Morning Song

There is a little ripple of consciousness beneath my chest, flowing, widening, bubbling up like a spring. It stems from my heart. It is a song.

My song is simply a reflection of the beauty surrounding me. The winter days have finally taken wings and flown away, and spring has gently arrived, bathing me in its warm glow and celestial beauty. The trees and grass adorning my front yard have gladly thrown down their long-worn winter coats and have replaced them with the glad rags of spring; sunny, fresh and green. I can once again see the dew sparkling like a million diamonds on the first flowers of the year, and even the morning air whispers, "He is risen."

My heart sings for gladness. Even amidst the turmoils of life, the tragedy awaiting us at every bend, and the uncertainties of the future cannot dampen the happiness and joy that awaits my discovery in every, single day.

And even if where you are, it's raining and cold; dreary and hopeless, there is still an ounce of happiness tucked away for you to find. When it's raining at my house, in both or either a figurative and literal way, I try to find the sunshine. If it's raining outside, gladness finds me in the fact that my flowers are being watered to grow wise and strong. If it's raining inside, happiness finds me with the knowledge that I am being watered to grow wise and strong, just like my flowers. If there was nothing in the world to be happy about - no sunshine, no flowers, no happy faces, no dewdrops, no beauty - there still would be. If life was as terrible as it could possibly be, we would still have hope.

Two thousand years ago, God came to live on earth with His old friends who had long walked away from Him. Some of them changed their minds and began to love Him, but others hated Him with a passion indescribable. He was the King of the Universe, but they treated Him like a servant. He was the Creator of all, but they turned their haughty eyes up at Him, regardless of the facts that He fashioned them in their mothers' wombs, that He sustained their every breath; that all life was held in His hand. They killed Him one cruel, unfathomable day, and in their own wicked hearts thought that He was removed from them forever. Life hung in the balance for three dark days, and even heaven itself held its breath.

Until the morning. Death and hell were blinded by rays of light as the Son of God ascended from the depths of hell with the keys of life in His hands. Stunned, astonished and speechless, they watched Him soar beyond galaxies with triumph in His grasp, healing in His nail-pierced hands, love in the heart that the world could not hold; conscious of a Power stronger than rain, stronger than darkness, stronger than death. He was alive, and all heaven rejoiced. The epic had been told. It was finished. Life had conquered death.

No matter what any of us may ever go through, there is always sunshine to find. Mine happens to be strong this morning, taking the form of a song, lifting itself through my voice and carrying it over and beyond the fields that dance, the trees that clap, and this heart that soars.