At the video store

At the video store the other night, I happened upon a highly recommended video
called Winged Migration. Rolling Stone said, "A movie miracle! It soars! You
feel privileged." That was enough to make me want to see it. I mean Rolling
Stone commenting on a documentary of migrating birds.... It is truly what it is
recommend to be. I am completely impressed with the film and intrigued by it's
cinematography and production. The children balked when they saw the cover, but
when I sat down with them and watched with interest (and animated a few scenes),
they were quickly lost in the quiet magic of birds in flight over majestic
mountain ranges, stoic icebergs, Asian steppes, blooming desserts, lighted
cities. Impressed, they repented of their initial skepticism. Watching the
Eiffel Tower come into view behind a flock and realizing the birds know nothing
of nor care for one of man's creations, only for their destination, challenged
the girls own thought processes. The directors were so creative in their editing
and filming, if not a bit courageous in their methods. While this film is
extraordinary in its photography, it is not without it's agenda. Dismal
industrialized sections of Eastern Europe are only a stopping place for some
birds; the final resting place for others. A peaceful Quail is disturbed from
her sitting by a combine. "Innocent" migrating birds are shot from the sky
dropping through the air and hitting the water with a heavy splash. The
soundtrack is wonderful and culturally all-encompassing of the lands through
which the different birds pass. A friend of ours who knows my affinity for bird
watching, sent me a tape of classical music accompanied by loons. Also enclosed
was a hand-carved and painted statue of the intriguing little foul. As I
carefully unwrapped the package, A (17 months at the time) stood with her eyes
barely peeking over the top of the kitchen table. When she saw the little bird,
she was immediately enamored and determined in her little heart to have that
loon. I put the tape in the player and sat down to watch her dance lightly in
reverie to the music, all the while, carefully cradling the loon. I decided to
check out some picture books at the library to satisfy her curiosity of this new
and unusual bird. I realized her quick attachment when she requested the bird to
come nap with her. She simply said, "Loon." So, I took the bird down from it's
perch and handed it to her. She made a nest of her covers for it, tucked it in,
and fell asleep. I still have the loon. It isn't on a shelf but wrapped and put
away along with the other items of treasure from A's early years. She carried
"loon" with her everywhere we went and slept with it at every rest time. She
dropped it occasionally and it chipped. Holding onto it with her tiny crusty
hands, the loon became worn and lost the hand-painted luster it arrived with.
This was her first inanimate love. We have long tried to encourage an
appreciation and respect, not for the created, but the Creator. By pointing out
the unusual, the normal, the unexpected, those things of great beauty and
extreme ugliness, they have come to see it themselves and direct their awe to
the One to whom true awe is deserved.