On the morning of May 27, 2025, around 4:30 AM, I awoke to the familiar sound of birds singing. In that still, sacred hour, it struck me: this has always been. From my childhood days in Lagos, Nigeria, through my journeys across Africa, Europe, America, and the Middle East, the dawn chorus has followed me like a constant echo of eternity—birds lifting their voices as light breaks through the veil of night.

Science tells us that birds sing at dawn because their biological clocks trigger hormonal surges, stirring them to song. But I hear more than biology. Their melodies are not just instinct—they are proclamation. It is as though the birds, having survived the perils of night, now burst forth in celebration, testifying to the triumph of light over darkness.

Night conceals the beauty of creation. It silences motion, limiting the birds, keeping them grounded, waiting. But when morning comes—when the light returns—there is liberty. There is flight. There is song. “Weeping may endure for a night,” but indeed, “joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

At dawn, the prisoner is loosed. The mourner lays aside the dark robe of sorrow. Sight is restored to the blind. And I, too, rise and sing:
“This is the day that the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

The singing of the birds is the music of Zion. It is the sound of the sons of God—those who live and move in Him—offering praise as morning stars. As it is written:
“…the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.” — Job 38:7

Creation itself testifies to the glory of God’s children. But men, burdened by the struggle of survival in this broken world, often fail to hear. The voice of the Spirit speaks continuously—day and night—but many have grown dull of hearing.

We must train our ears to listen, our hearts to perceive. The Spirit declares: You are sons of God, offspring of the Most High. When we awaken to this truth, we rise above the shadows. We ascend from the dust of the earth and take up our golden harps—long forgotten—and join the redeemed in the eternal song of Zion.

Job heard that voice—the Spirit calling him back to his divine origin. When he repented, everything the locust and the cankerworm had devoured was restored a hundredfold. He returned to the truth of his being.

So must we.

Let the Lord within you arise. Let the divine self awaken from the sleep of mortality. For in that awakening, death loses its hold, and you inherit all things.
“You are gods, and all of you are children of the Most High.”
This is not metaphor. It is identity. Realize it. Live it. Sing it.