The Pieces of our Story

musicI heard a piece of your story today.  I could see that it wasn’t an easy piece to tell.  I saw your eyes tear and your words slow as if a part of you were going through the pain again.  I’m so sorry for that.  But you need to know I also marveled, not only that grace and grit looked like the new colors of the season, but that your piece reminded me so much of a piece of my story.  The colors were the same.  The reds so vibrant at one time, were now faded by years and tears.  And I saw the familiar black ink.

It made me think about all these pieces of all the people in this world, floating around like stories in the air, like the songs of the birds.  Maybe the birds are secretly sharing our pieces because I notice that I stop and listen intently to them. There is a familiarity to the tune. And in that moment I’m connected to every place the birds have ever been.  Part of them become a part of me. Their grace and song washes over me.  The wonder of grace is that one little bit spreads like spilled ink, soaking and staining so severely.  It’s not until later that we realize the parts we can’t read are the ones we need dulled.  We need it stolen from us. We can replay the memory, but we cannot read the words ever again for the first time, or re-live again the staggering poignant moment.  The moment is now black with grace…and with time. We logically know what is underneath, but we will never see or feel the full sharpness again. It is gone.

From the distance of space and time we begin to  realize the ink is something more than a blot of black.  It is a beautiful masterpiece of imagery and at times scored music notes.  Melodies of the birds, I imagine.

So up to the surface today, another piece of me emerges.  And while I’m tempted to cover it up, I decide to acknowledge it and talk about it- To look at the piece with black blots.

What piece of yourself are you seeing today? Re-living an old hurt? Trying to regain lost emotional footing? Looking for forgiveness? It’s ok.  There are others with you.  I am one.  All of our pieces float around and entangle into something so strong. So unusual and beautiful.  A symphony of symphonies!

The strength we share is the synergy of vulnerability and connectivity coming together.It’s  2+2= more than 4. Not orchestrated of this earth.

I imagine there is another out there who will hear your story piece, black blots and all, and be amazed and encouraged that they are not alone, but connected to you; that their music notes are in perfect harmony with yours.

2 Cor 1-Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.

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