Since the mis-step that caused my ankle to be in such a predicament, my outings have been limited to appointments with doctors, Mondays with Max, Bible study and worship with our forever-family. I’m a homebody, which makes winters easier for me than others who suffer from cabin fever, but I have missed my lake walks, with camera in hand, documenting my view of the lake with every jaunt. So it was a gift from God that we began to hear the sweet ding-a-ling of bells ringing every morning coming from just outside our front door. With its soft offerings of moss and grasses, a wren, choosing the still green branches of our yet-to-be-recycled Christmas wreath, was about the task of carrying out its God-given calling. In its work, as if heralding the coming season, to our delight, the little bird, delivering and adjusting its contributions to the nest, inadvertently, (but I’d like to imagine purposefully) moves the bells, making them ring. Each day I step out and check with anticipation to see if something new is added to the nest, but I only have to listen for the bells to know that Spring is on its way…