Cuckoo!

 

I strolled out into the gloaming, to soak in the end to a glorious spring day. A cuckoo called from the nearby woods. Repeatedly. Incessantly.

Memories carried me back over half a century ago, when my sister Judy returned from a summer’s exchange to Wolfsburg, Germany, proudly bearing a cuckoo clock for our parents. They excitedly mounted it on the panelled wall of the living room, which was just behind the wall of our bedroom. My sister then went off to university, leaving me with a nocturnal reminder of her visit to Germany.

As an insomniac teenager anxious about French and trigonometry exams, most nights I got out of bed, stamped down the hall and into the living room to stop the swing of the pendulum and silence the cacophony of the cuckoo’s call blurting out the hours. For years, my parents teased me about hearing my deep sigh of irritation as I marched down the corridor.

There was no stopping the pendulum on the cuckoo last night. His call went on and on as he desperately reached out to connect with a female of his species. I was grateful not to be camping nearby. I started the record function on my phone’s WhatsApp and sent a sample to the family.  I thought.

Later, when I played it back to myself, I realised that my mic is so poor that all it picked up was my hushed voice whispering a description of the call of the cuckoo. Funnily enough, none of the family has so far pointed that out to me…

So on this morning’s walk, I heard that same frustrated cuckoo starting a new day of calling out.

Jesus advised, those with ears to hear, let them hear. May the inner mic of my spirit pick up the whispers of His Spirit today, confident that nothing of God is ever ‘cuckoo’, and that when his urging is persistent I am wise to listen and obey.