As I sat in the sun room this morning watching the sun rise over the marsh and burn the fog away, I heard it before I saw it. The voice was simple, short and pierced the silence. A clear whistle. I looked into the crepe myrtle and saw the bird silhouetted against the bright sky. I do not know it's species. Perhaps a Blue Jay, or a Mockingbird - it really doesn't matter.
I watched as it seemed to crouch against the limb, wait in preparation, stretch it's legs, lift it's head, open it's beak and sing. Again and again: crouch, wait, stretch, lift, open and sing. On one hand, it reminded me of a cartoon bird, it's name long forgotten, who, with great effort, crouched, then lifted, puffed it's chest and sang. The animator had it right. How many hours must she have watched a bird to draw her sequence.
On another hand, I reflected on what it means to find one's voice. To discover one's unique song is to strike a chord of harmony found at the intersection of giftedness, purpose and opportunity. One crouches and waits, then stretches his legs, lifts his head, opens his mouth and sings! A clear call that he is made for a purpose, uniquely shaped, formed and gifted, to sing with the dawn a song. The song pierces the silence in which the singer finds himself. And those around him are blessed.
Find your voice. Sing. Crouch, stretch, lift, open and sing!