My Sign from God

            I’m not sure exactly when the heron became something of a “spirit animal” for me (and I’m not even sure that’s the right phrase), but somewhere along the way, I began to experience the appearance of a heron as a little nudge from God…a quiet reassurance that whatever I was worrying about, wondering about, or hoping for was somehow going to be okay.

            Years ago, when my son was applying to schools, we were walking across the campus at Williston. Like any parent, I was wondering: Would he get in? Would this be the right place for him? Would he be happy here? And then I saw a heron standing beside on the edge of a small pool on campus. I can’t explain it rationally, and I’m not particularly interested in trying, but in that moment I simply knew: Billy was going to be accepted, and this was going to be a good place for him.

            Years later, the heron came again. It was exactly one year to the day after I purchased my little camp on the lake in Rindge, New Hampshire…a place that had quickly become incredibly precious to me…but I was concerned. My father’s needs were increasing, and I knew there was a very real possibility that he might need to move into a more skilled nursing facility which he desperately did not want. As a result, I was beginning to wonder what it might mean financially for me. Could I afford to keep this place I loved? Would I need to mortgage it or sell it?

            That day, the weather was miserable. The rain was coming down in sheets but there, on the swim raft directly outside my window, appeared a heron.  He (or she?) stayed there for nearly half an hour, almost seeming to be sure that I spotted him.  H didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the rain, sitting there peacefully while a storm came down around him.  And the moment I saw him, somewhere deep inside, I felt that familiar reassurance: Everything is going to work out.

            Four days later, my father died suddenly. It certainly wasn’t the “everything will work out” I had imagined or hoped for. I would have chosen more time with him, but remarkably, my father received the thing he had wanted so deeply: he never had to make that last move. And I never had to mortgage or sell the little home on the lake that I had come to love.

            I’ve thought about that heron many times since.  And I’ve seen herons in many other important moments.  I don’t believe God sends herons as fortune-tellers and I don’t think they promise that life will unfold according to my plans. Faith has taught me far too much about loss and uncertainty to believe that. But perhaps God sometimes uses the ordinary things of this world to remind us of something extraordinary.

            And so whenever a heron appears, I pay attention because somewhere along the way, the heron became my reminder that God is near and that sometimes reassurance of God’s presence looks like a long-legged bird standing perfectly still while the rain pours down. 

Journeying together in faith and love,

Rev. Candi