The Sparrows and the Hawk: A Mid-Life Meditation on Effort and Grace

"As we approach the age of 40, we learn the pain of the mid-life transition...identity, vocation, motives, judgments, relationships all come into question. We reach a vantage point, like standing on a mountaintop, where we are given the opportunity to look at our past and look into our future all at once. We look back and see the roads not taken, the strokes of luck, the missteps, the relationships failed or avoided or taken for granted. We see the path that we have slashed through life in some blind groping to reach the point where we now stand. We look at the downhill side and are challenged to complete our journey, this time with vision and design and conscious choice….We are asked to make some new choices about the quality of our daily lives and the world we participate in creating around us.”

              – Gertrud Mueller Nelson, from TO DANCE WITH GOD


I live with my family on a small, very old farm in Galway. Sometimes, I as mow the yard around our 170 year-old house, I thank the original settlers of this property for their wisdom in choosing this site. Our home rests on the crest of a hill, looking south over a vast wetland. A road weaves between the hill and the wetland. It is rich land that has nourished families for generations. It is also home to a variety of birds from bluebirds to great blue herons, from robins to owls.

On a warm afternoon in June, I noticed a large bird in the sky. My husband, Mike, was standing nearby. When I pointed the bird out to him and he told me it was a red-tailed hawk. “Watch what happens,” he said.

As I watched, the hawk soared overhead, alone and seemingly at ease in the world. Then, five small brown birds (perhaps sparrows) came out of nowhere like a squadron of air force fighters. They attacked the hawk fiercely, diving and nipping and screaming, wings batting the air with a sense of furious outrage. It was almost comical. The hawk was impervious to the attack. She never moved her wings or even acknowledged the presence of the other birds.

The hawk began to descend in altitude as she slowly flew down the hill. The sparrows flew right with her, intent and focused on their mission of driving the hawk away. The hawk’s attention was never drawn toward the little birds. She reached the bottom of the hills and glided about 10 feet above the road. Suddenly, without any effort or movement, the hawk spiraled upward. Within seconds, she was just a dot in the sky. The squawking birds were left behind, confused by the hawk’s mysterious disappearance. As the sparrows dispersed, I stood and gazed at the empty sky for a long time.

I watched the sparrows and felt a kinship with them. When confronted by people or situations, I often attack with words or actions in an effort to “fix” it—to make it right. Often the effort involves talking: meetings where plans, rules and policies are drawn up and executed with great drama and fanfare. I know the busy life of the sparrow—it is frenetic and exciting and, after many years, exhausting.

Then I found my attention drawn to the memory of the hawk’s mysterious rise into the heavens. Mike told me that there are thermals down by the road, currents of air that the hawk knows she can use to catch a ride up into the sky. I contemplated the grace with which she glided through the air. It is as though that hawk had secret knowledge of the geography of the atmosphere that was invisible to my eyes.

At 42, I realize that I want to cultivate the spirit of that hawk within me. I want to cultivate a life of faith—a faith that is strong, quiet and spacious, a faith that trusts my own deepest experience. It is a faith that relies upon my heart’s knowledge of the geography of my soul. I imagine living in a way that is true to my nature so that I may gracefully surrender to deep current of love and support that surrounds me without trying to control where it will lead.

Mechtild of Magdeburg, a 13th century Christian mystic, understood this when she wrote the following:

Effortlessly, love flows from God
Like a bird who rivers the air without moving her wings.
Thus we move in God’s world, one in body and spirit
Though outwardly separate in form.
As the Source strikes the note, humanity sings—
The Holy Spirit is our harpist, and all strings
Which are touched in love must sound.

When you find yourself feeling stress, tightness, anxiety, insecurity and fear, what is your response? Do you react by stoking those emotions, like the sparrows? Or do consciously and intentionally slow down and return to center? When you choose to quietly return to your center, to pause, opportunities and an invisible map of possibilities can emerge. With each breath, you replace fear with love. With each breath, you touch and trust your own deepest experience.

This article first appeared in Healing Springs Journal. For more information on this publication, please link to: http://www.healingspringsjournal.com/.