The Cardinal, Letter from Magnolia Isle
Dearest Friend,
I've made a new friend, I think. I've been taking my morning tea outside, and I've found a cozy corner — salt air drifting in off the marsh — where I can sit and take in the island's morning chorus. I had no idea what a bird sanctuary this island was. Each morning I'm greeted by the calls of nature, but the sound of the cardinals always stands out to me.
A male and female have made a nest in the large olive tree that sits in the corner of my property. I hear them call to one another every morning, and then again each night. I confess I know next to nothing about birds.
Yet I've come to understand their rhythm. In the morning he calls out first. A few minutes later, his bold red body dips out and zooms across the green expanse as he goes, presumably in search of breakfast. She then flitters about the tree limbs and chirps. In my head, she accomplishes two things. She reminds him, like any good wife does, not to forget what he needs to bring back to the nest. I also believe her chirps are a warning to other birds, as she stands guard over her nest.
Just a short while ago, I never would have sat still long enough to witness this lovely reflection of cardinal domestic life. The sounds of nature were nowhere near important to me. Now, I look forward to my mornings sipping tea and watching these cardinals up close.
I read in a devotional the other day that one must be present to fully embrace His Presence. I haven't been able to unsee that. It stayed with me and came to mind again this morning, as I sat among my new cardinal friends listening to them wake up. The male cardinal swooped out and, instead of making his way to the far tree, came to rest on the leaf of a hanging strawberry basket. I sat holding my breath, my tea poised halfway to my lips, and looked at his proud frame. He stared back, likely assessing the danger, and so I remained still. I remained present.
Because I did, I got to bask in his presence longer than I've ever spent with any bird or creature in nature before. As he flew off, I raised my eyes heavenward and gave thanks for the ability to slow down in this loud and busy world. We miss so much when we only pursue the hustle. By slowing down, I've felt His presence and found quiet encouragement as I pursue a more intentional, connected life—like my new friend, the cardinal.
What might you be missing this week simply because you haven't sat still long enough to see it?
Until next time,
M. J. James
