Special guest essay by Debbi Atwood Sexton and original artwork by Dawn Rosengren.
This world is a strange place… pandemics, stock market crashes, tornadoes, floods, drought, and famine in our news’ feed every second on every channel and every social media outlet. And I long for eternity more than ever!
For the past five years, Old Man Winter has taken up residency in my soul. I have only experienced a smidgen here and there of other seasons. I have accepted that my light-hearted, care-free days are behind me.
My piano and my voice are dusty. Even though I’ve made attempts at rekindling my love of playing and singing, I’ve worried that the flame has been smothered.
The rain stopped this morning, so I took an afternoon walk in the country where I live. It took a few minutes for my senses to kick in. When they did, I was encouraged as I listened to all the beautiful singing from the birds. As I continued my walk and began to pay closer attention, I heard a frog croaking out a tune, accompanied by the buzz of nearby bees.
For the first time in a while, my heart felt lighter. As I thought about God’s gifts to me, I allowed tears of joy and gratitude to spill over. I think He told the birds that I would be coming down the road so they could warm up their vocal cords.
I was reminded of some things on my walk… that I, too, was made to sing for Him, that He sees me and He grieves with me. Maybe that’s what my heart needed to remember so spring could move in.
When I consider the care that even the birds receive from the Father, I am overwhelmed with hope and filled with the love for my Maker.
How can I keep from singing?
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