Songs in the night

I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit (Psalm 77:6)

Sometimes I wake with a song silently singing in my mind. Old songs are just there, hymns and melodies resonant with the Love who is far warmer than sky-blue winter mornings. They wake my heart to the gift of a new day, and I smile back at this Love who is always there, no matter how long or dark the night.

It has always been so. Believers in the God who so loves us have long sung their joys and sorrows, hungry for words and melodies that fill their hearts and comfort their sadness.

Feeling lost and alone, the Psalmist wrote, “I commune with my heart in the night,” trying to remember what it was like to feel God’s love. Many translations render this verse, “I remember my songs in the night.” Of course. For our songs bear us into Love’s holy presence, healing our hearts and lifting us to laughter when nothing else can.

Sometimes only a song can say what needs to be said, so I’ll sing along, or least smile, when music opens my eyes.

David L. Miller

Just like them

Have … sympathy, love for one another, a tender heart, and a humble mind. (1 Peter 3:8)

I’ve come to the age of those I most wanted and needed when I was young. Their faces pass before my mind and bless me even though some are more than 40 years gone. And I wonder: Have I become more like these souls who showed me what it is to be human?

They’d all known hardship. Most had suffered losses that dampened their eyes long after the fact. But bitterness was unknown among them. They breathed kindness, a gentle humility that did not demand that life and others must go their way and do their bidding. Humble is the word. They needed less, demanded less and loved more, grateful for the gifts life had given.

I wanted to be just like them—still do. They left a great deal of joy and blessing in their wake, extending far beyond their time and place through the hearts they touched, like mine.

Love made them the way they were—are still are. Somehow, they looked around and knew: The fields and faces, streets and graces were all a sacrament of Love’s embrace. So, like them, I sit here in the presence of Christ’s great love, praying to be made human, like them.

David L. Miller