Fed by the Unexpected

Every morning around 7:30 a.m., they start descending, as if controlled by an air traffic control tower somewhere in the skies above, unseen by us earthlings. Like unruly, feathered teenagers, they poke and pester, sometimes awkwardly crash-landing on top of one another, as if they didn't even see that their intended landing spot was another member of their own species—an equally large, dark, gangly bird. They line my fence row so closely together that I can barely make out one from another. I need binoculars for my own backyard, it turns out.

I have inadvertently become a birdwatcher in recent months.

A vulture-watcher, to be precise.

I stand at my kitchen window every morning, eating breakfast and counting buzzards. If anybody wonders what I do with my life as a single, 40-year-old woman recovering from cancer treatment: I watch buzzards, and I count them. I also take lots of photos and videos of them, and I text updates to anybody who cares to know what the latest count is at Buzzard Landing, as I occasionally call it. Even if they don't care to know, I text them. If someone were to scroll through the photos on my phone, they would have serious concerns about the state of affairs in my life because I have a lot of photos and videos of a) buzzards, b) random body parts from this past year that show odd side effects like rashes, bruises, and wounds that won't heal, c) my head, showing the progression of my hair growth, and d) MRI scans that show a giant black hole in my brain. Once they see the MRIs, they might be like, "Ohhhh, well that explains a lot."

Most days there are about twenty to thirty vultures gathered. We topped out at forty-one one day and then forty-five a few days later, but those were just the ones I could see in my own yard. Who knows how many more were in the neighbors' yards to my right and left.

I don't know how my yard came to be the yard of choice for these ugly-as-sin birds. Has anyone else's yard in town become home to this "venue" of vultures? (I'm learning a lot about vultures these days, as you might guess.) There are no carcasses for them to feast upon, and it's not near the road for them to pick up roadkill of any kind. Although I have long wished they were birds of prey rather than scavengers, as I'd like them to take care of my groundhog situation. They just perch in some old, scraggly trees at the back of the property, occasionally fanning their wings out to dry. (I also learned they do not have water-repellent wings, so they basically have to hang them out to dry by fanning them out in the sun. Oh, the things I have Googled in the recent past about vultures.)

I used to count them every day but then gave up the habit because usually the answer is quite simply that there are a lot of them.

They tend to depart by 10:30 a.m. and are gone for the day. A few might return in the evening, but never in the quantities I see in the morning. 

But every morning, there they are, hanging out. And every morning, there I am, watching them hang out.

I have oddly grown fond of them, as they have become a symbol of God's provision in my life.

In the story of Elijah, found in 1 Kings 17, we find that Elijah the prophet has been sent by God to declare to Ahab, the king of Israel, judgment on the nation: no rain or dew for the next three years except at Elijah's word. From there, God sends Elijah to Kerith, a place whose precise location is unknown in modern times:

Then the word of the Lord came to Elijah: "Leave here, turn eastward and hide in the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan. You will drink from the brook, and I have directed the ravens to supply you with food there." So he did what the Lord had told him. He went to the Kerith Ravine, east of the Jordan, and stayed there. The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook (1 Kings 17:2-6). 

Ravens. 

Bringing provision. 

Every morning and every evening.

This unlikely creature provided precisely what Elijah needed to survive in a landscape headed for rock-hard ground in just a matter of time. Bible teacherPriscilla Shirer shared in her study Elijah how ravens were truly a surprising pick for the daily duty. They are restless, greedy, and indiscriminate creatures. They are not apt to stay in one place for long, and by Jewish law, they are deemed "unclean." 

Surely God could have chosen another, more majestic, 'clean,' bird for the job.

But he didn't. 

He chose the unexpected, the less desirable, the unwanted, the unlovely—the raven, of all things.

During one of the many mornings I have spent watching these silly birds recently, I wondered, "Perhaps these vultures are my ravens, daily reminders of God's provision for me?"

Perhaps these unattractive, awkward vultures are to serve as a reminder of God's provision for me—a reminder that every morning, every evening, and every moment in between, he is mindful of my needs. As I stand there eating breakfast (which, for the record, was not provided by the vultures), he is mindful of my needs. As I stand there washing dishes, he is mindful of my needs. As I work, he is mindful of my needs. As I sleep, he is mindful of my needs. As I am in the doctor's office, he is mindful of my needs. It's just that maybe those needs aren't met in a manner or form in which I expect because I'm too busy looking for eagles or hawks, different doctors or a different body.

Author Lysa Terkeurst offers up this reminder in her book Forgiving What You Can't Forget:

When Jesus taught us what to pray each day, his first request was for daily bread. But isn't it true that bread took on many different forms in the Bible? Sometimes it looks like a loaf from the oven (Leviticus 2:4), other times like manna from heaven (Deuteronomy 8:3), or best of all like Jesus who declared himself as the bread of life (John 6:35) . . . All three are God's perfect provision. But with our human eyes, we could probably only recognize the loaf as good and most fitting, and what a tragedy that would be. We may be crying because nothing looks like a loaf while we have manna all around us, or even better, Jesus himself (160-161).

Are there things in our lives where we are butting up against God and his timing or his provision because it's not arriving in the manner or form we expect it to? Are we so busy looking for some other form of God's provision than what is right in front of us, even if it is unlovely or unwanted? 

We go looking for a loaf when he sends us manna. 

We go looking for eagles when he sends us vultures.

We go looking for some other person when he sends us Jesus Christ himself.

Let us not dismiss whatever God has placed before us as provision, no matter what season of life we find ourselves. May he cover us with his feathers and hide us in the shadow of his wings (Psalm 36:7), even as he sends us vultures by the dozens. What a tragedy it would be to be blind to his perfect provisions.