Fallout
During migration, if birds encounter a severe storm, they seek refuge wherever they can find it. When a massive and violent meteorological front is pushing in the opposite direction of migration, the results can be spectacular. Known as fallout, these unusual conditions force long-distance migrants, which would normally be unseen by birders, to land in whatever trees, fields, ponds, or lakes are nearby. They might remain on the ground for several hours, foraging and regaining their strength before continuing on their journey. If a birder heads out right after a storm, they might see something truly special.
Today is a stormy day toward the beginning of fall migration, and, although conditions will not be right for a true fallout, I am eager to see if I can spot any unusual birds. The storm itself makes for lousy birding conditions. Hard rain, strong wind, and low light make seeing hunkered-down birds very difficult, but, as soon as the rain stops and the sun begins to come out, I plan to head to some of my favorite birding locations. Even in the midst of foul weather (see what I did there?), I am already looking forward to what comes next.
Sometimes storms rage so fiercely in our lives that we cannot anticipate things ever getting any better. The unrelenting stress, grief, uncertainty, and pain that we experience now make it impossible to believe that things will change. Of course, a part of us knows that they will change—that the sun will come out someday—but we may not be in a position to believe that we will ever be able to enjoy it.
The Psalms often portray this sort of struggle. Sometimes, in the same psalm, we hear the psalmist pray words of hopelessness and confidence, suggesting that the situation has changed more abruptly than the supplicant had anticipated. For example, in Psalm 6, we read words of existential crisis—“Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror—become words of gratitude for deliverance—"The Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and struck with terror; they shall turn back, and in a moment be put to shame.”
The fact that our ancient spiritual ancestors also experienced moments of profound doubt before finding the reassurance of faith gives me hope. I am relieved to know that not being able to see through to the end of the storm is not a sign of faithlessness—that my inability to trust in God does not diminish God’s love and care for me. In the middle of a storm, we may not be able to find God, but God is always able to find us. “His eye is on the sparrow,” the gospel hymn declares, reminding us that God sees and cares for even the smallest birds, which hide when the storms come.
If we can survive the threat that seems to be swallowing us up, we often find new clarity when the storm has passed. The truly important things in life—things like family, security, and soulful fulfillment—things that had always been important but that may have been underappreciated before the storm—become our focus. We hold our loved ones tighter and let go of meaningless distractions.
Sometimes a fresh appreciation for the fragility of life makes us more cautious, but other times it helps us let go of those fears that had irrationally kept us from pursuing our best lives. A near-miss on the interstate may remind you to drive more slowly, but it may also be the jolt you need to finally get your pilot’s license. We cannot always anticipate what we will discover when the storm passes, but we should be attentive to whatever we notice in the calm that follows.
This week, the threat of an active shooter on campus at the University of Arkansas terrorized the students, faculty, and staff there as well as the parents, grandparents, and friends who worried that their beloveds might be in mortal danger. Even though the situation turned out to be a hoax, the damage it inflicted upon countless people is real. I did not grow up going through active shooter drills in school—a practice with which my children are well acquainted—but, even though I am all too familiar with headlines like the one from Minneapolis yesterday, I still have a hard time imagining that such a horrible, evil tragedy would happen in my own hometown to the people I love.
Things look a little different to me in the post-storm clarity of an active shooter situation here in Fayetteville. All four of my children, as well as my spouse, are still going to school every day. The morning rush has not become a melancholy affair, during which our goodbyes feel like they could be a final farewell, but I look for opportunities to express a little more fully my love and affection for them. My family’s safety has always been important to me, but I feel like I see its importance a little more clearly today. That makes me wonder how long it will be before we decide that even one mass shooting is too many for us to simply shrug our shoulders and pretend that nothing can be done. It makes me wonder what I might do differently now that I have seen afresh what truly matters.
As I write this, I can hear the rain letting up. The sky, although not clear, is definitely brighter. There are more thunderstorms in the forecast, but this break in the weather may be a good time for me to head out and see what is out there. Bad weather is not a lot of fun—for me or the birds—but what waits on the other side of it can be really beautiful. We just have to hang in there until the storm stops and then look around and notice what is close by. Sometimes we see something we could not have expected, and that is a gift.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
