September 3, 2023
Exodus 3:1-15
Romans 12:1-8
‘Apapane are known for their singing – the ohi’a and koa forests echo with it during the cooler parts of the day. ‘Apapane are sensible creatures and when it’s hot they save their breath for breathing.
They are also known for the complexity of their singing. They sing high and they sing low, they squeal and whistle, they making clicking sounds, and my goodness can they trill. An ‘apapane concert is often a trilling experience.
Sorry about that.
There was one ‘apapane, however, who didn’t seem to have received the word that he could sing high, low, middle, whistle, trill, click, and squeal. Instead, he sang one very simple song. It was pretty, to be sure, a low note that rose and then flourished into this marvelous little trill. Other ‘apapane really enjoyed his song, and so did ‘akepa and ‘amakihi so on. It was so lovely that it would soothe a grumpy ‘i’iwi, and when an ‘i’wi is grumpy, they usually stay grumpy.
His parents and brother and sister and miscellaneous aunties and uncles and cousins and tutus all waited for his second song. They were expecting something else to thrill the ears – I’m sorry, that should have been “trill the ears.”
But it didn’t come.
When he found ohi’a in blossom, he sang a low note that rose and flourished into a marvelous little trill. When he had just filled up on insects, he sang a low note that rose and flourished into a marvelous little trill. When the sun was bright and warm on his feathers he sang a low note that rose and flourished into a marvelous little trill. When he was just feeling content with life he sang a low note that rose and flourished into a marvelous little trill.
Nobody actually became bored with his song, but they did become concerned.
Parents, grandparents, friends, aunties, uncles, and so forth began to ask him about his one single song. He’d just smile in an ‘apapane way (they don’t have lips to curve up, so I think it’s got something to do with the way they move their head, but to be honest I don’t know), and he didn’t say anything about it. They’d ask about his next song, and he’d smile. They’d ask if he was all right with only one song, and he’d smile. They’d ask what it meant for him to have only one song, and he’d smile.
It was his sister who figured it out. She didn’t peck him with questions (or with her beak, which brothers and sisters sometimes do and they shouldn’t). She just hung out with him, flying from tree to tree, talking with him about nothing in particular, and enjoying his company. He enjoyed hers as well.
She watched as he sang his one song when the sun rose, and when the sky was clear, and when the hot sun went behind a cloud, and when there was lots of nectar, and… that’s when she realized it.
“You sing a song about being happy,” she said. He smiled.
“Nobody else has figured that out,” he said, and smiled again.
“They’re all waiting for you to sing about something else,” she said.
He smiled. “I like to sing about being happy,” he told her.
She smiled back. “That’s a song about everything,” she said.
“And nothing,” he said.
“Everything and nothing,” she said, “is a good thing to sing about.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, and then tell them without notes. Sometimes that means that the pre-planned puns don’t make it in, as was the case today. You can decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Photo of two ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.
ordainedgeek 
This one is just wonderful!!!!!