The Promise in Her Eyes

The quiet strength of a tiny messenger

As I was preparing this month’s reflections, I found myself remembering an experience from several years ago.

It was during the remarkable Saharan dust storm that carried mineral-rich dust thousands of miles across the Atlantic, painting our skies in soft shades of gold and rose.I had just returned from my morning walk, still carrying the quiet wonder of a sky transformed by Saharan dust. The world felt hushed, inviting me to linger a little longer before stepping back into the rhythm of the day.

As I walked up the driveway, I noticed a tiny shape fluttering among the stones. At first, I thought it was an injured moth, as I drew closer, I realized it was a young hummingbird.

One of her wings hung awkwardly at her side. She would flutter for a moment, then lie perfectly still. I found myself wondering if she was dying.

I felt a deep ache within my heart, for hummingbirds have long held a special place in my life.

Years ago, while contemplating the direction of my work, a hummingbird hovered outside my window, looking directly at me. The next day she returned again while I sat quietly on my porch. Until then, I had rarely noticed hummingbirds, yet these encounters felt different—as though they carried an invitation to pay attention.

As I learned more about their symbolism, I discovered that many traditions associate hummingbirds with healing light and endurance and resilience over long journeys. That season eventually led me to explore light therapy, beginning with my first Bioptron light, and in many ways helped shape the path that would become Restoring Light.

Now, years later, another hummingbird had found her way into my life.

I gently lifted her into my hands. Looking into her tiny eyes, I did not see a bird ready to surrender. I saw a quiet determination— a fierce little spirit that still wanted to live.

Holding her gently in my hands, I simply wanted to help. I spoke to her softly, offering a quiet prayer that she might find the strength she needed. Then I brought her into my healing room for a few peaceful moments and shared with her the gentle tones of my 528 Hz tuning fork—a frequency I often turn to when seeking calm, comfort, and restoration.

Returning outside, I placed her beneath my butterfly bush.

It seemed like a fitting place to rest. Butterflies have always reminded me of transformation and the quiet mystery of life’s continual unfolding. If this little hummingbird was nearing the end of her journey, it felt like a beautiful place to spend her final moments.

She remained completely still as I walked away.

A short while later, my husband checked on her. Believing she was dying, he gently moved her to the shelter of a nearby woodpile where she would be protected from the heat and from passing predators.

About half an hour later, I felt the urge to visit her one last time.

I carried a few blossoms from the butterfly bush, thinking that if she had died, I would bury them with her. But when I reached the woodpile... she was gone. The little hummingbird had rested, gathered her strength, and flown away.

The following day, a book I had recently ordered arrived in the mail—Animal Speak by Ted Andrews. As I turned its pages, I discovered something I hadn’t known. Hummingbirds can enter a remarkable state called torpor. During times of stress, cold, or exhaustion, they dramatically slow their metabolism, becoming so still they can appear lifeless. This is how they move into restoration.

I have often thought about that little bird over the years. How quickly we mistake stillness for defeat. How often we assume that what appears to be an ending is simply a life gathering its strength for what comes next.

Nature has a way of reminding us that healing is rarely hurried.

Sometimes wisdom asks us to move forward with courage.

And sometimes...

it simply asks us to rest deeply enough to fly again.

As I reflect back to the morning I met the little hummingbird, I had been out walking beneath skies transformed by one of the largest Saharan dust events in decades.

An astonishing 180 million tons of mineral-rich dust had been lifted nearly 20,000 feet into the atmosphere and carried almost 5,000 miles across the Atlantic Ocean. Scientists describe these great plumes as part of the Earth’s natural cycles, carrying minerals that nourish distant ecosystems, including the Amazon rainforest and the Atlantic Ocean.

One article described it as “a billowing ribbon of life-giving minerals.”

I loved that description.

There was something deeply humbling about imagining tiny particles of ancient desert soil being carried thousands of miles on the wind, quietly nourishing distant lands. It was a gentle reminder that nature has always been tending to the earth in ways we are only beginning to understand.

As I reflected on this remarkable journey of dust carried on the wind, my imagination wandered back in time. I found myself wondering how our ancestors might have understood such a sky. Perhaps they would have told a story like this...

Long ago, when people still listened to the earth and remembered that they belonged to it, stories were shared to help explain the mysteries of the world.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky in shades of amber and rose, a young boy sat beside his grandfather, watching the colors deepen across the horizon.

After a long silence he asked,

“Grandfather, why has the sky become so vibrant?”

The old man smiled, his eyes never leaving the fading light.

“Let me tell you a story.”

“There was a time when people forgot they were caretakers of the earth. They became so busy with their own lives that they no longer noticed the rivers, the forests, or the soil beneath their feet. The land grew weary, and the people, though they did not yet understand why, felt that same weariness within themselves.

Seeing this, they lifted their hearts in prayer and asked the Creator to help restore what had been forgotten. The Creator heard their prayers.

He reached down into the ancient Sahara Desert and gathered a handful of its sun-warmed earth. Calling to the wind, He said, ‘Carry these gifts wherever they are needed. Scatter them upon the waters, the forests, and the fields. Let the earth remember its own abundance once again.’

The wind gladly accepted the task.

It lifted the ancient dust high into the sky and carried it across mountains and seas, releasing it little by little upon the waiting earth.

As the dust drifted through the heavens, it softened the light of the sun, painting the sky with colors more beautiful than anyone had ever seen.

The people looked upward in wonder. Some admired the colors and simply continued on their way. But others grew quiet. They understood that the beauty was more than a beautiful sky. It was a reminder that the Creator had heard their prayers.

The earth was being nourished. And those who had eyes to see remembered that healing often arrives quietly, carried on the wind, long before we recognize the gift.

The grandfather fell silent.

The boy continued to watch the glowing sky until the first stars appeared overhead.

Years later, whenever the evening sky shimmered with unexpected color, he would remember the old story. And he would wonder...

 

What quiet gifts might we discover if we simply paused long enough to notice them?

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Photos by Valerie Greguire. Artwork by Valerie Greguire, created with AI assistance