January 7, 2024
Isaiah 60:1-6
Matthew 2:1-12
Most of the ‘apapane, if you ask them, are delighted with their red feathers. They think their black wings make for a really smart and distinguished look.
One young ‘apapane, however, was not enthusiastic. As a juvenile, less than a few months old, he’d worn brown and yellow feathers. He was aware that as he grew those brown and yellow feathers would fall out, replaced by bright red or crimson feathers. As far as he was concerned, this was a Very Bad Idea.
“Why can’t my feathers stay brown, like the ‘elepaio?” he asked his mother.
“Because you’re an ‘apapane,” she told him.
“What about green feathers, like an ‘amakihi?” he wanted to know.
“You’re still an ‘apapane,” said his father.
His questions puzzled them, because he didn’t tell them why he wanted different feathering. It was because of the ‘io. His parents had warned him about the ‘io, and about their diet, which would include ‘apapane if they could get it. To our young friend, bright red feathers seemed like waving a big red cape at a bull.
“It’s like a big sign saying, ‘Breakfast here!’” he muttered to his older sister, who wasn’t remotely interested.
“There’s nothing to be done about it, so chill out,” she told him. “And besides, look how many ‘apapane there are?”
“So nobody will miss me when the ‘io eats me,” he muttered, but she didn’t hear him.
One day not long after all his red feathers had grown in, and he was bright scarlet from the top of his head down to his belly, he went foraging for bugs and nectar in an ohi’a tree bright with blossoms. “I’m standing out like a sore thumb,” he muttered, which is an odd thing for an ‘apapane to say, since they don’t have thumbs, but he knew what he meant.
That’s when he heard the cry of the hunting ‘io overhead.
He didn’t know what to do. He froze. He stayed stock-still on the branch with the cluster of ohi’a lehua he’d been feeding from. He could see the ‘io circling overhead, its bright eyes scanning the trees below, looking for breakfast.
The ‘io circled once, twice, and three times, then flew off to circle over another tree.
When the ‘apapane took a breath, he found his sister perched beside him.
“Why didn’t it eat me?” he asked. “I was in plain sight.”
“Take a quick flight overhead and look down,” said sister.
The ‘io had flown farther off, so he did as she advised. When he looked down, he saw spots of red all over the tree. Spots of red flowers… and among them, his bright red sister didn’t stand out at all.
He joined her again. “We hide in plain sight,” he said in amazement.
“We do,” she said. “Do you still want brown or green feathers?”
Sometimes our safety relies on our being right where we’re expected to be, a place where we might not be noticed because we fit right in. And sometimes we’re the ones who are looking, and the first place to look is still the obvious place, the place where things don’t quite stand out, like a child in Bethlehem, or a teacher on a dusty road.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, then tell them from what I remember. That means that a certain amount of… improvisation takes place.
Photos by Eric Anderson; the second is a cropped version of the first.
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