Awoke this morning, it was the false dawn, that time where the sky is lightening up but yet not at sunrise. At this most early time the birds are already out, I can hear their singing as they seek out food, their partner or are feeding hatchlings in the nest. What sounds at time like a general, chaotic cacophony of noise is really a symphony of life, these birds sing songs of joy, of discovery and of love. Natures exuberance even before the sun begins to shine down on our daily lives. This early pre-dawn is one of my favorite times and now that I am laid up in my room recovering I am discovering a new world that is full of life. It was in this pre-dawn that women approached a tomb carrying the necessary items for a funeral, spices, linens as well as carrying their own fears. “Who will open the tomb, for us,” that’s the question for all of us, who will open our own self imposed tombs, will we hear the songs of the birds of the air, as they go from branch to nest building lives, feeding the young, living lives filled with the grace of God or do we move in the grayness filled with doubts and fear.
How many of us waking this morning or any other morning are carrying the necessary items for a funeral, preparing for burial rather than preparing for the song of life. Listen to the birds, they sing, they gather, they live, “be not anxious,” it’s not easy, trust me in my position where I want healing quickly, where every twinge and ache a reminder that I still have miles to go, yet in this pre-dawn of my injury I don’t carry funeral spices, I carry the light baggage of hope and love.