At around 6pm on New Years Day, 2021 I was sitting in a van on the edge of Lake Norman, NC contemplating my next move.
I had driven from L.A. to N.C. on a bit of a whim with a stopover in Cleveland, Ohio. I was tired. Sean was sleeping. And there was a major crossroads ahead.
Outside, there were two owls.
They had moved from about a half mile away, to a quarter mile away, to two trees over right above the van. One calls, one answers. But until I stepped outside a few minutes ago, I really didn’t realize they were singing the same song.
One was simply about 3 octaves lower.
Outside, without the raindrops on the van roof and the hindrance of the glass, I could clearly hear the notes of each owl and the same melody in a slightly different key.
How this is so similar with each other as humans was not lost in the moment.
How may times do we look at one another and see only the clothes or the hair or the house or hear the accent or the language or the pitch of the voice?
If we could all just listen / look a little closer I’ll bet we would find that we are simply serenading each other.
It may, however, be sung in a different pitch.
A different tone.
Sung in a different language.
Painted in a different color.
You get my point. And I challenge us all to look today at the songs being sung to us by others. They may not be in the treetops about 8 feet away from you along the shores of Lake Norman, NC, and in fact, I’ll bet they aren’t. However, I can guarantee you that there are people singing to you close by who you could easily join a chorus with.
I think that this is where discernment comes into play.
How many people around you are ready to resonate with deep parts of you?
Who will you choose to grow and who will you choose to release?