A Hawk Took Flight

A wedding is a special event, especially when you have
watched the relationship from the beginning as it grows
into a lifelong commitment. This wedding was one I was
not going to miss, even though it was halfway across the
country in a little town south of Winnipeg called Winkler,
Manitoba. I had barely enough gas money to get there, and
I didn't know how I was going to pay for the trip home, let
alone buy food for the journey, let alone pay my rent when
I returned, yet I was determined nonetheless not to miss
this beautiful occasion.

My financial difficulties were entirely of my own making. An aspiring musician with strong
ambition and limited capital, I had spent myself down to macaroni and cheese dinners in
order to complete my first CD, Storybook. The CD had got me into my mess, and I was
hoping that it could get me out of it too. So with no other idea of how I could get home, I
packed a box of them in the trunk of my car, grabbed a few muffins I had baked, gathered
some fruit and granola bars, prayed for the best, and headed to Winkler.

The road can be a lonely, slightly scary place if the destination is still a couple of days away,
you know you’re going to be sleeping on the side of it, and there’s no one to talk to but your
car. My car was a rickety old Suzuki Swift by the name of Zack. I had named him after
Zaccheus, the wee little man in the Bible. Zack was great on fuel, but had a tendency to rattle
whenever I drove over 100 kph, and a good stiff cross-breeze could easily send me into a
ditch. But as Zack and I travelled over the next couple of days, there was a strong feeling in
my heart that even though it seemed lonely and a little bit scary to be on this journey, I was
being carefully watched by someone who never slumbered or slept – by the same someone
who had called Zack’s namesake down from the tree so long ago.

My first evening of driving brought me to Kamloops, BC, and as the next afternoon wore on,
I was just on the other side of Calgary, Alberta. I was still hoping to hit Saskatchewan before
I took a break for the night. Along the left side of the road was a long fence that bordered a
large field. As I approached it, I saw a hawk that had been perched on a fencepost. The hawk
took off as I drove past, and flew directly over my car. For someone who lived in the
suburbs, it was a pretty spectacular sight, but I thought little more of it until it happened
again. I was approaching Medicine Hat, and once more I saw a hawk perched on the side of
the road. Once more, just as I was approaching, it took flight, and flew overtop of my car,
right in front of me.

When something unusual happens once, I might take note of it and file it away in the ‘hm,
interesting’ part of my brain. When the same thing happens twice, I begin to search for a
meaning, in case there is something I should know about. As I was thinking about this, a
verse from the Psalms popped into my head: “He will not let you stumble; the one who
watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or
sleeps.” In my heart I took the flight of those two hawks as a beautiful reminder that out on
the road, I was not alone. It was a reassuring moment, and my loneliness on the road was no
longer so profound.

The prairie sunset that night was beautiful beyond words. It seemed to go on for hours, as
the thin, wispy clouds overhead changed colour from white to grey to purple, orange, blue
and red. It was a tapestry of light like I had never seen before. My only regret was that I saw
most of it through my rear-view mirror, for my path lay to the east. The sun disappeared for
the evening, and the stars made their appearance, bright and spectacular across the whole
Saskatchewan sky. I slept on the side of the road by a small lake, my legs cramped up as I
twisted and turned in vain to get comfortable in Zack’s less-than-roomy interior. But my
heart was at peace. The next day was going to be a good one.

I woke up at the first light of the summer dawn, as a cool mist covered the lake that I had
found my rest beside. After finishing an apple and munching on a couple of the crumbling
muffins I had brought with me, Zack and I again pulled out onto the long, straight, lonely
highway.

A few hundred kilometres and a gas-station stop later, I noticed an unwelcome vehicle in the
distance ahead of me. It was a police cruiser. I’m pretty sure that police officers in
Saskatchewan have very little to deal with in the way of crime, so people from British
Columbia trying to get through their fine province as fast as possible are probably a good
source of revenue for the local law enforcement. Even though I wasn’t speeding, I was
nervous, and even though I slowed down more, I seemed to be steadily gaining on the
cruiser. I could little afford a ticket, so I slowed down even more. Still, the police logo
became more and more visible, until only a few car lengths lay between us. A few anxious
minutes and a few quick prayers later, a large SUV much more fancy than anything I could
ever dream of driving flew past in the opposite direction. To my great relief, the police
officer who had been my unwelcome travelling companion for the last several kilometres
did a U-turn and pursued the man or woman who could obviously afford a ticket much
more than I.

Only a moment later, I noticed a hawk perched up ahead on a telephone pole by the side of
the road. As I drove past, it took flight and cast its shadow across my car as it flew overhead.
Again I knew I was hiding in the shadow of the wings of my Father.

Later that day, I reached Manitoba, and though the landscape was becoming a little more
varied, the length of the drive was beginning to wear on me. I had only had one good meal
in the last 24 hours (a gift from my uncle and aunt in Calgary) and sleeping in a tiny car is
not the best way to rejuvenate the body. The directions I had pulled off of the Internet were
telling me that my turn was coming up – I had to take another highway to get from Highway
1 to Highway 2. Little did I know, this road wasn’t what anyone from B.C. would ever call a
highway. We would call this a logging road, except it was straight as an arrow, went on for
miles, and had nothing but farm land on either side of it. It was covered in loose gravel, and
the dust cloud behind me was probably visible from Medicine Hat.

I successfully navigated this road back to a paved one called Highway 2, but to my dismay
my directions again guided me onto a gravel road clearly labelled as a highway on the map,
but clearly not a highway in reality. The speed limit said I could go 80 kilometres an hour,
and in my impatience to get off this highway and arrive at my destination, this sounded like
a good idea. It wasn’t.

The gravel appeared to be quite fresh, and as I picked up a little speed going down a slight
incline, I discovered that driving a lightweight vehicle this quickly on loose gravel was a
recipe for disaster. At 80 kilometres an hour, Zack began to fishtail. I had barely enough time
to be afraid, and only just enough time to shout out loud, “Oh God, help me!” Zack and I
slid off the road sideways, spinning down a short, steep incline and sliding into a farmer’s
grain field. We continued to slide sideways at top speed, and I could feel the weight of the
car leaning onto the two passenger-side wheels as the momentum from our careless careen
down the road threatened to flip us over. Zack, leaned and tilted, but it slowed and stopped
before he had a chance to flip me on my head.

I took a deep breath of relief, thoroughly shaken from this experience, and not even ready to
be grateful to be alive yet. I was in the middle of Manitoba, miles from the nearest
farmhouse, impossibly far from cell-phone reception, and I was stuck in a ditch with a steep,
grass-covered incline between the road and where I was sitting. I got out of the car to start
walking, but I thought I’d better at least try to drive out on my own. I whispered another
prayer, started the car, put it in first gear, and drove my little front-wheel drive Suzuki Swift
out of the ditch and back onto the road. A few seconds after thinking I was going to die, I
was back on the gravel road with no bodily damage to myself or to Zack. That’s when the
weight of it hit me, and I started to cry.

I cried the way a person cries when they have a near-shave and make it. I cried out of
gratefulness for safety and embarrassment for putting myself in that dangerous position. I
cried, and as I cried I began to sing.

I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know he watches me
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know he watches me

Much more slowly and much more carefully, singing and wiping away tears, I drove around
a little curve and passed through a small wooded area. To my left, a hawk was sitting on a
tree. Just as I drove past, it took flight, and cast its shadow across the hood of my car as it
flew overhead.

This would be a fabulous place to end this story, but there is still a little bit more to tell. I
still had a wedding to attend and sing a song at. I still had to figure out how I was going to
get enough money to get home, and I still had to figure out how I was going to get to
Winkler without taking any more of those gravel roads. Fortunately, the one I had slid off
was the last gravel road I had to drive on, so I arrived in the small town a couple of hours
later without incident.

Though I had never been to Winkler before, there was a feels-like-home quality about the
place that was undeniable. After two days of being on the road, I came through the door of
Maranatha Church, and the first face I was greeted by was the excited and nervous
soon-to-be bride. I told her about my adventures along the way, and she patiently listened
as I joined the team that was decorating and preparing the sanctuary for the ceremony the
next day. I also told her of the stash of CDs that I had in my trunk; she had been anticipating
this, having played piano for two of Storybook’s tracks, and this would be her first
opportunity to hear it. She told me to get her copy so she could put it on the church sound
system while we worked. Less than an hour after my arrival, practically everyone that was
in the church had bought CDs and I had enough money to buy the gas to get home. By the
end of my trip, which was full of abundant food, laughter, hospitality, and profound
conversation, I had enough money for food and my next month’s rent as well. I went from
being down to my last dollar, to looking over my shoulder hoping that no nefarious
characters would notice the large bulge in my pocket.

The wedding was beautiful, and my stay in Winkler was full of hospitality, wonderful food,
great conversation, and restful sleep. After a Sunday morning church service with a potluck
lunch, my stay in Winkler ended. I returned to the road, this time heading west, with a much
different feeling in my heart. I felt safe and guarded by a hand much stronger than my own.
And twice more as I travelled home, I saw a hawk take flight.