Tonight I was rocking Fia to sleep as, one by one, the various minarets within listening distance to us lifted up in song their calls to prayer. The vibrato of a man's deep voice pierces the air, echoing across the neighborhoods, its clear tone commanding the attention of all. Shortly, other lone voices join in--some near, some far, each beginning its song on its own time and cadence, each melody slightly unique from the others. The voices blend together imperfectly, with tune uncoordinated...yet, somehow, melodic. The sound used to grate on my nerves, but I've grown to appreciate these melodic prayers as convenient reminders to myself to make prayer a priority throughout my day. The calls to prayer, these days, still grab my attention, but in a calming, relaxing, thoughtful way.
As I listened tonight, rocking my peaceful baby in my arms, I wondered if the imperfectly beautiful music I was soaking in was similar to how our prayers sound lifted up to God. Our souls as single spires, calling out the song in our hearts--be it plea or praise--each beginning our songs in our own time and cadence, each melody slightly unique from the others. I imagine the songs echoing across the vastness of God's holy dwelling, earnestly requesting his attention. I like to think that together, our voices blend imperfectly...and yet, somehow, melodic.