By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

It's 5:45 AM and a song wakes me.
My ears listen carefully and my mind is alert.
A smile spills across my face,
The kind that's so big you can feel it,
And I don't want the morning to end.
Even thought there's ice on the lines and the night was cold,
My little bird has come and she sings outside my window.
She is every bit like me,
Except that she's on one side and I'm on the other;
 But together the two of us sing.
I tap my husband,
"Honey, listen to my cheerful little bird,
She can't stop singing."
My husband's response,
"Do you know what kind of bird I like?
The kind that sings at 11:30 AM.
Enjoy your bird,
I'm going back to sleep."
He gives me a peck on the cheek, rumples the covers, rolls over and drifts effortlessly back to sleep.
And I wonder to myself ...
How does one go back to sleep under such cheerful conditions?
How does one close the ears to the sound of engaged enthusiasm?
I'm a morning person.
I wake feeling alive, energetic, and enthusiastic.
I'm the kind that bursts out of bed,
Sticks my feet in the snow,
Feels the cold,
And experiences a rush of adrenaline before I've had my morning caffeine.
I like my coffee strong, bold, and rich,
And the sound of the clicking on the keyboard racing to keep up with my mind.
I like it when my knees hit the floor and God speaks earnestly to me from His word; I appreciate access to a pen and all the sounds of a new morning.
And did I tell you,
Morning is my favorite time of the day.
Mmmm ...
I absolutely love it, revel in it, and rejoice in it.
It's tiggerishly, unspeakably good.
I'm one of "those" kinds of people.
I annoy the heck out of my husband and all non-morning people and there are many of those ... so I've learned to part ways in order to create harmony with those I love in the very early morning.
We must each do our thing, in our own way, at our own speed, in the manner for which we were made.
And we must love God in that same sort of way.
That's the most important thing.
But maybe that's why the sound of a bird singing cheerfully in the morning is so wonderfully pleasing to me.
I'm reminded that I'm not alone.
And in spite of the fact that the snow's falling and the spring can't decide if it should come, one little bird has found a reason to sing anyway.
And she speaks my language.
She whistles a tune all her own,
And she keeps at it.
She just keeps singing.
Cheerfully. Enthusiastically. Beautifully.
Birds of a feather ...
"Sing" together.
I'm sure of it.
"The Lord God hath given me the tongue of the learned that I should know how to speak a word in season to him that is weary: He wakeneth me morning by morning, He wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned."
Isaiah 50:4