Through Sorrow She Sings

She is my friend. A beautiful bird -- like a robin. Sweet and honest, she brightens my day. She sings through her sorrow, and says that I encourage her. Yet her strength in grieving marvels me. She continues to believe, to trust, to live.

She is also my friend. My Pocahontas. My bright star and little sis. She is The Robin’s middle bird. Silly and not afraid to be who she is. She likes my camera.

This is the Robin’s Baby Bird. I adore her. She can marry whomever she chooses as long as the boy is one of mine.

This is The Robin’s too – The Builder of the nest. I love him in all his scariness. I must. He has frightening pictures of me, and he's not afraid to use them.

And this one. Pocahonta’s mirror opposite. The Robin’s oldest bird. The Sleeping Beauty, I named her. Little did I know that she would sleep before us all.

It is in this I marvel: The Robin still sings, still smiles, still lives, even though her first bird has flown to Jesus. Over a year passes, and we all still miss her. The heart may seem trapped in winter, but because of Jesus, The Robin can call forth spring.

"Let not your heart be troubled,"
His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness,

I lose my doubts and fears;

Though by the path He leadeth

But one step I may see:

His eye is on the sparrow,

And I know He watches me.

His eye is on the sparrow,

And I know He watches me.

Through Sorrow She Sings