Post by JEM on Jun 8, 2020 13:17:58 GMT
JOHN GODDARD'S THOUGHT FOR THE DAY 2020 APRIL. 28th
Our garden pond continues to surprise me. A few days ago Liam discovered a creature I had never heard of before, doing something I didn’t even know was possible. He was investigating the large floating leaves of the Water Hawthorn, a beautiful plant that flowers before the Water Lillies, and then again later in the season – having adapted to hotter climates where ponds dry up in the heat of summer. We had been wondering about the oval shaped holes something had been cutting out of the leaves. I had assumed they were being eaten, but it turns out they were being cut to provide a sort of ‘sleeping bag’ of protection for the creature concerned. This creature would sit between two cut ovals under the leaf, protected from predation and able to grow to maturity. The culprit? The caterpillar of a species of moth, probably the Brown China-mark Moth. Who knew that some moths had aquatic caterpillars? Not me! This week also saw the first sighting this year of a damselfly. Two Large Red Damselflies to be precise, joined together in the process of fertilising eggs which they were laying (ovipositing) whilst clinging to a Water Hawthorn flower. I will attach a photo taken on my phone, which you will need to click and enlarge in order to find the damselflies, because despite being called the Large Red they are actually quite small. Usually 33-36mm in length – just over an inch – and beautifully delicate and apparently fragile, they are often the earliest in the season to emerge and fly. So why would you call something so tiny the Large Red Damselfly? And the answer is, of course, obvious – to differentiate it from the Small Red Damselfly which is a whole 2mm shorter than the Large Red! I guess the Slightly Larger but still incredibly Small Damselfly wasn’t a reasonable option, and so I train my binoculars on the slightest of movements to discover the Large Red Damselfly.
This in turn reminds me of the beautiful bird you will sometimes see by a stream, the Grey Wagtail. This isn’t the black and white Pied Wagtail of the urban environment, but a more reclusive and elusive semi-aquatic bird easily recognised as the Grey Wagtail by being stunningly yellow. Why on earth would you name a bird Grey when the first colour you see – the colour that catches your eye and draws your attention is yellow? I have known the answer since I was a child, but I only really understood the answer for the first time last summer when I had my first prolonged encounters with Yellow Wagtails. Suddenly it all made sense. The Grey is drab and dowdy, or at least conservatively attired, in comparison with the exotic and fabulous Yellow Wagtail. When I first saw one, perched on a low branch across the rapidly disappearing water at RSPB Fowlmere in last summer’s drought, I knew immediately what I was looking at, and it all made sense. There were several present, and they were the birding highlight of my visits to Fowlmere last year, and I will always remember the vibrant spectacle of the Yellow Wagtail whenever I see the delicate beauty of a Grey Wagtail.
So, what sort of a thought for today comes from my rambling nature notes? Perhaps I could write of how the grace of God continues to surprise me in ways I had not considered possible or even thought to explore – those underwater caterpillar moments of grace that remind you that nothing is impossible for our infinitely creative Creator God. Or perhaps I could write about the dangers of comparison – of seeing ourselves as we think we are seen by others, rather than knowing that we are all uniquely valued and loved by the God of all love. How many of us fail to meet the expressed or implied expectations of others, let alone the expectations we impose upon ourselves, when the reality of grace is that we will never be more perfectly loved than we are this moment, and that love will not fail us or desert us. So rather than competing to see who is the Large Red Damselfly and who is the Small Red Damselfly on the pond of life, can’t we
just learn to be loved and loving? We are all trying to make the best of this life with what we have been given.But maybe what I really want to say is that when you see the beauty of true grace you will understand. We might have heard all about faith and spirituality, religion and belief, and never really got it. There might be glimpses of colour and beauty, but there is also much that is grey. And then, one day, you see it – and all becomes clear. For Paul, one of the greatest early disciples of Jesus, this was in a blinding flash of revelation on the road to Damascus (see The Acts of the Apostles chapter 9). Paul sees the glory of God shining in the last place he expected it, the face of the executed religious prophet who Paul whose followers Paul was persecuting, Jesus of Nazareth. Nothing would ever seem the same again. Beauty broke into his life of anger. Love won.
I cannot begin to imagine what this will look like for you, but once you have encountered the Yellow Wagtail of God’s beauty and grace nothing will be quite the same again. Amen? John Goddard, 28th April 2020
Our garden pond continues to surprise me. A few days ago Liam discovered a creature I had never heard of before, doing something I didn’t even know was possible. He was investigating the large floating leaves of the Water Hawthorn, a beautiful plant that flowers before the Water Lillies, and then again later in the season – having adapted to hotter climates where ponds dry up in the heat of summer. We had been wondering about the oval shaped holes something had been cutting out of the leaves. I had assumed they were being eaten, but it turns out they were being cut to provide a sort of ‘sleeping bag’ of protection for the creature concerned. This creature would sit between two cut ovals under the leaf, protected from predation and able to grow to maturity. The culprit? The caterpillar of a species of moth, probably the Brown China-mark Moth. Who knew that some moths had aquatic caterpillars? Not me! This week also saw the first sighting this year of a damselfly. Two Large Red Damselflies to be precise, joined together in the process of fertilising eggs which they were laying (ovipositing) whilst clinging to a Water Hawthorn flower. I will attach a photo taken on my phone, which you will need to click and enlarge in order to find the damselflies, because despite being called the Large Red they are actually quite small. Usually 33-36mm in length – just over an inch – and beautifully delicate and apparently fragile, they are often the earliest in the season to emerge and fly. So why would you call something so tiny the Large Red Damselfly? And the answer is, of course, obvious – to differentiate it from the Small Red Damselfly which is a whole 2mm shorter than the Large Red! I guess the Slightly Larger but still incredibly Small Damselfly wasn’t a reasonable option, and so I train my binoculars on the slightest of movements to discover the Large Red Damselfly.
This in turn reminds me of the beautiful bird you will sometimes see by a stream, the Grey Wagtail. This isn’t the black and white Pied Wagtail of the urban environment, but a more reclusive and elusive semi-aquatic bird easily recognised as the Grey Wagtail by being stunningly yellow. Why on earth would you name a bird Grey when the first colour you see – the colour that catches your eye and draws your attention is yellow? I have known the answer since I was a child, but I only really understood the answer for the first time last summer when I had my first prolonged encounters with Yellow Wagtails. Suddenly it all made sense. The Grey is drab and dowdy, or at least conservatively attired, in comparison with the exotic and fabulous Yellow Wagtail. When I first saw one, perched on a low branch across the rapidly disappearing water at RSPB Fowlmere in last summer’s drought, I knew immediately what I was looking at, and it all made sense. There were several present, and they were the birding highlight of my visits to Fowlmere last year, and I will always remember the vibrant spectacle of the Yellow Wagtail whenever I see the delicate beauty of a Grey Wagtail.
So, what sort of a thought for today comes from my rambling nature notes? Perhaps I could write of how the grace of God continues to surprise me in ways I had not considered possible or even thought to explore – those underwater caterpillar moments of grace that remind you that nothing is impossible for our infinitely creative Creator God. Or perhaps I could write about the dangers of comparison – of seeing ourselves as we think we are seen by others, rather than knowing that we are all uniquely valued and loved by the God of all love. How many of us fail to meet the expressed or implied expectations of others, let alone the expectations we impose upon ourselves, when the reality of grace is that we will never be more perfectly loved than we are this moment, and that love will not fail us or desert us. So rather than competing to see who is the Large Red Damselfly and who is the Small Red Damselfly on the pond of life, can’t we
just learn to be loved and loving? We are all trying to make the best of this life with what we have been given.But maybe what I really want to say is that when you see the beauty of true grace you will understand. We might have heard all about faith and spirituality, religion and belief, and never really got it. There might be glimpses of colour and beauty, but there is also much that is grey. And then, one day, you see it – and all becomes clear. For Paul, one of the greatest early disciples of Jesus, this was in a blinding flash of revelation on the road to Damascus (see The Acts of the Apostles chapter 9). Paul sees the glory of God shining in the last place he expected it, the face of the executed religious prophet who Paul whose followers Paul was persecuting, Jesus of Nazareth. Nothing would ever seem the same again. Beauty broke into his life of anger. Love won.
I cannot begin to imagine what this will look like for you, but once you have encountered the Yellow Wagtail of God’s beauty and grace nothing will be quite the same again. Amen? John Goddard, 28th April 2020