Composing a Symphony

I will be the first to admit that I really know nothing about music. I know what I love and what stirs my soul and what makes me wish I had been born without ears, but when it comes to the mechanics I am lost. Part of it is that I get impatient when I try to learn something, even if it comes naturally, and part is that I know that my life has a different purpose driving it. But just once, it would be nice to be crazy talented. Beyond the talent, though, there is a great misunderstanding between me and music. I understand that a particular swell or key change moves my heart, but I haven't a clue about the method behind it. Yet here I sit, composing a symphony.

Breaking my life down into movements is not difficult, as they generally revolve around God. By generally, I mean absolutely. I used to define years, when I was in high school, based on the guys in my life; I look back now and see no difference because they all blend together into a mash of mistakes and brokenness. Then God came on the scene: great in power and satisfying to the massive hole that transcended every part of my being. Holla, second movement. Then, as quickly as He came, He seemed to disappear. I know now that when God looks as though He is absent, it is either I who am absent or He is teaching me something. Or both. I have been floundering in a less than graceful manner ever since. Ebb and flow, high tide and low tide, flotsam and jetsam, driftwood and motorboat. I am a mess of life composition.

Today is a triumphant hailing of this movement's final notes. Life is moving with purpose again and I have never been so excited. I have money. I have a car. I have a career plan. I have the freedom of being nearly done with school for good. I have an expectation of good things to come. I have peace. This peace has been bought at a very great price, but it was worth every agonizing minute that led me here.

Thank you, God, for perfectly timing every second.