The signs of spring are here!
One morning heading to my car I heard it! It is a familiar but welcome chorus coming from
overhead. A scattered “V” moved across the pale sky as Canada’s ambassadors journey back
from the south, announcing their presence with calls cutting through the cold. They had been
gone for months, yet here they were again, faithfully determined to return home.
Then, a couple of days later a blush of robins (that’s the correct verbiage; I looked it up!)
appeared on one of my berry bearing trees (I didn’t look up its name), looking for the dried fruit
from last year.
There is something deeply reassuring about these events.
The return of the birds is more than a seasonal shift; it is like a promise kept. Before we notice
the crocuses pushing through thawing soil or the trees starting to bud, the birds arrive as living
messengers of hope. They do not consult the forecast. They do not wait for perfect conditions.
They come because something within them tells them it is time.
Spring is on its way.
Every year their journey amazes me. Some travel thousands of miles over oceans, across deserts,
through storms. They face exhaustion, shifting winds, and uncertain terrain. And yet they come.
They come because they were made to come. An unseen compass guides them. A rhythm written
into their very being calls them northward.
And when they arrive, they sing.
Their song is bold and bright and full of life. Even before the trees are fully green, before the air
is reliably warm, the birds sing as though spring has already won.
Perhaps that is a lesson we need.
There are seasons in life that feel long and unyielding. Winters of the soul when hope seems
distant, when prayers feel unanswered, when gray skies stretch on without relief. In those times,
it is easy to believe that nothing will ever change. For some, this winter was that time.
But the birds remind us: seasons do change.
Just as surely as they return, renewal follows dormancy. The frost does not have the final word.
What appears lifeless can stir again. What seems silent can find its voice.
The birds do not deny that winter happened. They have flown through it. But they refuse to live
as though winter is permanent. They move toward warmth. They move toward light. They move
toward home.
And when they settle into branches still bare, they begin building again. Twigs are gathered.
Nests are woven. Life is prepared for. There is work to be done in spring, and they waste no time
complaining about the past cold. They lean into the future.
It’s a beautiful picture of resilience that is not loud or dramatic. It often looks like small, faithful
steps in the right direction. It looks like getting up again. It looks like choosing hope when
cynicism would be easier. It looks like singing while the landscape still feels uncertain.
When I hear the birds in early March, I don’t just hear noise. I hear courage. I hear expectation. I
hear a reminder that life has a way of pushing back against darkness. And perhaps we are meant to do the same.
The returning birds invite us to lift our eyes. To notice the subtle shifts. To believe that change is
already underway, even if it is not yet fully visible. They challenge us to trust rhythms bigger
than our immediate circumstances.
After all, the same Creator who set migration paths in motion also governs the turning of seasons
in our own lives. The One who guides small wings across continents knows the direction of our
journey too.
So, when you hear them in the early morning, pause for a moment. Let their song settle into you.
Let it remind you that movement is happening. That growth is coming. That what feels dormant
is not dead.
Winter may have been long. But the birds are back. And that means something beautiful is on its
way.
-Pastor Paul