On a morning in deadest winter—the world frozen over and even the hunting animals hiding in warm dens—came a sweet sound that broke the stifling cold. A small voice. A song, coming from a high branch outside my window. I wasn’t sure I’d heard it, so I stopped and listened from the warmth of my bed. The winter sparrow sang again, and then again. And immediately the music took ahead to spring. To a time when tree branches bud and flowers bloom. The world is reborn. Risen from its winter grave and on to glory. The same hand that tends to the lilies in the field and feeds the birds of the air, cares for me. Loves me. Fill me with your Spirit so I can sing my own song. Break this winter day with the voice of life, like the songbird outside my window.