A Bird and A Clock

It's the ticking of clock
That echoes through the house
And it's the singing of the birds
That echoes through the night.

Hand in hand they sound together
But one fades away and the other
Stays and stays.

How transient the bird seems, for it
Flits to and fro, sometimes coming back
  And sometimes never here;
And yet the steady clock ticks on and on,
Steady, consistent, no variation or shadow of change.

The clock echoes through an empty house,
Leaving a mark cold and quite unfeeling,
But the bird, oh the bird-
It flits into the sunset, lights on wires
And sings its song over again for me.

Day after day it lives,
Flying where it has never been before,
And God takes note of a sparrow,
While a clock is but a tool that does not live.

So what's my point, you ask?
Well, I was just thinking, it's
So much better to live alive,
Actually sing and fly and breathe,
Than be a stiff echo that never changes,
Never feels, never hears, never sees.

So what, may I ask, are you?
I choose to be a bird.
I choose to live alive, and free.
I choose to sing.

Freedom for the Oppressed

I found a verse today in the Psalms. Chapter 9, actually, for the 9th of April. Psalms 9:9-10, it says: "The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. And those who know Your name put their trust in You, for You, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek You."

How often do we forget that God is always there for us; we find ourselves believing that He is too far to hear or help when we are distressed, in trouble; sad, or lonely. He is my refuge, my Protector, my Provider, my Emmanuel, my Jehovah Jireh, my Savior, my Redeemer, my truest and closest Friend. The One I can always count on, always lean on, always trust. Why do I not go to Him then, when He is the ultimate source of all my help? He says He is a "stronghold for the oppressed," and He is a refuge in times of trouble, an ever-present companion and shelter in every storm of life. It has been said that God will either calm you or calm your storm, and somehow I believe that God calms me more than be calms my storms. He wants me to grow and mature and become more and more dependent and surrendered to Him, and if we never had need of Him, it would never happen.

So once again, all things work together for good to those who love God and have been called according to His purposes.

Evening Noises

Mournfully and sweetly, so very low and gentle, the cooing of the mourning dove echoes through the early evening light. I watch the light sink low, I hear the faint notes of a wind chime as a silent breeze floats past and then slowly fades away. If I listen to those sweet, low notes I feel the tension fade away, as I listen to the soft noises and forget all the days. And then those old sweet memories, of days gone by so long ago, of a little girl with frizzy curls, soft brown eyes, and cooing doves. I remember that little frame sitting in the evening light, swinging on the swings, as high as she could go, to see the birds keep flying, to see the sun sink low. I remember the cool grass between her toes, and the smell of freshly-turned earth inside her nose. In those days there were daisies, and little golden flowers, there were cool breezes and crickets too. Oh the memories, those sweet days in which her young mind knew no pain. All was sunshine-filled days, every moment happiness to the child-mind. And now I keep reaching back, back into that almost unknown, I reach my fingers out to grasp, but like the sunshine, it slips through my fingers, too intangible to grasp.