The Symphony

I often feel frantic. An internal state that can be hidden by external calm.

The middle picture is out of focus, and the chaotic edges get my gaze.

Overlapping voices at different volumes make a stressful clash in my brain.

The conductor should get this in order! But that’s me.

I’m at the podium trying to use my baton of self-effort to direct these noises.

They should chime for me. Beat drums and clang symbols, trill flutes and weep cello!

Force your notes to sing to the world my ability, my lovability.

Something changes. The din dies slowly and someone steps onto the stage.

He walks with purpose and without hurry to the center. No baton, just beautiful scarred hands.

He doesn’t demand the notes. They swell in response to his presence.

The chaotic edges fade into the background as he becomes my focus.

I sit down in joy and gaze at him.

Calm permeates the room and I feel the new rhythm deep in my bones.

He created every instrument my life may play.

He crafted sound waves when he spoke life into the void. How could I ever make music apart from him?

Both in the beginning and into my dark heart he has breathed his song.

A beautiful symphony of human neediness and divine grace.

My dependent weakness highlighting his merciful strength.

Too quickly I forget and climb back up on the stage. But he’s there. Loving me.

He doesn’t scold or push.

He looks into my eyes and reminds me of who he is.

He holds out his hands and reminds me of what he has already done.

He tells me who I am now, and gives me the grace to believe it.

And invites me to dance in step with his beautiful, perfect symphony.