The sun was glorious and bright as I left for work this morning.
The birds were singing. Multitudes, in lyrical beauty.
I had an appointment first thing, a member of our Bereavement group and we talked about grief, efforts and convictions. He noticed my bird feeder outside my window surrounded by tiny little finches and sparrows and he smiled.
He often stops by to ask for clarification or review of our meeting. He is abreast of the most recent research on suicide prevention and is outspoken for suicide prevention in our local community. He has lost most of his hearing and is contemplating cochlear implants.
His daughter, Valerie, whom he misses dearly loved birds. She called every Saturday, from the Midwest.
He anticipated her call, and sat peacefully on the back porch.
It was their ritual, he said.
“Dad, I hear the birds, it’s a glorious morning” she would say.
He would reply, “Oh, yeah, what do they sound like?”
“Everyday, Saturday” he said, smiling, “she told me exactly what the birds were singing and it was special.”
I smiled and thanked him for sharing such a special story, a blessing.
I will open the windows of heaven and pour out a blessing for you. Malachi 3:10