He always sings.
Early in the morning hours,
before the sun rises over the trees,
he is there on the top of the pole,
singing his songs with his head directed towards Heaven.
He sings in the rain,
in the midst of the storm,
shakes off the droplets as the thunder passes into the distance,
and sings again
as the sun breaks through the clouds.
As the red and orange ball of fire
sinks slowly behind the pine trees
He finds the highest tip of a tree
where he can see the last rays of what we call day,
and sings his songs again . . .
And again. . .
He knows them all,
and he learned them well.
And each bird in the woods
has their own special lullaby
sung to them as they settle into darkness.
He used to irritate me.
But there came a time
when I needed a song sung into my soul.
A time when I had none of my own,
no notes on a score,
no words on a page,
I picked up my hymnbook,
and it was almost as if
Mr. Mockingbird had spoken to me ---
“Just pick one,
and sing it with all your heart,
like you mean it,
and don’t stop til you get it right,
til it turns your soul inside out.”
The old hymnbook fell open to
“My Jesus, I Love Thee, I know thou art Mine.”
And best I could, I sang.
Things change when the heart sings.
Songs heal wounds.
Hymns take us to the Cross.
They dry tears so we can see His face,
they lift us from the muck of self,
to the presence of the Father.
They remind us of who we are
and refresh a parched soul.
They find words we can’t seem to find
and whisper them into the ears of our beloved Lord. . .
And He sings them back to us in love,
and compassion . . .
only as He can sing.
And so today, I sing my gratitudes. . .
653. That you are my gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou.
654. That I love you because you first loved me.
655. That you purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
656. That you wore a crown of thorns on your brow for me.
657. That I will have eternity to adore you.
658. That a mansion awaits for me.
659. That I will sing for You with a crown on my brow.
660. That my song will be a love song, and like my bird, I’ll just keep singing it over and over and over. . . !Linking up with Ann VosKamp and so many others who continue to look for all the blessings in the moments of their days and are offering up their gratitudes: