Wendy’s for lunch yesterday. We’d been driving down Hwy 99 from Portland to Lincoln City. Sitting at the table Jon picked out, I sunk into the booth just about exhausted and ready for my baked potato and Diet Coke and sneaking spoonful’s of hubby’s Frosty.
That’s when I heard it. A tiny little voice. Half squeal. And the word Why. “Why do you always order a hamburger?” On and on the little one went. Voice tone tilted a notch high. Consistent. After a bit, I dared to turn around and see who this little bird was. A little boy, elbows on the table, food half eaten. An audience of possibly a dad or uncle and an older couple. Their response was in nods shoulder shrugs and droopy eyes.
As the bits of Frosty charged up my tried brain, I began to listen to the chirps. Why is the rain so soft today? Why did it take 5 minutes more to get here? Why. Why. Why. Why. And then I realized where the pitch came in.
It was the wonderment and curiosity and wanting to know. The urgency of discovering you have a question, and wanting to know. I started to register this poor little bird and recognize his call. He wasn’t hungry for fries, but for answers. Each question, a discovery of what he didn’t know.
Do you have a little curiosity bird in your house? Are you afraid to actually fan the flame of those questions? Do you live in a constant state of trying to make them go away?
My challenge today, for everyone who lives in the region of the curiosity bird, is to find one, listen to it’s call, and then really observe the strange little creature. Try to answer as many of it’s calls as you can.
Once those tiny questions are answered – he’ll start asking bigger ones. Or. He’ll stop without answers. I really wanted to turn around and have a chat with the poor little guy’s audience. But I’ll just chat with you instead.
And one day they will have a teen little bird and wonder why it quit squealing. Happy to have my little bird back!