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Posts Tagged ‘Perspective’

 

Walking is an activity that goes beyond movement or exercise.

We walk for many reasons. We might walk for the exercise, or to be in the fresh air, or to reach a destination, or to clear our heads, or to spend time with a friend (fur friends included).

Recently I left the house later in the evening, knowing that the long-stretching daylight would brighten my path … and, I hoped, my mood.

I walked, alongside the WonderDog, who seemed to know that my mood would not be compassionate to his frequent pulling. As I walked, I groaned.

Like tectonic plates under the Earth’s surface, a domino-like catastrophic event seemed to be rocking my world, and I wanted to respond in volcanic fashion. I was holding nothing back, and God was getting an earful of the really real me. I honestly do not even recall anything that I said, heard or smelled, until I reached a beautiful vista of the valley below my neighbourhood. It was then that my heart began to hear the still small voice, through the lyrics of an old hymn.

“This is my Father’s World” started reverberating in my thoughts out of nowhere.

I have had this sort of interruption often enough to know to listen to the message.

“This is my Father’s world …”

Not mine, His.

” … and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres …”

And I listened … to the birds, the insects.

” … I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
his hand the wonders wrought …”

What an amazing world we have in which to live.

” … the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white,
declare their maker’s praise …”

All of creation shouting out praises to the Creator.

” … this is my Father’s world:
he shines in all that’s fair;
in the rustling grass I hear him pass;
he speaks to me everywhere …”

Yes he does, for he interrupted my groaning with reminders that his creation is made to praise him.

” … this is my Father’s world.
O let me ne’er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad! “

God, our father and the maker of heaven and Earth, is in control.

I looked out over the valley below, looked at the colours of the setting sun painted  across the sky, smelled the scent of flowers on a nearby bush, heard the crickets, the birds, the panting of the WonderDog at my side. All of creation singing their praises to the Creator.

That night I was reminded that he is in control, and that we still need, and are able to praise him, though no Earthly solutions are within our view.

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The Piano Man

As I write this I am being serenaded by the piano man … and I am not talking Billy Joel. Our Chinese son, who is sixteen, humorous, gentle and kind (and who makes a mean soup) also plays piano.

Every day, shortly after returning from school, he sits at our piano and tickles the ivories (and ebonies too … who doesn’t remember that song from the eighties? Good ol’ Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder were tickled green(bucks) by that number one hit … but, I digress), and all of the stress of my day fades away.

He is currently playing Yiruma’s “River Flows in You” right now. It is a song with lullaby qualities that make me feel as though I haven’t a care in the world (it is also known as the ‘people’s choice’ for the song to be “Bella’s Lullaby” for the Twilight movie). He also frequently plays Mozart’s Sonata K545, and I feel as though I am on the set of the filming of Pride and Prejudice with the hilarity of poor Jane’s dysfunctional family flitting all around.

I remember the first day, after he moved in, that I realized that China’s got talent. I was making tea in the kitchen when the most beautiful music was playing in my living room. After a few minutes, I realized that I heard a mistake (it must have been a big mistake for me to hear it) in the music that I had thought must be coming from a stereo. I wandered into the living room to see our new son by another mother sitting at our dusty piano, playing in a manner that said he knew what he was doing.

I dropped to the sofa, and tried to pick my chin up from where it had dropped on the floor. All I could think was, ‘we are getting paid to be serenaded by this talented young man? How did we get so lucky?’ So I sat there, surrounded by musical beauty that fed my soul. And when he was done, I thanked him with a standing ovation. He was aghast that I could have heard anything good from his unpracticed fingers.

Music … that was what we were sharing.

Perspective … that was what we were not sharing.

His perspective came from his expectations that he could only be good if he was of the quality of a concert pianist. My perspective came from my lack of expectations upon my afternoon. He surprised me pleasantly. He only surprised himself if he was flawless. He expected perfection. I expected nothing, and was delighted with the music he made.

I still think he makes great music. And I still think that my perspective is the right one … because I (the hearer) heard and more than that, received his gift … imperfect, unpolished, but gift wrapped nonetheless. And I received gladly.

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