Music is a gifted discovery.
Even before Jessica brought the worlds of opera and
classical music into my living room (and dining room and basement, not to
mention other rooms in my heart and life), I have long been enamored at how composers
and musicians can combine the mathematics of a musical score with the mechanics
of a musical instrument and create a beautiful sound that makes people cry.
Or more accurately, create sequences of sounds that make people
cry. It’s the contrast we notice as the music moves from one chord to another,
from the minor to the major, from staccato to legato, from suspenseful to
resolute. The change is what creates the beauty that magically draws out the
tears.
Music is what’s used in movies to, quite literally, set
the tone. It’s what let’s us know whether we should be fearful or happy; it’s
what gives us a heads up to a sad ending.
In nearly all episodes of ABC’s Modern Family (I am
catching the reruns at the dinner hour while Jessica and babies are off on an
extended singing gig), every branch of the family hits meltdown mode at some
point. Conflicts and dynamics reach what appears to be an unrecoverable peak. And
then, with just two minutes left in the episode, the emotive music trickles in
and the voice of the family member who’s been narrating the episode (in its
mockumentary format) comes on in resolved tones saying something like “yeh, we’re
a crazy family, but we’re our crazy
family.” The narrator’s words are always well-written and inspiring, but it’s
the music that makes it believable, that makes you feel that all the
forgiveness, understanding, and grace-giving needed was actually bestowed and
accepted in those two minutes. You wouldn’t believe this without the music.
And it got me to thinking.
We all need those moments when, after all elements of our
lives have reached their full fevered pitch, our personal musicscape changes
keys and our Narrator ties it all together for us, leaving us with at least the
very slightest inspiration that gets us to say, even ever so weakly: I can do
this.
Thankfully, this happens in real life, not just on
television. I know this to be true.
The musicscape of our lives, of course, isn’t an audible
soundtrack (although I know we’d all have a blast creating one). In the
situations and pain that we face, the shift from a minor to a major key comes
in the form of moments of grace. Or, if you will, grace notes. It’s those
moments when the finger of God pushes through the veil like a finger pushing
through shrink wrap, and we are touched. A few years ago, in a conversation
with mother-in-law-for-life Mama Sue, we came to call these poke-throughs “God stamps,”
divinely coincidental events that left us no doubt that God’s stamp was all
over this journey, that He was with us just as sure as the tears on our cheeks.
For those who’ve been journeying along with me you know these “stamps” as The
Deer Story, The Rainbow Story, and, in a direct connection to music, The Church
Bells story. (So maybe the musicscape of our lives can be literal music after
all.)
And just like the change in the music that sparks
emotion, it’s the contrast of the darkness of a situation with the light of God’s
poke-through that sparks a moment of resolve, or strength, or encouragement.
In recent days many people around me have been
experiencing great loss. In the past few weeks, our friends Dan and Brittany
lost their dear one-year-old Avery after a year of overcoming one obstacle over
another. We lost Jessica’s dear uncle Ken to a long battle with cancer. Our
friend Amy lost her much-to-young uncle to short battle with cancer. My
neighbor across the street lost his mom. A neighbor behind us passed away. My
cousins Mike and Susan are well over halfway to the one-year mark of losing
their precious 3-year old Will. While I don’t know them personally, I’ve been
intimately touched by the loss of Joey Feek, wife of Rory Feek and part of the
Christian/Country duo of Joey + Rory. And those are the tough situations that
come to mind without even thinking. There are many more.
I write this today, as a prayer, for my many friends and
family members who are in the epicenter of loss. I wish, hope, and pray that
you have moments when you modulate from the minor to the major chord, that you
experience a poke-through from God that gives you a touch of grace, a moment
that gives you enough strength to say, even ever so slightly, “I can do this.”
For those, like me, who’ve lost a spouse, as you move
farther, and further, from the first moment of loss, you find that there are
three dates on the calendar that tend to have their own pulse: your spouse’s birthday,
your spouse’s date of death, and your wedding anniversary. I’m writing today in
commemoration of our wedding anniversary. I’m using the occasion of this date
to somehow try to pay forward the comfort I received from God. His grace is
real. And as the apostle Paul said, it is sufficient. When I think, though, how
God’s grace ministered to me, the word “sufficient” seems a gross
understatement. But from the sense that God’s grace is all we need, which is
what’s being said here, the measure is exactly right.
It’s fitting, too, that today, March 20, marks the day
that nature makes its own key change, from the minor key of winter, to the major
key of spring. It’s easy to imagine in your mind’s ear a harp glissando as you
breathe in the spring and exhale the winter.
Of course, just like a TV comedy series, there will be a
new episode of mayhem right around the corner. But at least we know we can
listen for the music. And our Narrator’s voice can be heard any time we listen.
Grace notes are written into the music scores of our lives. I’ve learned that
actual grace notes in a musical score can be considered optional. The conductor
or musician decides on whether they’re played. For me, when applied to the
music scores of our lives, they are required playing. When it comes to grace, I
do not want to miss a note.
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