Sing to Me

In the mornings, I like to sing to God. It isn't always aloud; and if it is, first thing in the morning, it isn't operatic aria that comes out (my Italian is pretty rusty). My first waking thoughts tend to be, "This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." The Lord knows, it is a resolve I sometimes cannot keep, but He keeps telling me that His mercies are new every morning. So it makes sense to me, to begin by celebrating. Oh Lord, thank you for another day. Thank you, that I am awake and the children are all around us.

This morning, I was just surfacing behind my eyelids, and before I had time to think my grateful thoughts, two of the boys were squabbling over the cereal. (This is what comes of my staying up late.) I heard some rash words, a smack, a wail...and I just do not like to start the day with conflict, you know? So I actually took a little longer, to inhale, pull myself up, and get out of bed, dig under the bed for slippers. Amazingly, peace had descended by the time I was passing by the hall window, in view of my birdfeeder.
Rose-breasted grosbeaks, goldfinches, chipping sparrows, purple finches, all were taking turns on the feeding bar or snapping up what was cast to the ground amongst the sunflowers. A year ago, I decided to dig the weeds out of this corner by the back steps, where the windows afford a wonderful view of the feeder. My husband filled in with several tractor scoops of soil, I covered it with landscaping fabric, and we quested all over the farm for "pretty rocks" to build up a protective border. I planted hostas, and I choose to fill in some of the blank space with annuals each year. Right now, there are deep-purple petunias, and a fair amount of sunflower seeds are being allowed to grow around the pole on which the feeder is mounted. By Summer's end, it will be handsome, indeed.
I stood by the window a while, listening to cheeps and chirps and the cracking of seeds. From the kitchen came background music of spoons clinking against bowls, and a pouring of more cornflakes, the splashing of milk, even "Can I have the sugar, please?"...The dog whined for his breakfast, as I lingered by the window, looking up into the maples that are growing more decrepit by the year, trying to see the birds making their melodies in hiding. What came to mind: "All creation sings of Thee."

This morning I could not sing to God, but I let Him sing to me.