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Where's Our Song?  

Goodbye watermelon.

Goodbye swimming pool.

Goodbye lawn chair.

Fall comes at an exorbitant price.

For me, one of the sadder summer losses is crickets.  They speak peace to the troubled night and calm to the cacophony we call early morning.  But as I take my sunrise walks in the second half of October, the cricket symphony decrescendos dramatically.

A few courageous critters sill scrape their wings and make the music.  But as early morning temperatures dip into the upper 30s, the insect orchestra reduces to a few brave soloists. 

When I hear one now, I smile big and walk gently toward the source of the sound, trying for a louder listening experience.  Inevitably, I find the crickets go mute.  You can't blame them for being terrified at the vibration of something hundreds of times their size.

Still, a few—a very few—can yet be heard.  The season is late.  The landscape is dark, and the conditions are cold.  But they sing anyway.

These hearty crickets are a metaphor for the lifestyle required of Christians on the front edge of the end times. Meaning—the season is late.  The spiritual landscape is dark.  The conditions are cold—and getting colder.  But we're called to "sing" anyway.

So let us:

  • Sing the love of Jesus.
  • Sing the great gospel story.
  • Sing the glorious hope of heaven.
  • Sing so that a cold world in dark darkness can find the hope and joy that is Jesus.

Let us Sing!



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Jon GaugerJon Gauger

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Jon Gauger Media 2016