We stand in line, waiting to see a man few of us have met. We only know of his voice and his deeds. Yet we all stay, waiting for hours, to get the next
seat. We search the internet for the best possible tickets, just to see a man and hear a man very few of us have met. What is the attraction? Why do we, young
and old, healthy and weak, seek to fulfill our souls with this man's songs? These and other questions will be answered by the man with the voice himself.
Finally, we get to enter the arena. We talk among ourselves, we clatter like chickens. We speak of nothing else but the man with the voice. The lights begin to dim and we find our appointed places. We clap, we yell, we scream his name. Finally, the man with voice comes on stage. He is so pure and so sure of himself. He raises his hands for us not to yell. We seek the silence. It is almost a deafening silence, but we want to hear every word, every note, and every snark he has to say. We listen. Suddenly he opens his mouth and out comes the most beautiful voice we have ever heard. It may not be perfect, but it is close enough to perfect to please us all. We stand and watch as the man with the voice belts out another tune. Then he begs us to please listen.
We all stand in silence as he raises his voice in praise to the One who has given the voice. We watch in awe as the man with the voice offers it back to its Creator. The voice takes wings, white wings, and rises to the heavens. We do not want to lose the voice, so silently we raise our hands to the heavens, begging it to come back. We say nothing, but our hearts, our minds, and our souls ask the One who has given the voice to please return it. As if hearing our silent prayers, the voice stops its heavenly climb. It pauses and spreads its wings. The wings seem to come around the entire audience, pulling all closer together, until the wing tips touch for a split moment. They unfold, leaving us breathless, waiting to hear what will come next. A fog covers us, touches each of us, as the wings again attach to the voice.
The wings spread open wide, but again halt as the voice goes one octave higher. We raise our hands higher and our eyes tear at the very sound. The wings drop a single feather, why we do not know. We do not fight over the feather, we caress it, and we embrace it. We look to the man on the stage with the voice and realize he is offering back the voice to the One who gave it. The One who gave it allows it to stay in the corners of our ears and souls for a time. We see the man with the voice lower his head, clutch his hands in a prayer like position, and we realize he has again received the voice. By offering the voice to the One who gave it, it returns along with many blessings - more than the man can imagine. But it also carries a price. He realizes he will be maligned, lied about, mistreated, and in some instances abused. But the One who gave the voice has supplied the man with an armor that no man can pierce.
As a tear falls from the eyes of the man, he leaves the stage. We still have no knowledge of the value of the feather. We leave our steps with a little more
bounce, our hearts full, our souls rejuvenated. We wonder silently if we had imagined the lovely wings gathering us together. We think we have dreamed the
thick fog that has touched each and every one of us. Then we look at the shining faces of those around us and notice they too have been affected by the man
with the voice. Suddenly, all of us realize the truth about the feather. It is to show us the power of one. The man has become the symbol of the power of one.
He is our drop of water that starts a river or a waterfall. His is the one that has empowered us to do things we never thought possible. He has opened up our minds, our hearts, our bodies, our very souls to what can be accomplished by the power of one. We dry our eyes and in our hearts swear to do a better job of being human beings. The feather reminds us to love every part of the man with the voice, but not to worship him, but the One who gave the voice. We do love the man - his red hair, his slender body, his long arms, his too large ears, his big feet, his beautiful freckles, his pink lips, his piercing green eyes, and his over-sized heart. We vow to do what he has started. We vow to keep all that has touched us in our souls, and release it for good to someone else.
All who came were touched by the voice. All who came wanted to hear the voice again. All who came wanted to be there for the man who had the voice. We vowed silently, loudly to do what he was doing. We vowed to follow the example of the man, to us, who has become THE POWER OF ONE. In offering back to the One who gave the voice, the man has become our leader - whether he realized it or not. Good is done by his example and we will forever be grateful for the man with the voice. He is THE POWER OF ONE.