The Nature of Spring

I hate science. Well, “hate” is a rather strong word. I just don’t like it. It doesn’t interest me. The whole world functions as it ought and, one day, Christ will return again and it will all be destroyed. I could care less if Miami could one day be under water (which might be an improvement) or if the hundreds of bike lanes Pittsburgh insists are important are really cutting down on emissions and the concept people have of the “Steel City” being covered in smog (which they aren’t). And while the creativity and amazing pieces God has put in place so this whole universe does function are staggering, I usually stand in awe for a mere moment before turning back to the history book I was reading on the War Between the States. Because history is fascinating. Science not so much.

However, as a mom, I am trying. I truly don’t want my children growing up without knowing how food is grown, or what flowers are which (even if I need a Google search to help) or that a robin’s eggs are blue. Because God speaks through His creation. He shows Himself through His creation so that all men can know there is a Creator and, therefore, no man is without excuse. I want my children to know God the Creator. And springtime is certainly a good time to learn that.

So, if we’re out playing I try to point things out to them and answer their questions. I explained what the millions of “helicopters” they loved to toss into the air were and showed them the tiny trees they became, making our yard look like the start of a forest. Even though the ants are the bane of my life as they creep into my house, I try to explain their better attributes to Emry and Ethan. And they are forever fascinated with butterflies, worms, rolly-pollies and other harmless insects. This week we got a lesson in mama birds teaching their babies to fly.

I saw the baby bird (some sort of finch, I think) several hours before the kids came across it as they went outside after their naps. I had seen the mama bird, her beak full of a large crust of bread she had found, trying to coax the little one to fly up into the bushes. Baby bird was having nothing to do with that. In fact, most of the time he was wandering about completely ignoring his mother who sat up in the bush tweeting at him. The whole scenario reminded me of Ethan, tuning me out and going about his business as if I don’t even exist. I understood mama bird’s frustration.

After their naps, the kids discovered the baby bird playing in the flower beds in our front yard. Mama bird still sat in the bush. Still tweeted at the baby. Still held that apparently not so enticing crust of bread in her mouth. Aside from moving from the neighbor’s yard to ours, the baby bird had made no progress. Nor do I think he cared. The kids were fascinated. Even as I warned them not to get too close, lest mama bird got angry, they followed the baby about amazed that it didn’t fly away. I explained to them how the mama was trying to teach the baby to fly. How that’s the mama’s job and how the baby birds learn. It was hard to tell if Ethan heard me, but Emry certainly did and talked about it for days.

I was quite happy with the impromptu science lesson. Proud, even, that we could actually incorporate science into our daily routine. I sincerely hope mama bird can say the same in the flying lesson department. We haven’t seen the baby again, so I think she may have finally been successful. I only hope I can one day say the same about teaching my children science, but I have a feeling I may need a lot of help in that direction!