"Let the gratefulness overflow into blessing all around you. Then, it will be a really good day." Louie Schwartzberg
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A Morning-Song Chorus of Hope


posted by Susan Dominikovich on , ,

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The weekend.  Blessed Saturday.  The entire household was on the same page with regards to this morning...sleeping in.  No noise.  Get your own breakfast.  Mum and Dad are staying in bed.  Pyjama day for the children.  Mental health day for the adults.

One problem.  We were woken by a chorus.  I nearly threw the pillow over my head in frustration until I realised what the chorus was.

Birds.

A morning-song chorus of birds at dawn.  

In winter.

Our New Zealand birds don't really migrate in winter.  They don't have to.  Some of them do seem to disappear off to warmer climes but most hang around.  However, they certainly do get a lot quieter in winter.  Every spring I watch and listen for the tui to come back and regale us with their bell-whistle song while they feast on spring's abundance.  It warms my heart.  Their song beckons me to sing along with them to marvel at God's amazing plan.  Their song makes me hope.  Hope for warm sunshine on my face.  Hope for new things.  

And their song makes me believe.

That dead things spring to life once again.

But this morning there was no tui song.  And we are in the middle of a dead winter.  The tui are still away somewhere else, waiting for spring.  But there were other bird-songs slipping through the dawn of my sleepiness.

And I listened.

I heard the familiar warble of the magpies singing along with the chirping sparrows.  And other songs too that I wondered at because I realised I'd never heard them before.  Sweet little birds singing their own melody and oftentimes in harmony with the others.  It was magical and beautiful and I listened.

I listened.

And I hoped.

But then, as always happens when that first break of dawn is over and the birds get on with simply being birds, their song began to fade away.

No!  I shouted.  I'm still listening.  I need to hope!  Keep singing!

And then it was gone.  The morning-song of the birds had finished.

Back to the deadness of quiet gloomy winter.  Back to pyjamas day, staying in bed, mental health day.

Except, the song wasn't finished.  Not entirely.  One lone voice, one little sparrow somewhere in the shelter of the trees behind my house kept singing.  

Chirp.  It sang.  Chirp chirp.

Chirp.

Hope.  It sang.  Hope hope.

Hope.

Believe.

That dead things will spring back to life again.

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