17 May 2013

a splintered song [25 minute friday]


I normally join with the community that is Five Minute Friday with the lovely Lisa Jo Baker. But it just didn't turn out that way and was more of a 25 minute friday :-) 

So to keep true to the #fmf spirit I've not linked up there this week...

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Do birds ever get sore throats? Their songs never seem to run out as they flit from tree to tree, freely tweeting. You never see the invalid in the nest having a duvet day with lemsip.

Sometimes I feel like an inarticulate, wordless mass of person. Like a dodo extinct or some other form of wingless bird.

But give me a song and my vocabulary can soar high above everything, like an eagle on smooth on the thermal wind currents. (But if it is the early morning the initial sound can be a little inelegant, rather like a gangly flamingo on take off.)  

In flight my heart sings with fluid melody and the words are poetry, not stuttered staccatos with hiatus, concomitant with shame flushing on my face.

****

A thousand songs in the rainbow stacked books. Unending ways to paint You with scripture and song. We have so much, yet we have so little, so rich and yet so poor.

With voices, brains and hearts we have the innate ability to sing and express our inner selves. But sometimes in the process, short-circuits cause a block in the communication.

Broken and fading hallelujahs
                                         hallelujahs
                                                 hallelujahs
                                                         hallelujahs
                                                                 hallelujahs
                                                                         hallelujahs


Father I want to be like Matthew, man trapped in a child’s body. He who unrestrained flailed his whole body with wild abandon in a field when we sang these words. He was your cheerleader that day *\o/* we were the unenthusiastic spectators. So rich and so poor:

So like a child in Your sight
I dance to see Your delight
For I was made for Your pleasure, pleasure

And like Mary whose soul magnified You when she knew the most precious thing was happening deep inside her own body and everything came flooding out in word and song.

Pouring out
Your love in transaction with our meagerly offered melody
insistently reaches down to us 
and begins to mend the hallelujahs..





(Oh, and I also wonder if birds get splinters in their feet when they land on branches?)



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