This morning when I took Miss Sophie out for her morning sniff’n’smell, the sky was overcast, a dark grey, with heavy clouds just ready to let all the rain fall down upon us. It was still out as well–nothing moving, reminiscent of a cold, winter morning–only it wasn’t cold or winter. But neither was it very hot or summery feeling–for a Georgia morning in August, we’ll take it.
Because the air was still, it was very, very quiet. So quiet that I could hear the songs of the insects and birds quite clearly. It was so peaceful, I almost felt completely alone in that moment–well, me, Miss Sophie, and the One who painted it all.
As we turned back towards the house, I heard a sound that was out of place. It was neither bird nor bug. I couldn’t place it until I turned around and saw in the distance a man walking along with energy and purpose. He had on headphones, and he was singing along to whatever he was listening to. I couldn’t understand the words as they were of a language I didn’t recognize, but my soul understood the meaning. I’m pretty sure he was singing worshipfully, as his voice was filled with awe and joy.
A sacred moment.
Miss Sophie and I quietly made our way back home, not wanting to intrude on his morning, but so thankful he’d intruded on ours. I want to be like that, so filled with praises and joy, that I can’t do anything but burst out in song and enthusiasm–thankful for all I’ve been given, no matter who is around. I want to be so in love with this life that I can’t be still–or quiet.
I’m working on it, y’all.
Tonight I’m thankful for a holy moment bursting into this quiet morning. For a song that broke through the language barrier and the one who sang it, I give thanks.
May we all find something that fills us up and overflows our hearts with joy and love and wonder.
Love to all.