The Call of the Meadowlark

I just got back from a run, during which I heard my first Meadowlark of the season! One of my favorite running routes is along a narrow road that parallels some empty fields. One of my greatest joys was seeing my first Meadowlark in these grassy meadows. But before I saw him, I heard him.

A few years ago I became interested in birding, and began listening to a CD of various bird calls. There were so many birds featured, that I rarely remembered the calls that I listened to. But one day, as I was out running, I heard a beautiful call fill the air. Somehow I recognized this distinctive melody, and was overjoyed to hear it live! However, when I looked around to find the singer, Mr. Meadowlark was nowhere to be found. He spends most of his time down in the brushy grasses, see, hidden from prying eyes. As my eyes roved the fields for his presence, his call filled the air over and over, strong and beautiful, rising from some mysterious place. 

I felt God whisper to me that day.  
Now, whenever I hear that beautiful call, I am reminded that I am not alone.
 
Psalm 125:2 says, “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people both now and forevermore.”
My ears strain to hear His call rise from that deep and mysterious place. He is here. He is here.
If you want to see and hear the lovely call of the Meadowlark, click here: Love Calls

Comments

  1. says

    So encouraging to know someone else has a God bird. Mine is the cardinal. I have always liked cardinals. I can remember I wrote a story in middle school about a cardinal coming to window and talking with me. When I first was saved and such a baby Christian, the Lord brought back the cardinal. The birds would visit me while I took my daughter to the park or visit outside my window. And when I heard their distinct bird call I KNEW it was the Lord reminding me that He was there and that He was talking with me. Now almost 7 years in my walk, I still rejoice when I hear a cardinal’s call.

Trackbacks

  1. […] We listen to the breeze blow through the bushes and when we are still, that’s when I hear it: the sweet song of a Meadowlark. My eyes scan the Mimosa tree, the Oaks in Betty’s yard next door and the Sycamores out back. But […]

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