Birds are chirping as I sit in my home office, staring at the Blogger template. It is quite early, just past 5:30 a.m. CST. This same family of birds begins to sing, discuss, pontificate, elaborate, etc., about 4:30-ish on most mornings. Often I hear them quite well, which all but eradicates the need for an alarm clock.
All is quiet, except for the song of the birds. I would not know how to hush their melodies even if I had such ambition. Given the large cluster of trees lining my yard, I am not sure if I would even know where to look for the particular culprits.
In the silence, their song continues.
No blog-worthy ideas or concepts or even rants are coagulating for me at the moment. My mind is almost a blank slate or a sponge, open to whatever it needs to receive. The birds continue to improvise Shakespeare or impersonate Larry King or pretend they are in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.
The Psalms are loaded with references of imperfect people singing out to God in the midst of a full range of emotions. There is a strong indication that God places the song in the hearts of such beggars turned believers, and that the song continues in all seasons. It even permeates the silences of our moments and the dark nights of our souls.
"I was born to sing for you," Bono pours out in the cut "Magnificent" on the new U2 album. (Yes, second consecutive blog reference to No Line on the Horizon.) "I didn't have a choice/But to lift you up/And sing whatever song you wanted me to," the singer continues.
The song will have its way from within us, for it is a divine melody that cannot be hushed or located. I might close off my ears, heart and mind to its lyrics from time to time; but in the stillness it continues, and when I do respond I continue to be transformed into the image of the Singer.