His Heart Was Full to Bustin’

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.

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