The Birds Still Sing
I forget during the quiet of winter that the birds will sing and the flowers will bloom. After months of winter, signs of new life are emerging everywhere. If you live where spring has sprung, it’s hard to miss the display. I am always fascinated by the unfolding of new life. How is it that one day the birds are quiet, the trees barren and the flowers non-existent, and the next day, color and sound awaken. The arrival of spring always surprises me.
It’s hard to remember the prospect of spring in the midst of winter. Gray days give way to more gray days and the cold, damp season seems endless. The birds and the flowers don’t seem to mind, though. An unknown length of winter days doesn’t impact whether the birds will sing come spring. They just wait patiently. And whether the groundhog sees it’s shadow or not, and whether winter is set to last longer than I would like, appears trivial to the flowers. They are still set to bloom come spring.
I feel like we are in a “winter” of sorts right now, dark and gloomy, with plenty of uncertainties. Each day presents new challenges and questions about the future. More unknowns than I care for. Some winter seasons are more unpredictable, but winter happens to be the season that always ushers in the spring.
This morning, it’s dark and foggy, but the birds are full of song like a church choir. Maybe they know a thing or two about praising in the midst of the storm. And when the sun peeks over the horizon and brings light into the darkness, I’m going to look signs of spring. The flowers are set to bloom!
But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: for thou hast been my defense and refuge in the day of my trouble. Unto thee, O my strength, will I sing: for God is my defense, and the God of my mercy.
Psalm 57:16-17
God is good! Happy Spring.
I have been thinking similar thoughts this past week. This is our faith – death leads to new life. We can’t see where the life is going to come from but it always arrives. I went for a hike yesterday and took pictures of all the little flowers pushing through the brown leaves and the blossoms on the bare limbs. New life will emerge and we have no idea how beautiful it will be. Enjoy the birdsong!
You blog reminded me of a poem that a priest shared with me on retreat one time called God’s Grandeur. I have kept it close to my heart ever since.
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.
I love this reflection! We were hiking yesterday and you could see the light green beginning in the highest trees of the canopy. I thought, nature just keeps marching to His rhythm, completely unaffected by the goings on in the world. May I grow to be more like nature. Stretching tall towards Him and continuing to march to His rhythm:-) So Happy you are writing again❤️
Your blog reminded me of this poem called God’s Grandeur written by Gerard Manley Hopkins way back in the 19th century. I have kept it close to my heart.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs–
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
I hear the birds singing…thank you!!!