The sun was just beginning to show over the mountaintops as I wound my way east on the two lane road. The fog was beginning to lift and collect in a whispy dreamlike stupor in the fields and around the foothills, but my eyes were drawn to the golden glow above the snowy peaks not too far in the distance.
I breathed deep and turned the music up.
*“I want to give you a house on a hill, so paint your walls like you dreamed cause it’s yours to fulfill,
We’ll walk the kids off to school and if time does afford,
We can look through the pictures of our lives, lives before…”
The curves of the road swayed with the melody, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of pure, aching happiness at the beauty of a composition written by one of my friends.
Such beautiful, hopeful lyrics.
His music matters.
I heard myself exhale again.
It’s strange how events in your life unfold, one gracefully, seamlessly into the next – flowing like water until you’re standing neck deep in an ocean before you even realize you’ve stepped off the shore. If you look hard, sometimes you can trace the events back to the very moment they came to life, you can follow the strand like a worry line on a familiar face.
That’s what I’ve been doing lately. Tracing lines.
I wrote a song once about a city that dwelled inside of a heart. It was covered in fault lines, and everyone knew that the next big quake would break the city to pieces. Yet still, the people who resided within had this insane hope that they would stay in one piece, that their kingdom would remain intact, safe and sound.
Hope is a powerful thing. These events lately have been making me wonder what in the world I can do to help spread it to the people I see around me who need it as badly as the air they’re gasping for.
As I drive through the icy air, I realize my exhaling has syllables, and I’m praying for her again. For him again. For her again. For them again.
Look around you. Look at that fault line of events in your life connecting you with all the people around you. Why? Who are you supposed to be noticing right now that you might be overlooking? God, let my eyes be truly open. Love isn’t blind, love is being strong enough to truly see. I want to see. I want to see. I know now that the beating city within my chest can withstand whatever quake comes next, because I have this hope. I want to break it like bread and share.
In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis wrote on Christ and friendship, “…You have not chosen one another, but I have chosen you for one another.”
Friends. Coworkers. Neighbors. Family. We’re woven together like a tapestry, and it’s a beautiful, purposeful, thoughtful thing. If they don’t have hope right now, hope for them.
After all, we’re all in this together.
*Lyrics by Patrick Ulinski: A House on a Hill
Check out Patrick’s album (perfect for those drives on winding roads):
https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/patrick-ulinski/id793017498
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