Stop, Look and Listen

Last Sunday afternoon was chilly and windy here in Kansas City ... chilly and windy enough for a certain wiener dog to wear his adorable blue striped sweater and for me to layer up before we headed out for a rather lengthy walk. Sunday walks may well be my favorite walks of the entire week. I can't explain it really, but there is something extra peaceful, extra relaxing, extra soothing about my walks on Sunday afternoon. I usually take my time, and J.R. and I kind of meander along, walking farther than we do on our nightly walks during the week. But last Sunday, it was cold, and we were moving at a rather brisk pace when I noticed a young mother preparing to cross the street with her two young children. She was holding their hands as they stopped and she checked to make sure their were no cars approaching, and after making sure the way was clear, she proceeded to cross with her kids safely in tow.

As I watched the three of them cross the street, my mind and heart were suddenly flooded with memories of my own three children. I could see their sweet faces and feel their little hands cradled gently in mine as we crossed countless streets over the years. And I couldn't help but remember a little poem I used to recite to them with each crossing ... "Stop, look and listen ... be careful little feet. Stop, look and listen ... before you cross the street." The smile of sweet memories crept across my face, and before I knew it, right there on the path, I heard myself speaking the words of the poem aloud ... to J.R. the wiener dog, I suppose, since he was the only one there. He looked up at me as though he understood ... I laughed at his upturned little wiener dog face, and once again picked up my pace, pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and said, "Come on, Junior, let's get home ... it's cold out here."

The last stretch on our walk toward home is lined with rather large trees, and by the time we reached that section of the path, I was almost dragging J.R. because ... well ... because I was freezing and just wanted to be home. All of a sudden, my wiener dog stopped solidly in his tracks and looked toward the trees, his tail wagging and his head cocked to one side obviously hearing something that demanded his complete attention. Thinking there was a squirrel or a rabbit that had garnered his interest, I tugged on his leash and said, "Come on, buddy, let's go," but J.R. remained steadfast in his position, refusing to budge an inch. I turned off my iPod and removed the earphones from my ears, intending to see if I could hear whatever it was that had captured my dog in mid-walk and caused him to so abruptly halt our journey.

The minute the music was off and my ears open to the sounds around me, I, too, stopped tugging on J.R.'s leash and stood transfixed by the symphony that was coming from the trees. Countless birds covered the limbs and branches of the swaying trees ... yes, birds ... again, God, with the birds. They were flying gently back and forth among the trees, but more than their gentle glides from branch to branch ... they were singing ... singing ... singing ... and it was deafening and beautiful and moving.

I'm not sure how long J.R. and I stood there gazing and listening, but I heard so much more than the music of the birds that afternoon. I heard my Lord speak gently to me ... "Stop ... look ... and listen, Terrie. Slow down ... see Me ... hear My voice." Tears filled my eyes as I realized that in my rush to get home, I almost walked right past a true wonder that God wanted me to see. As my tears spilled onto the path beneath me, I knelt and patted J.R. on the head and thanked him for stopping me ... for seeing and hearing what I didn't. As I looked back into the trees, I understood what God wanted me to see, to hear, to learn. The birds were in the trees because they are flying south to warmer climates, leaving their homes to make the long and treacherous journey to a place that is safer, to a place that beckons them, to a place they are driven to seek out. And yet in the midst of their trek ... they were singing ... singing ... singing.

I'm stopped, Lord ... I see You ... I hear Your voice ... and ... I will sing ... along the way ... I will sing.