Sunday, July 11, 2010

in praise of the ordinary... take 2

came across this the other day -

“In the entire history of the universe, let alone in your own history, there has never been another day just like today, and there will never be another just like it again. Today is the point to which all your yesterdays have been leading since the hour of your birth. It is the point from which all your tomorrows will proceed until the hour of your death. If you were aware of how precious today is, you could hardly live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all.”

Frederick Buechner

Thursday, July 8, 2010

created to sing

a wonderful picture - enjoy

The Canary That Didn't Sing - by Mike M - posted July 8, 2010 @ 8:19 am on Free Believer’s Network

My father was a man of many interests one of them being raising redfactor canaries. I would venture to say about half of his time off from work was spent caring for those orange birds. When you hear the word canary what comes to mind? A majority might say singing. Canaries are beautiful songbirds. Did you know that canaries learn to sing from their parents? Did you know that each family of canaries has its own particular song and everyone in that family sings a variation of that song? They are fascinating creatures.

My dad built an aviary in our back yard that still stands there to this day. At the height of his hobby he had upwards of 300 birds out back. That’s a lot of racket let me tell you! But the neighbors never complained. That would be like complaining that a rose is too beautiful. So I want you to picture my dad in that fully enclosed aviary with 300 birds sitting for hours just observing. Each chick that hatched would get a band put around its leg, like a serial number. Even though they were all in there together, my dad could go single out a particular bird and then show you its mother, father, and siblings.

So what was he doing in there for hours on end? Mostly he was just enjoying them. He would pay particular attention to his good singers. Those he would sell as pets to families and little old ladies that needed the company of a songbird. He would also pay special attention to any birds that sang seldom. A quiet canary is a sick canary. Isn’t that something? How do you tell an animal is sick? He can’t tell you. But it’s pretty simple actually. Every animal under heaven has a purpose. And when that animal isn’t fulfilling its purpose, it usually means there is something wrong.

As a canary sings, so we were made to praise Jesus. It’s as if our genes compel us to praise our savior. Do you praise God like a canary sings? If not, the Master wants to tend to you and heal you. He knows you by name apart from all of the rest of humanity. He sits there with a smile on His face listening. Did you know that birds that don’t sing early on in their lives are more likely to contract diseases? So that means that the healing comes in the song. Did you get that? The healing comes in the song. We were meant to give God glory, honor and praise. And when we sit on our perch with our beaks tightly shut, we begin to deteriorate. And then the Master comes to us in our silence and says, “Why aren’t you singing? What has you down?”

Do you know how beautiful it is to hear someone sing in spite of his or her pain? Do you know what that kind of song does to the heart of God? It melts His heart into a puddle. I sang like that during my divorce. I could not be silent. I needed Him more than life itself. And He heard my song above all of the others. He took notice of me for I called to Him and He came! And He comforted me like a husband comforts his bride. I know it hurts to sing when you are drowning in pain. But there is healing in the song.

Side note:When my dad died, I called up an old friend of his he hadn’t seen in years. I gave him the news of my dad’s passing and he was shocked and dismayed. I asked him if he would do my dad one final favor. Since it had been at least a decade since my dad had any birds, I asked his friend Tony if he wouldn’t mind bringing one of his canaries to my dad’s funeral. Tony did, and I guess that was just one of the many special ways I said goodbye to my father.

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