Through Stained Glass: Feather

I found a feather today.

It came floating by as the winds whipped through the trees.

I’m curious about this feather for it is along, white that fades gray and then black. Feathers fascinate me, so I google the anatomy of the feather.

Just like I would in Mrs. Somogyi’s science class, I got overwhelmed with all the information. Still, re-learning words like afterfeather, quill, downy barbs, and rachis, I find myself intrigued—even more!

I keep reading. I pretend I’m researching. I rediscover the beauty of birds.

Did you know as there are different types of hair on furred animals, birds have different kinds of feathers, each having a particular function?

The feather I found is big. I keep reading, wanting to know what the length means—come to find out, it is a flight feather. 

The feather I found, I believe, is part of the tertiaries group. They are the feathers closest to the body.

At this point, my research gets good. Or, as Marty McFly would say, ‘Heavy.’ But not in a downy way.

The feather I found is the result of growth. Did you know, “Like hair, feathers develop in a specialized area in the skin called a follicle? As a new feather develops, it has an artery and vein that extends up through the shaft and nourishes the feather.” From there, the feather keeps growing, developing, which includes a lot of blood moving through the feather. It sounds scary, intense, and fragile. Yet, no matter how it feels for the bird, it is all necessary for its life and ability to fly.

As a theologian, here is my favorite part about birds and their feathers. Periodically birds will undergo molting—that is, the replacement of feathers by shedding old feathers while producing new ones. Factors like the change in daylight can trigger a bird to molt. Essentially, a bird molts because it needs new feathers to fly.

The losing of feathers for new ones to grow, which is the very definition of change, is essential for the livelihood of birds. The feather I found is a sign that one of our winged friends of the sky underwent a transformation and was able to fly high because of it.

I found a feather today. I am curious about the feathers I find. How did it get here? What happened to the bird? Why this feather and not that feather? My curiosity leads to a better understanding of the molting process for birds. The curiosity didn’t end with the bird, though. I find myself asking while holding the thing of hope, “What do I need to molt to fly? How am I responding to growth that may not be very comfortable? Why do I resist this change?”

One last thing about the feather I found.

Though this isn’t the feather from a hen, it brought the image of one to mind. As the shade trees swayed, the garbage cans rattled, and the shutters slammed, I was reminded of how in times of trouble, in the hours of uncertainty, and amid darkness, God longs to, desires to gather God’s children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.

The feather I found reminded me that even as we molt, God keeps watch so that we may know the freedom that comes when we let go of the old to experience the new.