Starting the New Year Out Right

Photo by Marian Crawford

I must admit when I awoke before dawn this morning, New Year's Day, my thoughts were a bit on the dreary side. I was bummed by recent family problems, pressing decisions, and the sudden death of a close friend a few days before Christmas.

Yes, I know, I know - compared to many people, these barely rate a .5 on the 1-10 problem scale, but my relatively minuscule ticky-tack problems combined to cast a blue hue over the upcoming new year.

After wading through depressing headlines and unfunny comics in the Sunday paper, I dressed and headed to church all alone because Spouse was under the weather.Wouldn't you know, the day I needed company most, there wasn't any.

Or maybe there was.

Just as I pulled out of my driveway and nosed the car around the first curve, I was immersed in light. Beautiful, sparkly, utterly amazing white light from the largest array of sunbeams I've ever seen. Maybe it was a unique combination of sheen and mist, maybe the angle of the sun was different than usual, I don't know, but it was more magnificent than the most elaborate light show Disney could possibly imagine.

Now before I continue, I must mention here that I am a connoisseur of sunbeams. A self-proclaimed expert, mind you. Since I was a little girl, I've taken special joy in early morning sunbeams - those long fingers of Papa God reaching down to earth through the mist to touch His creation with the first light of a brand new day.

Such promise! Such possibilities! Anything could happen.

Many, many mornings, I've taken my prayer walks precisely at the time I know the best sunbeams will make their appearance, usually around 8:10 am. For me, it's one of those heart-bonding times I have with my heavenly father when He cuts through the fog and the mist and clutter of my day to reach right in and caress my careworn heart.

Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10, NKJ).

Knowing, simply knowing that He is large and in charge soothes my troubled spirit and brings me peace. Sometimes, I think, we just need a little reminder.  

So today, without giving my personal pick-me-uppers a single thought, suddenly, I was surrounded by these soul-stirring reminders that I am not alone. That my Papa God is right here with me. And He will be though 2012 just like He was through 2011 and the 50+ years before that.

Then just to bring the point home, I drove past a man with a black garbage bag, shuffling along with his head down through the most incredible dazzling sunbeams anyone could ask for, totally oblivious to the light show all around him. He was actually bathed in light ... translucent, iridescent, brilliant light. But he missed it.

He missed the whole thing because was looking down, collecting trash.

"Look up! Look up!" I shouted out my window. But he only glared in my direction, shook his head at the crazy lady driving by, and dropped his gaze back to the ground. He never knew what he was missing.

Like a smack in the gut, I knew I was seeing myself. Yep, it was me all right, trudging along so many days with my eyes cast downward, collecting my own brand of garbage. Feeling alone and forgotten when all I had to do was look up and see that I'm surrounded by the most amazing light: the presence of my Lord, Savior, and Companion through all of time. 

So my best New Year's gift came without a bow or a box. It came in a beam of light. And whether you see it in an incredible early-morning display of hope, or a candle in the darkness, or even during a rainstorm, I hope yours will too.

Expecting the Unexpected

As 2010 draws to a rather mellow close, I'm enjoying the soothing peace. For a change.

But I know that expecting the unexpected is a way of life in this busy world we attempt to function in, so I can't help but wonder a bit about what surprises 2011 has in store.

I'm reminded of the night a few weeks ago when I agreed to play the piano at a wedding. Now I don't really play much any more ... actually NONE ... since I stopped teaching private piano students three years ago, so I was a smidge nervous about this prospect. It was a small wedding and the bride wasn't at all picky about her music, so I suggested four classical pieces, which she readily agreed to.

So I diligently brushed up on those specific pieces - Pachelbel's Canon in D, Beethoven's Ode to Joy, Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring and Beethoven's Fur Elise - for several weeks. Altogether, they were designed to last about 15 minutes before the bride was to appear at the door, cuing me to launch into "Here Comes the Bride."

Cool beans. No worries, mon.

Then came the big night. The bride's sister (the only family member able to attend from Haiti) was delayed at the airport at the last minute so the 7:00 wedding was switched to 7:30. Finally, at 8:00 when she still hadn't arrived, and the guests and I had become thoroughly bored staring down one another, I was told to "just begin playing - she should be here any minute and we'll start the bride down the aisle at approximately 8:15." 

So I played. And I played. And I played. All my prepared music. Then I went through them again. And again. I had no other pieces with me and heaven knows whatever I'd memtorized during my early years had long since evacuated to higher ground.

I finally had to stop due to hand cramps after completing Canon in D for the FOURTEENTH time. Honestly. I ain't funnin' ya. I considered Chopsticks and Heart and Soul as time-fillers, but decided against it. I think if I ever see Canon in D again I'll rip out my very last three hairs.

I felt like cheering when the bride finally appeared at the back door, giving me the thumb's up. I attacked "Here Comes the Bride" with the zeal of a freshly pardoned convict.

So unforseen things happen from time to time, and we are called upon to dig deep to deal with them. Gracefully. It's easy to deal with them like spoiled little brats - my personal forte, but much harder to act like a grown-up. I've been told that once you're in your 50's you're expected to be that level.

Sigh.

So here's hoping your New Year will be peaceful and calm and uncluttered with Canons that never stop.