“Come quickly! You’ve got to see this!”

The call to assemble reverberated across Agua Viva, our mission center in Santa Ana, Honduras. Campus-wide declarations are normally reserved for emergencies, to announce that fresh guacamole is being served, and to declare the flushing of a toilet when showers are in use.

Not wanting to miss out, I grabbed my cup of coffee and moved quickly down the sidewalk toward the voice of Tim Hines, our team leader.

“Look up there! In the tree. Toward the top. It’s a macaw!”

I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure what a macaw was. My first instinct was that this might be a pet nickname for one of Tim’s young grandsons, who are adept at climbing obstacles and swimming in mudholes. To find, say, Asher at the top of a tree would be more troubling than surprising.

As we gathered near the base of a large tree near hammock central, aka “the boat,” Tim directed our attention upward, like any good missionary should.

“Right there, through the gap in the branches! See the red, yellow, and blue? That’s a macaw!”

Sure enough, through a gap in the branches, perched high in the tree, the most colorful bird in the world came into view.

I was so excited; tears ran down my leg. I hadn’t felt this thrilled since the birth of my sons or the release of the Salomon XA PRO 3D v8 GORE-TEX trail running shoes. This was a magical moment in a faraway place, like something out of the Myst video game. Several of us retrieved our cell phones and jockeyed for position to get the best angle on this, the largest of about 350 species of parrots.

“I’ve been coming here for 15 years,” Tim declared. “And I’ve never seen a macaw in the wild. What a treat! Did you know that thing has the bite strength of 500 to 700 pounds per square inch, like a large dog bite?”

“I did not know that” I replied, as I strained my neck and took rapid-fired pictures. “The last time I saw one of these was on a Froot Loops box.”

“No, that’s a toucan,” someone interjected.

“Right.”

We stood there for several minutes, gawking at the 3-foot-long bird, waiting for it to flap its wings, or shed a bright red feather or belt a mating cry. Instead, it was content to perch quietly, taking in the coolness of our mile-high altitude at dusk.

The macaw was, of course, all the talk at dinner. The trip brochure promised house-building and other mission work, but no macaw-sightings. We had just experienced something mystical and magical—something special. A treat.

And then, the next day, Tim had to go and ruin everything.

As we assembled for the evening devotional, he informed us that our favorite bird—the magnificent, mystical creature—wasn’t wild after all.

“Our neighbor, up mountain, is the town mayor. Turns out the macaw is his elderly mother-in-law’s pet.”

Our hearts sank. 

“She said it was overdue in having its wings clipped and got out.”

Devastating.

“She sent a laborer over this afternoon with a frying pan to retrieve it.”

In Honduras, there are basically two classes of people: those who own expensive, exotic birds as pets and those who are tasked to climb trees and retrieve them when they escape.

“Does the bird have a name?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. The young man went halfway up the tree, banged on the frying pan, and shouted, ‘Comida! Comida!’” (which means food or meal in Spanish)

I sighed and shook my head. Our beautiful, mystical moment had been reduced to an attempted capture of a soon-to-be clipped bird named Comida.

“Was he able to capture it?” I asked.

“Almost,” Tim answered. “The bird approached the frying pan, about halfway up the tree. But just as the man started to take hold of it, it took off flying. As far as I know, it’s still a free bird.”

Back home in Tennessee today, I don’t know Comida’s status or whereabouts. I don’t want to know. I’m afraid to know.

My hope is for something magical and mystical—something special. I hope she is free and unclipped, perched high in a tree. I hope other missionaries can view her in all her glory and be reminded that our creative God spent a little more time on this creature… not because He had to, but for us to enjoy.

And I hope, in the middle of the night, only the nearby fireflies can hear Comida, as she softly coos…

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now
‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see

If I stay here forever
They’ll grab my wings and rearrange
But I’m as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change

Fly high, Comida, fly high!