A Voice In the Night

Nestled beside me in the dark, Zion stared toward the open window as the curtain whispered to the pane, beckoning us to look beyond.  In the garden, a frog song broke into the night.  The lone baritone sung to the starless sky in bold confidence.   Zion and I sat in the boys’ room listening amidst the audience of pillows and comforters, while Malachi and Emmaus slept.  The day had been difficult and I felt spent, but Zion did not doze, he waited as if in expectation.  The frog's crisp notes rose through our window, mesmerizing us.  Yet suddenly, without warning or a chance to request an encore, silence took center stage and the frog vanished.  He offered neither a bow nor a glance towards his four-year-old fan, perched in balcony seats.  

Tears brimmed Zion's raisin-hued eyes, so I, in hopes of capturing the fleeting joy of the serenade, imagined out-loud the journey of the green vocalist venturing where the crickets played their fiddles amongst the protégé plantings, sheltered from raindrops under the pavilion of hostas.  In my storytelling, sleep crept in and covered us both.

Several hours later I awakened in the darkness of the children's room.  Loneliness begged my company and I obliged, as I stared out into the weariness of the day, which had not yet begun.  Earlier, a messenger had stood on webbed green feet in my garden, but I could not will him to stay or, for a moment, understand why his swelling song seemed joyful.   The frog had burst in on the hushing of the day and, while I imagined to my son that all was well in the garden, in truth, it was well with me.  Loneliness is rarely alone, for Worry and Fear often accompany him.  I allowed myself drawn into their cadence, but their numbing influence could not keep me.  The melody in the garden began again.  This time Mr. Frog had also pleaded for an invitation for his friends.  And thus a choir of amphibians belted out their croaks of joy in fellowship as the sunrise received their offering.  It spilled forth glimmering rays of light to announce the dawn.  The promise of a new day is always behind the darkest night.  It is God's way.  And the best of ourselves is often revealed in the company of others. 

Dennis’ kind voice called from the hallway, “Where are you, Honey?” His words ands the smell of fresh coffee pulled me from my metaphors.  “Here I am,” I answered, thankful to be in the light and fellowship of the day.