What an unusual year! This refrain strums chords of disharmony in the orchestra’s stringed section of my life, distorting the expected sounds emanating from the whole, my family. Each year since 2015, at least one string in my practiced, experienced repertoire produces sour notes, an unwelcome disconcerting moment in time that screeches in my ears long after the curtain falls, without the applause begging an ovation. Like an owl in the night stealthily hunting its prey, a harbinger of death or figure of wisdom, this nocturnal creature retreats during daylight to the confines of its wooded habitat, usually quietly hidden away. But night returns as the next day ends, determined in its reckoning by the earth’s rotation on its axis, and while the world revolves, life continues in obedience to the proverbial sands of time. The hunt begins anew. And around, and around we go.
This decreed reckoning doesn’t discriminate against or grant preferential treatment to any person, place, or thing. None escapes its power and bounds. A ticking masterpiece with colourful patterns utilizing light and dark, shadows and blackness, blesses us with sight or blindness, capturing us in time as hostage to laws beyond our control and framing our experiences in mortality.
Lately, my heart and mind feel mired in time by world events, usually steadfast, now utterly dependent on feeling my way. I find myself reflecting and considering circumstances near and far, trying to understand the implications of adversity upon millions I know not. A futile effort, but one that encourages compassion in thought, without judgment and assumptions, my trusting nature feels connected to humanity’s greatest gift: life and breath given to us. For how long? We know not. While we may not personally contract the virus known as Covid-19, the whole human family suffers. Compacted by sicknesses, natural disasters, and unemployment, some struggle in humble circumstances and willingly share what little they possess. Governments, medical institutions, scientists, and laboratories grapple with the repercussions and economic devastation. The battering ram of discord, instability, uncertainty, insecurity, and fear furiously swings its attempt to splinter the bulwarks of hope. I look upward with mixed gratitude, concern, and sadness to learn from Him on high who comforts and reconciles in His own time.
Spiritually hungry for enlightenment or comfort, I recognize my weaknesses and inability to comprehend higher ways, sometimes wondering why I am so blessed, even in trials and dungeons of despair. A key unlocks the gate holding me within my trembling self-examination. Faith in the unwavering goodness of God defies logic when my heart aches for those suffering tragedy. Yet I know beyond all doubt that the omniscient power I acknowledge and worship as my Father in Heaven heals all wounds, cures all ills, relieves the oppressed, and strengthens feeble knees through His unconditional love, embodied in Jesus Christ. Relinquishing my stubborn, independent nature during nights of turmoil, strife, or blindness in the shadows, and falling on wobbly knees, whether by His volition or mine, produces bruising and scars. These silent witnesses of my frailties, inhibitions, and my deepest desires for His nourishing approval allow Him to send a welcome beam of light, an angel or two in friendship form, but I must not fear what might be, what I hear, or see.
In the dark of the night, aided by increased depth perception, efficient collecting and processing of light, and farsightedness, the owl teaches a lesson in observation. How do we develop those enabling skills? When we stumble in the dark, searching for clarity and understanding, it is only by using our spiritual eyes we can discern the beacon light of hope rising above the horizon, bringing peaceful sustenance to weary, hungering hearts and minds. Behind the disguised veil of appearances, He sees my nakedness by touching my beating heart with electrifying signals, awakening every sense to the invisible world of miracles. Perceiving the unseen, processing the un-processable, and feeding upon the intangible when my world, blackened with turmoil or fading hope, challenges my eyesight, I often feel one sitting beside me with tender arms around my shoulders, heaven’s embrace. A blanketing warmth covers any doubt of mine. A comforting infusion of delicious manna-like nourishment fills my desire to see just enough for one step forward. The owl knows what it seeks and develops its inherent ability with practice, knowledge, and hunger under the auspices of divine watchfulness. Feeling and listening to the ethereal world of love and grace brings immense joy after hours upon hours of intense tuning practice.
Emotionally and mentally collapsing into dream-like reminiscence of my battle scars, penetrating thoughts, like that from a sharp, two-edged sword, into the deepest recesses of a feeling helm, my heart perceives what the mind cannot. The timekeeper’s toolbox opens to reveal incredulous perspectives of eternal worth, mine to use with each breath granted. One at a time, my hands feel of their perfectly designed and crafted workmanship. He whispers, “My gift to you.”
Do I refuse? He sees what I cannot. He loves unconditionally, teaches wisely, chastises gently, guides quietly, imparts wisdom generously, and comforts peacefully. He unceasingly grants me nourishing sight because He knows my hunger, increasing my abilities, strength, and hope. He saves me from eternal death. What do I give?
The orchestra of my life (from November 9, 2019- December 25, 2020) produced a symphonic composition of exquisite joy and binding, disparaging sadness echoing as only chamber music does under vaulted ceilings in a beautifully ornamented cathedral never before entered. Alive to every nuance, my eyes, ears, hands, feet, mind, and heart struggle, in their paths with individually focused attention, to capture a single magical spell woven in moments of rhythmic timing. Every note strikes a balance in each lingering vibration after the curtain descends as softly as fluffy snowflakes to touch the stage of my life like a musical snowglobe, designed especially for me. Transported by sound and sight, awe freezes me in an illusion. I remain seated, desperately trying to recreate each pleasantly melodic rendering and hungering for an encore to a serenading lullaby of perfectness that does not exist. Standing to exit, I stumble with the realization that truth and beauty require opposition. The whole is only perfect, or complete, as one, the symphony with all its instruments of tonal influences, and a life lived with gratitude for the bitter and the sweet. What an unusual year for me, one never imagined, but the resultant refrain from my oft chastened, burdened soul echoes praise. I am not the same woman, I can never be the same, and that is as it should be. A year like none other in many respects, I would not have wanted to miss. The orchestrated notes hold my life in their trebles, pitches, tones, and composition. I now hear what I could not, embrace what I tried to dismiss, and feel the warm blood pulsing in my wholly impressionable heart. Yes, my heart feels what I need to know, what I yearn to hold, and what I wish to see in the shadows of night and light of day. Pressurized vaults, safeguarded in the caverns of my heart, release their golden liquid to flow unabashedly from well-worn tear ducts with gratitude for those learning moments in the squeaky, squealing notes of daily living.
I contemplate one common truth among all humanity– we all have crosses to bear, choices to make, joys to experience, and lives to bless as we voyage through our life in turbulent or calm waters. To those who have overcome sadness and depression, I wish to borrow a portion of your strength, hope, and courage as I continue my hunt with divine guidance. I applaud your victory in learning to collect and process light. I am succeeding by His grace. To each suffering, downtrodden soul, I cannot adequately express the depth my heart longs to bridge the gap for your relief except through prayer, friendship, and what I can to lift your load. Where no light exists, no shadows follow or precede, and visa versa. Opposition, untuned instruments, unlearned play, and a well-written score under the hand of the Master Conductor edifies the earnest listener. I am ready for divine instruction. I am where I need to be, where I should be, and where He knows my face, sees my heart, and blesses me with abundant goodness and mercy. I am grateful for this most unusual year!
Life happens to everyone. He whispers with the breath of life, “My gift to you.”
