Today as I awoke from an afternoon nap, my ears heard a mournful, yet soothing sound. Our Mourning Doves were back!  March in Colorado this year has been unseasonably warm.  The birds are returning early from their winter break and are gracing us with their various songs.

 The gentle, soft, drawn-out calls I heard sounded like laments over a lost loved-one.  I wondered if they, too, felt the heart-wrenching need to cry out about their loss. On many occasions I would find myself equally needing to sob and pour out my heart to God.  “Hold my heart in your hands, dear Lord, and caress it with tenderness, because it is truly broken.  The loss of my son is sometimes too much to bear.  Only you know how that feels as you watched your precious Son die.  Take my tears and my cries, and heal the jagged edges of my spirit.”

I continued to hear their laments…but a new sound emerged. A whistling sound erupted as the two took off together, flying with the sunlight to a new vista.  They did not remain in their lament, but were lifted above, where the sunlight could warm their wings, giving them energy and life.

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words—-and never stops at all.” —-Emily Dickenson



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