Rhapsody

Out walking, ear buds in ears, music playing, I heard a God-whisper: Stop the music, take out the ear buds – and listen.

Not sure what this would accomplish, I did it. At first, I heard nothing. Just as eyes need time to adjust to dim light, my ears needed a few moments to clear out bold melodies and harmonies, vocals and instrumentals, to make room for more subtle sounds.

Ah, yes. Trees rustled in the wind. Not blustery or harsh, the breeze exerted enough gentle pressure to keep branches swaying, leaves dancing and a breathy orchestra playing in harmony.

Then, a new sound emerged: Gurgling water flowed down a rock fountain that hugged the side of someone’s home. How amazing that the gurgling, the rustling and the rhythmic tap of my shoes against the blacktop soothed me after an intense day.

Several evenings later, I stepped out our back door onto the patio and found myself, once again, listening. The wind, firm and insistent, riffled the leaves of the tree grown large in the nine years we’ve lived in this house.

Stopping to watch the leaves play, I noticed another sound swelling in the night air. Raucous cicadas, hidden from sight, trilled in chorus. Their cry competed with the wind’s song, as if trying to drown it out. And yet the two choruses complemented each other, lifting me as a rushing stream lifts a grounded canoe and gently carrying me forward to a new place.

Suddenly, a helicopter soared overhead, its searchlight shining. For several minutes, the brazen clatter commanded the scene, overpowering the cicadas’ cry and the leaves’ swish. Apparently, the copter’s crew either found what they were looking for or decided to look elsewhere. After the second swoop, the clatter died away and the soft evening noises returned.

Then came the afternoon I finished a walk and sat for a few minutes on the patio. Again, I removed the ear buds as the last notes of a lively song died away. Again, I listened for another kind of music. That day, the warble of birds greeted me. I hadn’t expected bird songs in October. The concert delighted me.

A couple of dogs barked lazily in the distance. Random cars whooshed past. Our gray cat, irritated that two warblers dared perch on our fence, crouched in the grass, making odd chattering noises in her throat.

How interesting that all these subtle sounds proved so soothing – wind, water, cicadas, birds singing, dogs barking, cat chattering, cars passing. Even the helicopter’s roar didn’t repulse. It punctuated.

How significant that each sound represented something living or purposefully moving. The sounds themselves stirred movement and life.

Just before I began listening, I heard a man demonstrate an amazing thing. He sang a tone. As he did, his guitar sitting in a stand began vibrating with the same frequency. It picked up the same tone. The man sang another tone. The guitar picked up the new tone. Whatever note the man sang, his guitar echoed.

In Isaiah 55 (NLT), God whispers, “Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen, for the life of your soul is at stake.” He announces, “You will live in joy and peace. The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands!”

Life screams at me, at once rushing and paralyzing, sometimes thrilling, sometimes discouraging and overwhelming. Yet God guarantees: No matter how bewildering the surrounding clamor, I’ll pick up the rhapsody he is singing – and his creation is echoing – if I’ll come to him and listen.

© 2007, Deborah P. Brunt. All rights reserved.