Dead End Ducks
The Lord provided this life experience for us this day, along the road of my journey with Him, observing whatever He places along my path. Early in the mornings I take long power walks, for exercise as well as communion with Him. This is what I saw, spanning many days, over several walks:
There is a pond in the park where the Lord had placed me. But, this pond is not naturally occurring; it is manmade, and even has a cement bottom. There are a few sculptures in and around this pond, designed to make a collective statement; it is all for a beautifying showcase, placed in a central location, next to a venue for music events often held within the park.
As I passed by on my walks, I noticed a pair of ducks had come to the pond, and appeared to be making it like their home. But, I wondered at them, as they bobbed down to the bottom of the pond: what ever could they eat, being a cement bottom, with no real mud and all the naturally occurring food goodies mud might have for hungry ducks, if this were a natural pond? There were some small areas of silt buildup; but there couldn’t be much in the thin silt.
I came to this conclusion when one day, as I was passing by, watching the bobbing ducks, I noticed the park people doing their regular maintenance of chlorinating the water; the whole area smelled of a strong chlorine odor. I realized that by design of the park planners, whatever life that could have been in the pond sediments was routinely killed of by the chlorination process, to keep the pond water clear, and pristine in appearance. I also observed water jets in one section, outflowing the water, after obviously passing through a filtration system, discretely hidden from sight, maybe disguised as a tree or rock next to the pond. This system would then filter out any organic particles that might begin to develop in the water over the time intervals between chlorinations. It was completely obvious that there never was any provision for a food chain in this pond, by design.
But, the ducks, being simple creatures of God, had no idea of all these things planned out by those overseers of this beautiful park. All they could understand was that here was a pond; so there must be good food inside the water. I figured that one day soon they would come to their senses, getting hungrier by the day, and finally fly off to better waters, where real food could be found. Yet, I also noticed park users at times were at the pond, feeding the ducks pieces of bread; not the most healthy food for the ducks, but enough to keep them around.
One day as I passed by the pond, looking for the ducks, I stopped dead in my tracks: there were the two ducks, swimming along, with about a dozen little ducklings trailing along behind them. Not only were the parent ducks surely not getting enough good food to eat in this virtual underwater desert, but now they were intent upon raising a whole brood without the food available that is so necessary for healthy development and growth. I just could not believe what was happening to this now family of ducks, who truly did not understand any of their peril, by just being in this manmade pond. And nobody within the park staff seemed to be interested in doing anything about it, either.
So, from this moment on I was in daily conversation with he Lord, discussing what I was witnessing at the "dead duck" pond. After so many years walking with the Lord as His writer, I was no longer in any doubt; I had long before come to know our God as Mr. Jot and Tittle, for all the infinite detail He brings in the process. The only questions I had was what everything was that He wanted me to see, within this unfolding scene He was placing before me.
The next time I passed by the pond, there was the whole family out on the water, just coming out from under the bridge, where the nest was hidden. There was some commotion going on which had flushed them out of hiding, as maintenance workers labored to clean out excess debris from the water. As the workers did their jobs, one made a quick movement near the family, startling the adult ducks to flight, as only ducks can do. With a loud rush of splashing webbed feet and flapping wings, and much quacking thrown into the mix, the parent ducks accelerated quickly from the danger by near-flight walking on water. Having seen this before out in the wild, this was not real surprising to me; but what caught my attention was that the little ducklings were all in a line, right behind the parents, also walking across the water, little wings flapping as fast as they could. I was stunned how quickly they had learned to do such an amazing feat, and wondered if they could do so nearly from hatching? I had a bit of a smile as I continued along on my power walk with the Lord, considering what all these symbolic things could mean, all from His mighty hand, carefully placed there for me to see.
As I returned from my walk that day, passing by the pond again, all he workers were gone, having finished their routine cleaning. But, again the entire area smelled of chlorine, and I knew right away what had happened. As part of their cleaning operation they also sanitize the waters, by adding swimming pool chlorine. It was a strong odor, and I wondered how all this might affect the little ducklings, who only understood a natural environment, but were now caught up in this manmade situation, just trying to get going in their life as ducks. No question that all these unnatural sanitizing and cleaning operations made good food for proper growth very short in supply; and the toxic side of chlorine just could not be good for the tiny, developing little ducks. Clearly, this entire situation, though so cute in the eyes of all the passing park users, was not at all a healthy circumstance for this family, who just happened to land in the wrong pond from the start. I walked on, carrying a growing burden for the innocent little animals.
Each time I passed by the pond on my next power walks, I would anxiously look for the family, to check on how they were doing. But something was way wrong, because their numbers began to shrink. What began as easily over a dozen little ducklings was quickly dropping down in count, and within only a few days was less than half their original family size. I knew this area fairly well, and the terrible mongoose, a sure killer of such small, easy prey, was not seen this deep into the very public park; there just were no good spots for them to hide. But, then I remembered the feral cats, which come down from the slopes of the mountain next to the park each night, seeking food and water. Each night they patrolled the entire park grounds, searching or anything they might get their teeth and claws into. Feral cats were formerly domesticated; but having run away from their former homes, and out into the wild, they had themselves become completely wild again. It was obvious that the cats had found the nest hidden beneath the bridge. Apparently, night after night the cats would come, and collect yet another dinner meal of fresh little duckling; then day after day I would see one or two less small fry in the family. It was no easy thing to watch, for sure.
What bothered me the most was that the entire time the two parent ducks never knew what to do to get their family out of the serious and dangerous compromises of this manmade pond; they didn’t even appear to know the dangers actually existed. They had the wings necessary to fly off to another, better pond. All it would take would be for them to come to that understanding, and to take flight, leaving the danger zone. Instead, day after day their numbers fell, until finally there were only three of them left; the two parents, and a single duckling, not so little any more, having grown a bit through all the battling for life it had endured. I was quite convinced this poor little duck was not long for this world, and would never discover what true life as a duck was supposed to be. That pond was all his siblings ever knew; and anyone could see that this was not life at all: it was merely a death march.
Every time I would again pass by the pond, I would search for the lone little youth. At times I would find him nearby his parents. Other times he would be off on his own, trying to discover what might be discovered about life in a pond. A couple of times I would find myself believing the worst had come, that the cats had finally overcome the tenacious little fighter for life, only to finally spot the fuzzy little tuft off in the most distant recesses of the pond. It always relieved my heart so very much when I would finally find him, still alive. I cannot explain why I had become so intertwined with the battle for life this little duck was waging. Fortunately for him, he also was quickly outgrowing the small size that was so easy a prey for the cats. But even if the little guy did evade the cats until he became too big for them to attack, there still was the issue of malnutrition, and even toxic effects of heavy doses of chlorine on a regular basis. There really was no hope of a bright future in this pond; he had to escape that place eventually if he were ever to discover true life as a duck. The scraps of bread tossed to the ducks by park users was keeping them from starving to death, but it was not at all like natural food. I even worried that the ducks might be doing permanent damage to their duckbills, from scraping against the abrasive cement bottom; it couldn’t be good for them.
Every time I could not easily find the little guy, I would search the grounds around the nest to see if his feathers were lying around; and each time relief settled in as I realized that yet again that one little duck had survived still another night of attacks. Time after time He wound up swimming into view, somewhere in that pond, as he slowly grew in size, and was beginning to change into a young adult duck. He seemed to be very small, even so.
Then one day, when he could not easily be spotted, I again searched near the nest for "fowl play," and was again relieved to see no evidence of his demise the night before; but him I just could not find this time. For the next several days I passed by the pond; and sure enough, he was gone. Somehow, that one little duck had survived all odds; and just as importantly, he had finally escaped that dead end pond.
There are a couple of important things to observe about this story. For one, it was an actual event, which the Lord brought for me to see, and then to write up. Another important fact is that it is also quite symbolic in style, a style we learn to understand within the study series, The Promise Of The Resurrected Word. But, what is also so astounding about this seemingly insignificant event is God’s infinite power displayed through it, even down to tiny details. That is because it also perfectly displays, in this symbolic style, another, more important event that also actually occurred. Because, my friends, as good as it may be to care about the wildlife of this earth we live on, and even the earth itself, the real, main event in God’s eyes are His sons and daughters, their welfare, and that they might discover true life, which can only fully come in Him, provided for us by His own hand in His pure Word, now having been manifested before our eyes, as His Son.
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