By Rev. Pete Hyde
Breathing heavily between sets in my weight routine, I stand at the second-story window of the gym looking out across the bay, stirred by a steady summer breeze on a hot, humid, normal summer day in Florida. My thoughts kind of wander from here to there as I try to catch my breath for a few minutes.
Movement in the sky catches my eye. A lone osprey with wings outstretched is circling in the updraft of the five-story hotel. Seemingly without moving a muscle and certainly without moving a feather, the graceful bird heads out over the open water in its relentless hunt for tonight’s dinner for the family that will likely include a couple of young chicks back at the nest. Its circle grows tighter as it almost hovers fifty or sixty feet above the surface of the brackish water. In an instant, wings are tucked back. Head is pointed to the water. With increasing speed, it heads toward the water like a dive bomber on its final run. Just before reaching the surface, wings are pulled back, legs and talons are extended to break the fall, and it soars back into the sky. Another one gets away. The majestic wings spread again as the routine starts over. What looks like lazy circles in the sky are an intense, unchanging work for survival for the osprey and its family.
In a moment, a second osprey appears and begins to circle in tandem with its mate just a few yards further out over the bay. Their soaring circles interlock as if they could hear heavenly music guiding the aerial ballet. If I were outside, I would be able to hear them calling to each other. But the dance is not for the enjoyment of the ospreys. It is vital work that dictates whether they and their young ones will eat tonight. In what seems like random dives, the two ospreys, who mate for life and return to the same nest each year to raise their young, dive toward the surface. Sometimes they pull out of the dive and other times they hit the surface of the water with a splash. Each time they come up empty-handed.
I found myself rooting for them. I forgot my weight routine and became oblivious to those around me. One more dive. Come on, you can do it. I was about to return to my world when one of the ospreys started another dive. It hit the shallow water at full speed, creating a splash and spray that any ten-year-old cannon baller would have been proud of. There was a moment when it seemed to rest on the top of the water. Mighty wings stretched out and shook a little water off. Then, with mighty strokes, it struggled to lift off carrying a large fish. Its mate joined it as they headed across the bay with dinner in hand. I almost cheered out loud.
I reluctantly return to the weight machines, pushing against the stacks of metal weights. God had not only touched me with a graceful and beautiful snapshot of his wondrous creation, but he had also given me a lesson.
All our lives, we toil and work and many times struggle as we strive to survive this thing called life. We spend hours circling and searching – sometimes gracefully and sometimes not. We come up short and empty-handed as we dive into life and all that it tempts us with. Over and over, we try. Some give up after a while. Others are persistent and persevere and give it one more try. While we try and try, others come alongside us to call out encouragement and to be with us in the struggle. In God’s time, the reward will come. When everything fits into His plan and schedule the dive into life will be successful, and we will be able to carry that blessing to share with everyone. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…My chains are gone. I’ve been set free. My God my Savior has ransomed me.”
I push a little harder on the weights. My muscles ache. My soul offers praise.
Push hard, my friends. God will bless your pushing. Dive fast, my friends. God will reward your diving.
Rev. Pete Hyde serves as chaplain with the South Walton Fire District.
Author: Sowal Editor
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