Songs For the Contours Of The Heart

I watched them arrive, like ants they crawled across the hillside. Where sweeping Eucalypts stretched toward their maker, where the gully feed the meandering stream below, now marched the never ending stream of progress. Each day the landscape changed, ever so slowly, sometimes imperceptibly, yet the change was undeniable. The fallen were pushed into piles and burnt. Those that remained seem lonely and forlorn. Green undergrowth gave way to a contoured jigsaw of brown earth that slowly formed a hint of the streets and paths that would one day lattice the hillside.

Yellow trucks pushed, carried, flattened, and tore. Yellow trucks took earth away, and replaced it with stone and tar from some other place. The flowing landscape soon took on the unmistakable fingerprint of humanity. Hillsides long shaped by wind and rain, expertly crafted by the Creator’s hand, were soon sculpted by the will of an engineer, and the muscle of a Diesel engine. I’m sure the finished estate will be lovely in its own way. The houses that stand there will enjoy the views, the freshly formed parkland lined with neat edges, and the quiet streets that will lead families home in the evening. But right now there are only yellow trucks. Shaping the contours to reflect the designers plan.

The songs we sing are similar. The songs we sing both reflect and sculpt. The songs we sing reflect the truths we’ve hidden deep within, yet they also sculpt the truths we plant within.

Sing then with wisdom.