Cuckoo

What’s happened to the first cuckoo of spring? I know it’s been unseasonably, unreasonably cold this ‘spring’, but surely the migrant cuckoo should be back again by now?

I know that in some areas the cuckoo has ceased to return, and hope this isn’t one of them.

It’s funny how, among the beauty of the dawn chorus, I am listening out for the raucous, distinctive call of the cuckoo. I couldn’t identify the song of many of the birds I hear, but I can identify the cuckoo. It’s due to more than just the clock my sister brought back from Germany one year!

The cuckoo has a unique voice which rises above the rest.

Last night I was reading Revelation 4, and it occurred to me how loud it’s going to be in heaven. All that shouting praise and singing at the top of their voices, from millions of angels and creatures and people who love the Lord. It’s probably loud there already.

Yet the Lord is listening out for my voice, and yours, to be raised in praise to him. He may be surrounded by a host of worshipers singing and praising with all their might, but when my weak voice says ‘I love you Jesus’, he hears it and responds. I know he does. I can feel him. Very close. Loving me back.

Isn’t it amazing? I probably have the same discordant voice as a cuckoo among nightingales, and yet the Lord is listening out for me.

Wow.

Distractions

Middle of May and five layers still when I walk Dusty. Vest, t-shirt, sweater, fleece and windbreaker, plus a woolly hat pulled down over my ears. Gloved hands jammed into my pockets for extra warmth.

Amongst the tired green of the evergreens in the forest, the new growth on larch and beech is fresh and beautiful. Above the forest soars a bird of prey. Echoing through the woods I hear the tap-tapping of the woodpeckers, and the occasional crazy call of the cuckoo.

I round the corner and the wind blasts me in the face and I jam my hands down more firmly, muttering something grumpy. I find myself praying that the Lord would send a warmer sun and divert this biting wind. 

Dusty is happy, trotting ahead and sniffing the air greedily.

We round another corner and there is the wild and restless mooing of cows and calves. I see the farmer’s tractor, a bale of hay stabbed onto its upturned prong, stopped near the field and wonder if the herd is being moved. Dare I continue my walk, or will we find ourselves in the middle of a stampede?

Walking on, I see the herd is clustered at the gate, mooing their dissatisfaction. We rejoin the road and head for home, and soon the farmer overtakes us. Shutting off the tractor’s engine, he stops for a wee ‘news’. 

Yes, the cows are impatient for grass. And in this cold weather, the grass just isn’t growing. (Why did I have to cut ours yesterday, then, I wonder? Maybe I should have invited the cows in...) So he’s having to give them hay, which he’d hoped to hold on to awhile longer for some reason.

I shiver. Another car comes; the tractor starts up and the farmer moves on, and so do we. The house is back in sight, with its tree-lined drive. Each tree is now bursting out in its spring finery. The colours are lovely. 

I am so easily distracted by the cold wind, and lose sight of the bigger picture. To God I probably sound like one of those miserable cows. Yucks. May I retain focus on what is important today, Lord, expecting to see you work in wonderful ways.