Notes
The notes wail through the breeze, and I could cry for them. For the story each one tells, of aching pain and numb hurt. They join together, crying a song of sadness. I listen closer though, and I hear the notes of joy mixed in. They laugh and clap their praises to the King, while the others play their aching. I want to be the joy note that sings in the midst of suffering; that reminds the rest that Someone's hands are playing us, and He can see the whole song, beginning to end. I shout my praise, and it rings through the air, whispers on the breeze, and echoes off the hills. He is alive!