship that fed the heart even better than flowers.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them in worship from memory (and improvisation). The story when you watch it will not match the story when you read it.
Photo of an i’iwi (who hopefully isn’t hungry) by Eric Anderson.
Well, I never have either. It’s not a natural place for a honu to be. A honu really prefers to be in water, like the honu in this picture.
Unfortunately, one day a honu found herself in a tree.
As I mentioned, I’ve never actually seen, let alone photographed, a honu up a tree. I’m afraid that photo is the result of a certain amount of non-artificial intelligence that produced that unconvincing image.
It was a storm, of course. Ordinarily honu in a storm find a safe place to ride it out, which is frequently offshore. I don’t know precisely what happened with this honu, and I’m not sure she ever did, either. One minute she was being tossed about in the water, and the next minute she was flailing around in a tree, not getting anywhere, and getting sprayed by the waves and the rain.
All in all, not where she wanted to be.
When things got brighter, the birds came out and found the honu in the tree, and they knew she wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Can you swim out?” asked an ala’e ke’oke’o, who was a swimming bird, even though the honu had better flippers on her limbs than the ala’e ke’oke’o had on his.
“I’ve tried all night,” said the honu. “My flippers can’t move these leaves the way they move water.”
“Besides,” she added, “I’m a pretty high off the ground here, and those rocks look hard. I think I might hurt myself if I fell from here.”
The birds looked things over and thought about it. Winged creatures don’t think about falling very much.
“I know,” said some of them. “Let’s pull some of the leaves and twigs out of the way so she’ll slip down slowly.”
“Right!” said some others. “And we’ll go get some other leaves and grass and mud and sand and we’ll cushion the rocks below her.”
That’s what they did. Some pulled up grass for padding, some moved branches of naupaka aside (OK. She was in a naupaka bush, not a tree, but it looked like a tree to her). The pile of padding grew and her distance from it slowly shrank. They worked slowly but steadily, cautiously but creatively, until with a creaking sound the last naupaka branches bent and lowered her to the top of the padded mound.
The birds cheered as the honu hauled herself off with her flippers and made her way down the beach to the water.
At water’s edge she turned and said, “Mahalo nui loa, friends. I hope you get help like this if you’re ever up a tree!”
One of the birds, a kolea, shrugged and said, “Most of us will be quite fine up a tree. But if you can help me out like this if I’m ever stuck in the water, I’ll be just as grateful as you are now.”
Then she waved and swam off into the deep. I don’t know if she ever did have to help a bird stuck in the water, but I know she would have, and she’s ready to if there’s ever a need.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. What you have just read is not identical to the way I told it.
Photos of a honu and of naupaka by Eric Anderson, as is the not-very-convincing blending of the two.
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