For months, every morning when my friend and I traveled to the Y, we’d see him on the telephone wires. At first, he and a sibling sat there together above the soybean fields waiting patiently for mice to make sudden moves. After a while, there was only one hawk, the other, presumably, left to find a field of his own. Our hawk became such a landscape fixture that I named him Gerald, for no reason in particular. He could, of course, be a Geraldine–it’s hard to tell unless you see a male and female together, the female of the species being larger. Gerald looked to be fully grown– a strong young hawk, so after a couple of months of greeting him as we motored past his perch, we were sad when he was gone. It was late summer after all, and the hunting was easy. Why did he leave?
After a week of missing him, it occurred to me to look up hawk migration. Surprisingly, even tough red-tails sometimes leave southern Ohio before the cold weather comes. Usually, it’s juveniles that take to the southern skies, and they typically leave in late August. “Well,” I thought, “good luck, Gerald. I’ll miss you.” Then I wondered why. He was just a bird, and one I didn’t know personally. I mean, it’s not like we’d ever had a private conversation on my front porch. . .
“Familiarity breeds contempt” is a well known proverb, indicating that the more you’re around a person, the less you like him, as his mannerisms, flaws and quirks get on your nerves. Interestingly, sometimes these same peculiarities are things you miss when the person is gone. I had a college friend who used to drive me crazy by habitually “dropping in” when I was studying for exams. Now I miss her face peering hopefully through that screen door. Why in the world did I get so frustrated with her interruptions? After all, taking an hour break wasn’t going to wreck my chances for making the dean’s list. Later in life, my husband had a habit of telephoning me every day when he left work. Coincidentally, that was arsenic hour for me at home with five kids, when I was tempted to send them outside with platefuls of Kraft Mac & Cheese and lock all the doors. Here again, I missed an opportunity. I should appreciated those calls when I had the chance. These were familiar annoyances that proceeded from a familiar good. And it is the “good” that gives the lie to the proverb.
Probably the recent departure of another good friend made me think about these things. Thoroughly Christian in her views, she unapologetically challenged my uppity seventies assertions– but kindly, and without malice. That was fifty years ago and though we were separated for forty five of them, I still recognized her as a pivotal force in my life. When she died at 99, she was still a familiar good to me.
A few days ago, I saw Gerald again, perched high above his soybean kingdom, and I was strangely glad to see him, even though I know he won’t be there forever. In time, he will fly south, or find a mate and move on, or die. Time is a wind that blows away all that is familiar, and leaves us to miss what is gone, perhaps to ache in its absence. Jesus knew how hard it would be for his friends when He was gone. His parting words are full of comfort, which they missed in the moment:
“ I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” John 14:3
The Son of God cared enough, even in view of the agony to come, to give affirmation that though the familiar would, in one sense, cease, the game wasn’t over. Time’s power to separate us from the good will be neutralized, because in eternity, all the familiar good will be restored. And so much more will be added.
I won’t be surprised if even Gerald is there.
