One morning shortly after dawn, I cranked open the windows of my little mountain cabin and plugged in a CD called Hymns of the Smokies.
And the choir arrived.
As soon as the first notes of “Shall We Gather at the River” rang out, birds started gathering at the window. I kid you not. All kinds of birds. They perched on tree branches and shrubs just outside the cabin, and even on the windowsill itself, singing along with that worship music at the top of their little birdie lungs.
They sang. I sang. It was an incredible praise fest.
As quickly as they came, they left. One stalwart little soul hung around for part of “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name,” and then he, too, took off for whatever it is mountain birds do in the mornings (besides church).
It just tingles the toes of my soul to imagine that Papa’s little creatures might actually do just that … church. In their own way, in their own language, in their own venues, far away from human eyes and ears. Doesn’t the Bible say that all of creation will praise His name?
“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord” (Psalm 150:6, NASB).
For my praise to have momentarily intersected with theirs will always be one of the greatest thrills of my life.
I just hope bear church is on another mountain.