The Sound of Wings

The sound of wings. Is there a more gentle sound? Is there one more powerful?

The other day I strolled by a flock of birds who had gathered on a patch of grass in the middle of our grocery parking lot. As soon as I stopped to watch, they flapped their wings and, in almost total silence, defied the law of gravity. If I hadn’t taken a break from the hustle of my day, if I hadn’t pushed aside the urgency of rushing home with my ice cream and fresh meat and allowed that moment of quiet, I would have never heard the soft sweet sound of wings.

I believe our lives are filled with wing sounds. Some call them the voice of inspiration. Some, the voice of God. The voice is there. In gentleness, wing sounds have the power to lift us above the gravity of ordinary, to free us from shackles of past failure and present fear, and release us to soar like eagles.

We all need to find that quiet place where we can clearly hear our wing sounds. I have a couple locations. One is the worn easy chair in our office. Almost every morning I sit there with my Bible and journal and ask God to speak to me through His Word. He does. Faithfully.

My other quiet place is the shower. There’s just something about being closed away from the rest of the world surrounded by the sound of rushing water. Don’t laugh. Most of my writer friends say the same thing. Great inspiration comes in the shower.

But, if you’re a writer, shower inspirations pose a problem. Paper doesn’t hold up under water, and there's just no way to chronicle your thoughts. Instead, you must cling to your inspiration until well after you turn off the water.

Unfortunately, as one ages wing sounds become more difficult to cling to. They take flight far too swiftly. Years ago, in the day of unlocked doors and meter readers, a writer friend and mentor of mine received a brilliant inspiration while taking her shower. She was home alone and, not wanting to lose her thought, she jumped out of the shower and ran naked down the steps toward her basement office. But before she could reach her destination, she heard a knock on the door, followed by the announcement, “Meter Reader.” There she was, a sweet little lady with short gray hair, totally naked, with the meter reader approaching. There was no time to escape. As she heard his boots on the stairs, she grabbed the only available item to hide behind—her son’s old football helmet—and ducked under her laundry folding table. As soon as her bare bottom touched the cold cement floor, she bent her knees to her chin and held the helmet in front of her. But it was no use. The table was in the meter reader’s direct eye-shot as he made his way down the stairs. My mentor friend may have needed something louder than a wing sound to explain her situation.

In the months to come, I’d like to share some of my wing sounds. What an honor it would be if you would share some of yours. As we take time to listen, we will defy the gravity of the ordinary. We will have opportunity to be unshackled from past failure and present fear. We may even soar like eagles.

And maybe, just maybe, God will use the wing sounds He’s given us to touch the lives of others. After all, is there any softer sound, any sound more powerful than the sound of wings?