I must have heard it in my sleep.
When I open my eyes, I am not sure.
Perhaps it was only the whistling of the cold air return.
I rise slowly, straining ears to hear.
Quietly, I float downstairs and gaze out the French doors onto the meadow. Press my forehead against the cold glass.
The grasses are covered in heavy white, trees embraced by a coating of ice. A smattering of ice petals falls from the sky.
I must have been dreaming. He wouldn’t be in the middle of this. I have never heard him this deep into winter.
Nevertheless, I hear him now.
The lilting song of the Meadowlark drifts over white stillness, falling on these ears and this heart.
I search the ice encrusted branches, scan frozen grass sculptures. But I do not see his yellow breast.
Am I hearing things?
He sings his song repeatedly, as if to say, “Here! I am here!”
These weak eyes cannot find him, but these ears hungrily consume.
In the middle of this bleak winter–when I cannot see Him—He is here.
Discouragement has been my companion of late. My heart heavy with tasks undone. I feel His promises, but remain helpless to keep my part. I watch as opportunities pass.
He argues with me. I argue back.
It is too hard, I say to Him.
I did not say it would be easy, He responds.
Gently, He reminds me of Paul—the hard work he did. And reads to me the stories of others who gave much–who gave up much.
And too, He whispers of the work of the Cross.
My shame is deep as the snow that hides my Meadowlark.
It is not His desire to shame me, and He attends to me tenderly.
I would stay here forever, wrapped in His arms. But He reminds me there is work that needs doing.
I will gladly do it for Him. I only needed reminded that He is the reason.
He is the reason I do this work.
This work of life.
This work of love.
Of living and breathing and cooking and cleaning and…
He is all the reason I need.