Momentarily confused, I didn’t know whether to hide or get dressed.
Curiosity got the best of me, so I threw on enough clothes and approached the door. Right before I opened it, I remember I never told my Friday morning student I was taking the week off for fall break. She offered to leave, but I thought otherwise, “No, you might just be what I need.”
True to form, time with my high school student reset my soul. Not long into our lesson, I discerned that Chandler needed to talk as much as I did. In her own way, she’d encountered emotional upheaval, like me. So, we never sang. Instead, we listened to each other’s experiences and found mutual encouragement in our discomfort.
In all fairness, even though a lot of people from my town felt the ocean on their toes last week, most watched the news with growing concern. After constant scuttlebutt, it’s hard not to worry that our culture has reached a point of contention from which there is no return.
Which leads to the question... Where are we headed?
I’m not going to try and answer that question today. My world has become complicated enough. I wish I could share the details. But they’re not mine to share. Suffice it to say that several people I dearly love have faced different kinds of loss in recent weeks—the kinds that lead to valleys of grief we’ve never before travailed.
Will we come through? Yes. Because of Jesus, we will prevail.
But there’s a journey ahead. And adjusting to the new course will take time.
As the week unfolded, my son and his wife moved into a new home much closer to mine. With their lives in upheaval, I spent more time than normal with little man last week. A bit undone by the change, he wailed when his crib left their apartment. Not even a year old, he felt the weight of unwanted change.
From the time he was born, little man has not slept like most newborns. And even after they let him “cry it out,” he still cries at bedtime and naps, determined not to sleep.
Except when he’s with me.
For whatever reason, when I lay down next to his pack-n-play and tell him it’s time for a nap, he smiles, rolls around, chats with me a little, and then goes to sleep. When the parents try the same, he just cries.
Some might think they're to blame. But trust me, this baby is different from any I’ve encountered.
He never took a pacifier or bottle. He squirmed in our arms from the very beginning, and giggled with glee when he finally got up on all fours. He’s small for his age, but walking like a champ at eleven months.
And if that weren’t enough, when I play a Beethoven symphony on my phone, he stops what he’s doing and listens—responding most to the sound of string instruments.
I left him in my living room playing with a toy train that needed batteries. On my to find some, I pulled up Beethoven’s 5th symphony on my phone and left it on an end table. When I returned, he was holding the side of the table, rocking back and forth with the music—far from the train.
A few days later, when I was at my worst, I picked him up from his high chair after dinner and sat down with him in my lap in front a large picture window at his new home. Once seated, I pulled up Beethoven’s 6th symphony and placed my phone on the window sill. For the next twenty to thirty minutes, little man and I watched squirrels dig in the yard and climb up a trees all while he leaned into my arms and just listened.
The utter simplicity quieted my soul.
He came for a visit again today. And again, I tuned into Beethoven. As a slight breeze blew and bristled the leaves, we walked the porch and allowed sounds of a bygone era to offer a certain calm.
I feel far from the person I was last week. Time, prayer, praise, tears, and a healthy dose of conversation have transported me from pain to promise.
And now that little man lives closer, I look forward to being lured more often from the tyranny of the now by a baby and Beethoven.
All photos courtesy of pixabay.com
No comments