I had a friend once who always tried to find a new route to work. I was visiting her and trying to understand the itinerary, but there was no repetition to lean into. I found it all confusing, but she was in the pursuit of adventure. Or mastery of the Pittsburgh landscape. A bit of lostness along the way was a fair consequence.
I tend to follow the familiar path, even if a shorter one exists. Well, now that Siri is my guide those tendencies have been outdated. I go where she tells me.
My musical escapades are similarly grooved. A handful of artists appear on my device, or when in the sewing room I merely have to speak the title. Which is astonishing. There is a limitless array of possibilities out there, though I would be hard pressed to point to ¨there¨, and yet I tend to listen to a narrow pool. This month, the favorite is the Messiah.
As I piece another quilt the lyrics bring me both joy and solace. Yet I began to notice that not all of the vocabulary is brimming with optimism.
¨... he was despised... rejected ...acquainted with grief... have gone astray... the people who have walked in darkness...¨
In my eagerness to put up lights and stockings I sometimes overlook that a strong half of the Christmas story is harrowing. The altos and basses who bring the music into my home seem cognizant of both parts. In the contrast of those sentiments both have relevance.
As it happens, my sewing sessions are often truncated before I get to the finale. But if memory serves, things turn out quite well. Wandering eventually leads to homecoming, and grief is erased by victory.
Which is what I need to hear over and over. It reminds me to go where God tells me.
