Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Robins & Rainstorms

It's been a long while since I've posted anything to this blog.  I thought maybe I would reawaken it, but not as it was before.  It will be more of a personal journal for my thoughts, and not a show recap.  Life has changed since we last spoke. It's been good, and difficult, and weathering.  I've grown, as I'm sure you have as well.  It's spring again, and the hills of Kentucky are rolling in new life.  We've had lots of rain lately which is typical for Spring.  It's what makes all of those blue-grassy knolls so glorious and lush. I welcome rainy days when I'm lost in thought.  There's something about the rhythm on the rooftops that soothes the constant stream of thoughts rushing around my mind.  This morning, the rains were heavier than normal, and I noticed a robin out of my office window. She stood there in the midst of the storm sheltering herself under a bench.  She stood there waiting for the storm to pass, and I watched.  Her sweet silhouette was still and beautiful against the stormy sky.  I've felt like her often over the past few years.  Still.. and small.  Hardly noticeable in the swirl around me.  Yet, I noticed her.  Actually, I always seem to notice.  My attention is captured by small birds, especially sparrows.  Perhaps, because God promised that He too notices.  Nothing escapes Him, and that fascinates me.  He's endless propensity toward kindness; He constantly chooses to love even when everyone would understand if He chose not to.  Robins and sparrows may not attract much attention from the crowds, but small as they may be I love that He uses them in my life to remind me that while I huddle in the storm He notices my still, small silhouette amid the chaos and He extends grace.

Lately I've wrestled with wonderings about the impact of my voice.  Will it matter? Can I etch a mark upon time that will impact a generation to come?  Does my voice even register above the thundering of the crowd? I've grown silent in the struggle to curate my thoughts. Yet, amid so many restless nights I've come to appreciate that Spring brings back the small voice of the sparrow, the robin, and the cooing of the turtledove.  Voices that most probably sleep through in those hours before dawn; yet to me, they bring the hope of morning and the promise of a sunrise. Hope can conquer fear, and one small voice singing alone in the dark can erase the horror of the unknown that hides in the shadows.  Hope is what makes faith possible.  It is the joyful anticipation of good.  It is a song in the twilight hours declaring that dawn is on the horizon.  Be silent no more, little one.  You never know who will be most impacted by your song or find inspiration in your silhouette standing strong in the middle of the storm.