Kingfisher

Sometimes I go running. I am quite reluctant to call myself a runner, because I am not someone who loves exercise or naturally finds it easy. But a couple of times a week I go out, and I find it’s a good way to clear my head and spend time outside. Most of my routes are along the congested streets of Leicester, but about halfway through I end up in the ‘Attenborough Arboretum’, a small nature reserve to the south of the city. I like to stop here by the pond, and take a moment to just be in nature at the start of my day. The things is, I was told by a friend that she once saw a Kingfisher at this pond. And so, not content to simply be by the water, I want to catch a glimpse of something I’ve never seen before.

I long for that transcendent moment. I want something to break through into my ordinary day and offer something unexpected. I want to see that flash of electric blue or to experience a moment that feels like it was made just for me. I wait, almost half expecting the Kingfisher to appear. Even though life can be predictable, I know that God can produce something special. But the pond stays still and the drizzling rain forces me on. 

But then, as I keep running, I realise that I often approach life like this. Maybe it’s my personality type, or maybe it’s part of the distraction culture that we live in, but there is something about day-to-day normality that is very hard for me to accept. When I stop long enough to face what is real, I am sometimes confronted with an ache in my soul that I can’t easily unravel or solve. I want to understand my feelings and I like certainty, and so I try to inject little moments of excitement or interest throughout the day to avoid anything more complex. I am like a Magpie, seeking out what glitters so that I don’t have to face myself - so that I can maintain a state of excited distraction. And I wonder if it isn’t just me. We can easily move from event to event, endlessly conversing, stuffing our days with interest and stimulation. We fear the still places and what happens if it all just stops. 

The word contemplation, I realise, has become a bit of a buzzword. I picture someone walking serenely through the trees or meditating to find a sense of deep wellness. But I also heard a definition of the word that caught my attention: Contemplation as a long loving look at the real. In this way, it isn’t about escaping reality to find something beautiful or other-wordly. It isn’t about seeking profound or breath-taking experiences. It is about inhabiting our real and normal lives with God, whether we are watching a Kingfisher dive for the first time, or putting in another cycle of laundry. It is about having compassion over the present moment and however we are feeling, not trying to avoid reality or tie up all of our loose ends as though we are puzzles to be solved. God does show up in the transcendent moments, and we can sometimes have really clear and profound experiences of connection - these are blessings that we can drink in. But most of the time we won’t feel this. It might be that we are worrying about something we said to someone, or we made a mistake at work or our child has fallen ill. Life is happening. And it can be hard to remember God in the midst of it. But bit by bit, I am realising that this is the invitation. God is in our present moment, whether we can feel that or not. And, for me, there is something releasing about not needing to transform every moment into something magical, or even understandable. It’s about saying; whatever is going on and however I am feeling, it is OK and I am OK. To take life as we find it, and to learn to trust in God’s presence, nearness and love in the moments of stillness and lack, as well as in the moments of connection and revelation. 

I will keep waiting for the Kingfisher. But I also want to be present to whatever else that moment might bring.

Watching for the Kingfisher

Ann Lewin

Prayer is like watching for

The kingfisher. All you can do is

Be there where he is like to appear, and

Wait.

Often nothing much happens;

There is space, silence and

Expectancy.

No visible signs, only the

Knowledge that he’s been there

And may come again.

Seeing or not seeing cease to matter,

You have been prepared.

But when you’ve almost stopped

Expecting it, a flash of brightness

Gives encouragement.