On Sunday morning as I was walking through the church parking lot I heard a robin singing. I looked up to find the source of the cheerful song and in a moment had spied him sitting at the very tip of the sanctuary roofline above the stained glass window. It wasn't a spectacular day, weather-wise, but this bird was singing anyway.
The next day I was walking through the church parking lot at the same time of day to attend the every-other-Monday staff meeting. The same robin was in the same spot at the very peak of the roof. He was singing again despite the chilly temperature and the fact that the weather was trying its hardest to rain.
I felt like that robin was singing just for me. It didn't matter to him that the weather was grey, chilly, and wet. He was up there anyway singing for the blessings he has in his wild and feathery little existence: life, fresh air, his mate (I presume), a territory to call his own, and rain that makes the worms squirm out of the dirt. All of us, myself included, could stand to think more like him.
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