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About This Author
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His Mom Would Be Proud...Or Would She? His Mom Would Be Proud...Or Would She?
By Marilyn Mackenzie
My best days are those in which I awaken early in the morning and watch the sun rise, hear the birds sing and watch the squirrels romp. My best days begin with me remembering to read God’s word and remembering to talk with Him. Each day is special when I take time to write a few of my thoughts early in the day, thoughts that are a result of studying God’s word and the world around me.
I’ve noticed that I awaken at different times and in different ways, usually depending upon the time I retire at night and how well I’ve slept or how much pain I’ve experienced during the night.
When I retire by ten o’clock, I’m usually awakened by a neighbor whose job requires him to leave his apartment at precisely 4:15 a.m. His car door squeaks loudly enough to invade my sleep, if I’ve slept well. His car engine’s mighty roar continues my awakening process. And, if I have indeed been sleeping since 10 p.m., then awakening at 4:15 a.m. is not entirely bad. It allows me to begin the day before any of my neighbors, something I often relish.
But if I retire closer to midnight or even beyond, then the sound of birds chirping outside my window will be my morning alarm. As I slowly awaken, I can distinguish the sounds, the chirps, of different birds. I cannot identify those different sounds, but my ears can distinguish differences.
Yesterday morning, I was slowly awakened by a different kind of chirping. It invaded my sleep at first, becoming a part of my dream. But as it continued, I quickly opened my eyes, thinking the sound was that of a smoke alarm. Before panic set in, I realized that the sound was that of a battery chirping in a smoke alarm, alerting the alarm owner to its diminishing power.
Fully awake, then, I remembered that my son and I had replaced the battery in our own smoke alarm. Our battery should not have been losing power. As I listened, I realized that the sound was coming from outside my window.
Curious, I peeked through the slats of my window blind, trying to discover the source of the chirping battery. I knew there were no apartments directly behind my apartment. Cars from the apartment dwellers nearby were parked outside my bedroom window. I couldn’t imagine that any of the cars had smoke alarms with dying batteries.
Even more intent on discovering the source of the chirping, I peered outside the window, determined. My eyes darted from car to car, from the carport behind me to porches and balconies.
Finally, I spotted a bird sitting proudly in a tree just outside my window. He sang loudly, singing the music of smoke alarm with a battery about to die. It was a mockingbird.
How I laughed at the sight of that proud bird, singing music he had recently learned. I remembered that the smoke detector in one of the empty apartments in our complex had been chirping for days before the maintenance man replaced the battery. The mockingbird had learned his lessons well.
This incident reminded me of another mockingbird and of another time. A friend spent time each day teaching a neighborhood mockingbird new songs. Each day, my friend repeated cat calls, or was it a wolf whistle. He repeated a whistle that sounded like the music shouted by horns at a football game, just before the fans yelled, “charge!” That mockingbird learned his lessons well also, and soon neighborhood women were looking around, startled to hear someone whistling at them, and startled even more to find no one in sight.
As I scrambled from bed, ready to start my day, I thought that the mockingbird’s mother would be proud of him. Then I wondered if she really would be.
Like many of us, the mockingbird embraced a song that was not his own. He was singing a song that was not truly the song of his own heart. He pretended to be something he was not.
All around us – in our personal lives, our business lives, our school lives, even in our spiritual lives – there are people who pretend to be our friends. They sing songs familiar to us, songs that make it appear they are who they pretend.
I long for a world where people sing their own heart songs and for a world where people appreciate each person’s personal song.
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I will sing a new song to you, O God; on the
ten-stringed lyre I will make music to you.
Psalm 144:9 NIV
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© Copyright 2003 Kenzie (kenzie at Writing.Com).
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