The Dying Bird

For the last several weeks I’ve been seeing this poor hurt bird. His wings are damaged, broken. His feathers are ruffled and quite obviously many have either fallen out or been pulled out.

His eyes, although still clear, are sad. Sometimes he just closes them and shakes his head, as if trying to get certain images out of his mind. Images that he never thought he’d see, and hopes he’ll never have to see again.

He’s an old bird; he’s been around a long, long time. He’s seen way too much. Wars. Poverty. Depression. Hatred. But he’s also seen a lot of good things, things that have made him proud. And you can still see an occasional smile as he remembers them. He remembers soaring high above fields and mountains, rich with beauty, amazing colors, and clear skies. It was such a sight to behold.

The way things used to be.

But those good memories fade all too quickly as he continues to see more and more hatred. Division. Partisanship. Friends against friends, and neighbors against neighbors. People talking against each other instead of with each other. Threatening each other because they don’t see eye to eye.

His friends, once counted in the hundreds, are slowly deserting him. They see what’s going on, and they’re afraid whatever sickness he may have may infect them, too. So he becomes more and more alone.

And he realizes that unless something is done quickly…unless something changes…the life he once knew and enjoyed will be destroyed. And destroyed so totally that it cannot be rebuilt in any way that will resemble what it originally was.

The bird shakes his head sadly, closes his eyes, and lays his head down. And he cries.

He cries for what has been lost and will never be again. For innocence lost. For hope that’s rapidly fading.

And he wishes he could stop the disease that is spreading so quickly that it will eventually kill him, and everything he once believed in.

Suddenly he hears voices. And they’re speaking directly to him.

“Don’t worry, mighty bird. We’re going to fix those broken wings so that they’re both pointed in the same direction. Once again you’ll soar to amazing heights. You’ll feel wonderful again! We’ll make both wings the very same. They can point in the same direction so it’ll be easier to fly! You wait! You’re going to be better than ever!”

The bird thought about it for a moment. And then gave his answer.

“That sounds wonderful. I want so badly for both of my wings to be strong again. I want to be able to fly high again like I was meant to do. It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to do that. But there’s a problem.”

“A problem?” The voices answered. “How in the world can you see a problem? We’re going to fix your wings, and make them better than ever. Your life will be better, easier than ever! How’s that a problem!?”

The bird replied. “You see, your ideas are a bit flawed. Your hearts seem to be in the right places. But my wings aren’t designed to point in the same direction. They have to point in opposite directions in order for me to be able to fly correctly. They may appear to be in opposition to each other, but in reality they’re supposed to work together for one common goal. These wings are tired and hurting, because over the years they’ve decided they have to work against each other rather than with each other. They’ve started beating against each other so badly that my feathers are falling out. It’s exhausting, and I just don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“If these wings don’t find a way to start working together again, instead of against each other, this tired old Eagle is going to give up. I’ve been around a long time, you know, and I’m not ready to die, but in the shape I’m in right now, it could very well

happen. And sooner rather than later, unfortunately.”

The voices continued. “But we know so much better that if both wings did everything the same way, in the same direction, life would be so much easier on you. No more controversy. No more disagreements. Just peace and tranquillity”

“That will never happen,” said the bird. “I wasn’t designed like that. Both wings need to have their own direction, BUT they have to work together to a common goal, instead of fighting to have ultimate control over the other. And that’s just not happening right now. If both of these wings don’t start working together….well, I’m done for.”

And the Eagle closed his eyes again, folded his broken wings around him, and waited for someone to help him.

So who will step up to help this poor bird? Before his freedom, his spirit, is lost forever?

Maybe if more of us thought about the situation we’re in right now in this country in terms of a broken and dying Eagle, things would begin to change.

Think about it.

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