Even the birds sing in the rain

Psalms are a comfort to us all.

We run to the psalms when our hearts are crushed. When we’re betrayed, when enemies rise against us, when the night has been long…

We run to the psalms.

Yet, most of these sacred songs emerged from the midst of anguish. They were not penned as distant consolations; they were forged in the very fires of suffering.

How many songs of psalms have brought healing to my heart, but were written through burning tears? How many psalms have given me hope, and been a rock to cling to, but they were written from ashes?

These songs, written midst the shards of broken pieces, have been songs of comfort to me.

When the psalmist journeyed through tragedy, betrayal, and heartbreak, he must have questioned how any light could emerge from such darkness. And yet, here I stand, thankful for those precious hymns that serve as a beacon through my own shadowed valleys.

Your song, too, may become the anthem for wounded souls in the years ahead. Your suffering may kindle another's hope. Your loneliness may offer someone else companionship.

Nothing is wasted. This, too, shall not be.

Even the birds still have a song in the rain🤍