The Barred Owl

Listen: “Fall Afresh” by Vineyard Worship feat. Samuel Lane

Several years ago, I was awakened in the middle of the night with the sound of a crash against my house. It sounded like someone was trying to break into my house. I immediately thought about protecting myself from an intruder, but I didn’t have a gun, a baseball bat, or even a knife in my bedroom. I crept quietly around my house, listening carefully for sounds of an intruder. I checked the front door, the garage door, and the basement door—no signs of a break in or an intruder.

I was puzzled. “What the heck hit the house and made such a loud noise?” I decided to look out the windows before going outside to check around the house. As I gazed out the sidelights of my front door, I noticed something on my front porch. An owl was lying motionless on my front porch.

I immediately realized the owl had flown into my front glass storm door and either killed itself, broke its neck, or knocked itself out. I instantly wanted to go outside and see if it was still alive, but on second thought decided I better wait to see if it revived on its own. If I went outside and tried to touch it or assist it if it was still alive, I thought I might startle it to such an extent that it would potentially injure itself worse.

So I just waited and watched the owl through the sidelights of my front door. It was about three feet away from me lying motionless on the front porch. As I watched it, I started praying for it to revive. I know. That might sound silly to some of you, but I love owls. I love birds. Back in the 1980’s while I was attending Baylor University, the intramural sports director had gotten me interested in birdwatching. I started going birdwatching with him, started learning my Texas birds, and even started listening to bird songs so I could identify birds by their song.

I had continued this hobby throughout my life. My house backed up to some woods and a creek, so I had identified all the birds which had ever appeared in my backyard over the years, even down to the different types of sparrows. This was definitely an owl, but I wasn’t sure what kind of owl.

As I prayed and watched, the owl started to move. I was so hopeful. Maybe it would live. I was praying that a wild fox or bobcat wouldn’t find a tasty meal.

After another moment, the owl stood up. You could tell it was dazed. It didn’t know what happened, where it was located, or what to do. It just stood there trying to regain its bearings. I started to speak to it softly through the glass. “Hey Mr. Owl. How are you feeling? You must have a massive headache or neck-ache or both. I’m praying for you.”

As I spoke to it, it moved closer to the glass as though it were trying to see who was speaking to it. I was sitting on the floor as I spoke to it, so we were literally inches apart now, staring into each other’s eyes. It was a barred owl—big, beautiful, brown eyes. I’d never been so close to such a beautiful bird. As we stared at each other, a song came to my mind. It’s a song written by an acquaintance of mine, Jeremy Riddle. I first heard this song when another acquaintance of mine, Samuel Lane, covered the song on his 2013 album “The Fire.” I love Samuel Lane’s cover.

I started singing this song to the barred owl as we stared into each other’s eyes just inches apart:

Awaken my soul, come awake

To hunger, to seek, to thirst

Awaken first love, come awake

And do as You did, at first

Spirit of the living God come fall afresh on me

Come wake me from my sleep

Blow through the caverns of my soul

Pour in me to overflow

To overflow

As I sang these words over and over again, I had no inkling of what lay ahead for my life. At the time when this incident occurred, I was pastoring a rapidly growing megachurch which I had started in 1990 with five people. In my mid fifties, I was thinking of my next fifteen years of ministry and how I might continue to pastor the church faithfully and finish well. I had no clue I was headed for a three-quarter life crises that would come close to snuffing out my life.

After this incident happened with the owl, I shared this story with my church in a weekend message. Someone in the church (please identify yourself if you read this) purchased a Limited Edition painting by Paul Vincenti entitled “Barred Owl.” I have the painting in my office today. It reminds me of this beautiful moment I had with the barred owl.

You see, as I sang to the barred owl, it stared into my eyes through the glass as though it were absorbing my words. Maybe it was comforted by feeling the sound vibrations through the glass. I’m not a great singer, but the barred owl didn’t seem to mind. I felt as though I were locked in a trance or a spell while I sang. It was a mystical experience—a union of living spirits.

Time suspended. I sang the words over and over again. Then, as though an internal awakening clicked off inside the barred owl, it turned, took two hops, and then flew across the street and landed on the roof of my neighbor’s house. It sat atop the house for about twenty minutes and then flew off.

As I write this blog looking at the painting of the barred owl, I realize I have quite a bit in common with that barred owl. It’s as though I was given an advanced sign. A sign of hope. A sign of recovery. I am thankful for all who are on this journey of creative recovery with me. I think we all need people to pray for us and to sing over us, especially when we’re “down and out for the count.” Thank you for reading, commenting, supporting, praying, and singing. We need each other.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022