Onomatopoeia

I adore words. Big words, little words, words that sound like rocks…?! nvm

In the cool of the mornings I like to sit on my back deck and hang out with Jesus. Most of the time the sounds of the forest call out to me and share His love.

Intrigued by the sounds this morning, I tried to capture them in words. What was that crazy word that is a word that sounds like what it is?…. Oh yeah, the coolest word ever – onomatopoeia – tada!

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Jumbo juicy raindrop – plop
Charming cherry cardinal – trill
Passive perching squirrel – chirrup
Whispering willow leaves – swish

Just to make sure I got that word right, I looked it up on the fount of all wisdom, the internet. The definition got me stuck in a thought.

Onomatopoeia means more than I expected: making or creating names. I remember reading a couple of stories about people who did just that.

On the other hand, words that sound like real-life sounds are called echomimetic. Those words are imitations or echos of sound.

You know, Christians are stuck in echomimetic mode. Yup, we copy the past, each other, the music, the experiences, the jargon… Face it we are copycats. Not much new going on here, kind of an echo of past glories without the original Glory.

But God is still in onomatopoeia mode. He calls those things that be not as if they are. He makes all things new. He created the world with creative words and gave Adam the commission to create names for all living things. He used creative methods for healing, delivering and teaching. Not once did He copy his previous method.

I want to live an onomatopoeia life. Start each project with fresh creative eyes, as if it had never been done before. Create an atmosphere of hope and love with my words. The only constant i need is Jesus.

Oh, BTW, did you know there is an onomatopoeia dictionary? Really, there is http://www.writtensound.com
Aren’t you glad you read to the end?

Songs of Joy

“But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.” -Psalm 59:16 (NIV)

Sing, sing, sing. Early bird perched in brittle tree repeats. Sing, sing, sing. Wind whistle, heat pump hum. Puppy’s sleeping huffs keep rhythm with ticking mantle clock.

If I’m quiet enough I can hear strains of strength and love, always – even when I am too brittle broken tired to sing. The music is everywhere, all I have to do is listen.

Having heard, I test my dry brittle voice. Sing, sing, sing my own songs of praise. Songs that soar far above self-pity into the heights of thankfulness. And all things become harmless voiceless shadows while this heavenly chorus sings. The birds, the wind, the heat pump, the dog, the clock and me.

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