There are certain sounds that don’t just fill the air—they take you somewhere.
Recently, it was the chorus of spring peepers coming from a video on my phone. It made me pause for a minute and think ‘this matters.’
Years ago, when my daughter was a middle schooler, and we were living in Ohio, we had wetlands just beyond our backyard. Every spring, right on cue, the peepers would start up. And just as reliably, Cindy and I would find ourselves outside, standing still, listening.
And then we’d do what all parents do—we’d try to share it.
We’d walk upstairs, knock on her bedroom door, and say something like, “Hey… come listen to the peepers for a minute.” And, just as reliably, we’d get resistance.
Homework. Fatigue. Teenager-hood. A sometimes gentle, but usually not, always a firm: not now.
But every spring, we’d ask again.
We felt it was worth repeating. Some things are.
Fast forward.
She’s grown now. A baker—at the oven at 2:00 a.m., done by 10:00 a.m.. It blends her two great loves: science and art. Precision and creativity in a product of her hands.
And one recent morning, actually her morning, our night, we woke up to our phones buzzing.
A text.
A picture.
A video.
There it was: a vernal pool in Maine. And the sound—clear and crisp and unmistakable—the peepers.
The comment, also clear and unmistakable: “I get it.”
Full circle.
After those challenging middle school years—when so much felt like friction and very little felt like agreement—it turns out she had been listening. Maybe not in the moment, and maybe not in the way we wanted.
But the message landed – and stayed.
There’s a lesson in that—especially at a place like Crossroads, where we talk so often about building strong minds and kind hearts together.
We repeat the important things.
We stick to what we know is right.
We invite the pause—even when it’s declined.
Because eventually… they hear it.
And sometimes, more than a decade later, at 2:00 in the morning, when the peepers are singing…they send it back to us.
