It is 25 degrees here right now. I realize that’s what some of you northern folks refer to as Spring, but down here that is flat out cold. Like two pairs of socks and break out my seldom worn long-johns kind of cold. Or, better yet, stay inside by the fire where it’s warm and the hot chocolate flows like milk and honey cold.
Last night I slept in Caroline’s room. I’ve actually been sleeping in there every night since she was sick last week because we have a loose system of sleeping arrangements around here. We basically go with whatever bed seems the most comfortable and has the least amount of snorers and/or coughers. Which I guess, technically would be P’s bed right now because I have contracted Caroline’s cough and she’s still congested and we are just a noisy, wheezy pair. I don’t think P is sad that we’re in exile in the other part of the house.
Anyway, I woke up about 3:00 a.m. when the cold front started blowing in. The wind was unbelievably loud and the trees outside her window were making a huge racket. And then the birds started to go bananas. They were chirping and tweeting and singing. It sounded like there were a hundred of them outside her window.
I wondered if maybe a nest had gotten blown down in the wind and figured they would quiet down in a minute. Then the rain started to pour and they continued to tweet and sing. I’d never heard anything like it. I laid there in bed and began to wax poetic about how the little sparrows (or whatever they happened to be) were presenting such a great analogy of life. I began to compose a blog post in my head about the importance of remembering to sing even during the storms of life and how they are such a beautiful picture of trusting God with all that comes our way.
And then I drifted back off to sleep.
Until Caroline woke me up about thirty minutes later to let me know that our sound machine had somehow been switched from the sound of Rainfall to Tropical Rainforest.
Which would explain why the birds were still chirping.
And, also, the monkeys.
Best I can tell, the power went out for a brief moment when the wind started to howl. And the sound machine automatically resets itself to Tropical Rainforest anytime it’s disconnected from a power source.
I’m going to blame the Benadryl that I took right before bed as the reason it didn’t occur to me that you generally don’t hear the call of the Keel-Billed Toucan in South Texas.
However, I still maintain that it’s important to sing through the storms of life.