The Song of Your Life
The Song of Your Life
Forget certainty for a moment,
And fortitude, and all the things
That make us secure.
Now is the time to listen, to incline
Your ear to the song of your life.
Hear as your story builds its melody,
One quiet note upon the next—growing bolder,
Even daring to harmonize, to improvise
With those discordant places of pain, each wound
A staccato step towards its crescendoed wholeness.
Come alive to the silvery score
Shimmering above your unsuspecting head
And just a measure beyond, inviting you to follow,
To play your part in the music your life longs to be
If only you would loosen your throat and sing.
Trust that the shrouded path ahead
Is paved with tomorrow’s notes, your song
Composed of laughter and sorrow, a melody
Too beautiful to apprehend in fullness today.
Even still, it waits for you. Listen.
Sing.
This week marks a year since I began writing this blog in response to a subtle yet persistent question that had been building in me for quite some time, ever since I left my job as a counselor in 2018. It is a question Quaker theologian Parker Palmer asks in his work Let Your Life Speak:
Is the life I am living the same as the life that wants to live in me?
As I’ve written each week, sharing the various ways I’ve noticed God speaking in and through my life, the answer to that question has become a gradual “Yes.” When I write, I sense the goodness of God in the gift of my outer and inner lives becoming one. Writing has helped me become whole, and I am less divided in my attention and desires than I was one year ago today.
But many things have remained the same as they were one year ago, despite the slow inner change at work in me. We are still in the midst of a global pandemic that has continued to foster a spirit of uncertainty, dis-ease, grief, and loneliness. I feel the weight of this daily, some days more than others. With blessed predictability, my sweet neighbor still sits outside each morning feeding the birds and squirrels of her animal kingdom through sun and snow, rain and wind. My first post last January was about her and the birds that rest, feed, and play in the bush which divides our houses. I wrote of how their presence serves as a daily reminder of God’s faithfulness to care for all of his creation—birds and people alike—despite how many times I question God’s providence. The daily morning ritual I witness out my window remains a feast for my eyes and soul.
You care for people and animals alike, O Lord.
How precious is your unfailing love, O God!
All humanity finds shelter in the shadow of your wings.Psalm 36:6b-7
Through your gracious engagement with what I write, I have learned that we are so much less alone in our doubts and fears, hopes and longings than we ever dared to believe, and that sharing our stories is what makes us strong. Your kindness, vulnerability, and companionship in this journey of beholding God in all areas of our lives is making me strong. Thank you. You have taught me something of the goodness of God that I could not have learned anyplace else. I consider it a deep and sacred gift to walk with you, and I look forward to doing so in the year ahead.
As we enter this new year together, I invite you to join me in asking this simple question:
Is the life I am living the same as the life that wants to live in me?
May its answer surprise you, transform you, and lead you ever deeper into the trenches of grace.