There was a pause in the hubbub. Long enough for my thoughts to drift towards someone I have been feeling distant from. I picked up my phone and sent a text. It was not a request, but an offer, and the words "I love you."

There was no instant reply, so I wondered if it mattered. Then Ben walked up to me with a bowl of his favorite ice cream.

Now if I ask Benjamin for a glass of juice or some of his chips, he will willingly comply. But I am not sure I recall him ever bringing me a treat unasked. 

"Thank you, Ben!" 

I wondered. 

It was almost as if the same voice that urged me to send the text had spoken to Ben. Reach out. Be kind. Surely my gesture was not connected to Ben's random act. And yet...

On Saturday I went to hear the Messiah. Actually if I only wanted to hear it I could have stayed home and closed my eyes with the stereo on. But I wanted to see and be enwrapped in it too. 

The conductor did a masterful job of guiding dozens of singers and violinists and trumpet players in their individual parts, as long as they kept looking at him. At one point there was a dramatic rest, rendering the packed cathedral silent. Every musician's eyes were fixed on the conductor's hands, ready to respond. He knew the score. At the precise moment the conductor waved his arms and sound exploded, filling all the crevices in the stone building and the corners of every heart. 

When I remember to look to my Conductor, it is remarkable how exuberant the sound can be, dancing over and around the actions of people around me. Because unlike me, He knows the score.