Groggily I opened my eyes. It was dark. What time is it? I wondered. My phone screen lit up as I lifted it from the bedside table. 5:30 a.m.

“How is your bird list?” texted my nephew cheerily from the other side of the world.

I flopped back on my pillow and reflected. My bird list? Wow! I hadn’t thought of my bird list in a long time. I had allowed the busyness of serving others to squeeze out a lot of important things. Birdwatching, my favorite hobby, was just one of them. When had my life gotten so out of balance?

Thinking of my nephew, I recalled how he set birding records even while he was in medical school. Although he studied hard, he always managed to balance bookwork with time out in nature. His example, I decided, was worth following. I jumped out of bed, pulled on some old jeans and grabbed my bird book and binoculars that stood ready beside the front door.

Thirty minutes later I parked near a Buddhist temple that stands near one of the few remaining wetlands in this area. Spreading out toward the sunrise were acres and acres of pink waterlilies interspersed with tall reeds and cattails. The beauty and peace of the moment was a balm to my city-weary soul.

Breathing deeply of the fresh air, I made my way along the shore to a trail that led out into the wetland. Dragonflies darted back and forth, and I spotted a big green frog sitting on a lily pad. Common mynas called loudly from the top of the temple, and several black-and-white Malaysian pied-fantails sang their bubbly songs from the nearby trees. Then a new bird caught my eye—a yellow bittern. When I first spotted him, he was perched in a bunch of reeds, his long beak turning back and forth as he inspected his surroundings. For about five minutes I stood motionless, observing him through my binoculars. It wasn’t until I shifted my weight from one foot to the other that he realized he was being watched. Instantly he pointed his beak up toward the sky—typical bittern behavior. The brown streaks on his buff-colored throat blended with his surroundings, making him seem to disappear. Had I not been watching closely, I might have thought he had darted away. But he was still there, standing motionless, looking heavenward.

As I drove back home, I reflected on the wonders of nature, God’s second book. I was particularly impressed by the lesson I had learned that morning from the yellow bittern. “Lord, when I’m overwhelmed by life and faced with fears, help me to instinctively look up and keep looking to You until the danger passes.”

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