Once there was a small boy, not yet five, who heard his parents talking about a concert they were attending. A world class violinist was touring with the symphony, and the conductor who was being flown in for the performance was renowned. The boy's mother was eight and a half months pregnant, and she considered this to be a splurge before the baby arrived.
"I want to go too!" the boy pleaded.
His parents looked at him in surprise. He had never shown an interest in classical music before.
"Why do you want to go?" his father asked.
"You said he was the best in the whole world! I want to hear it too. Please take me with you!"
The parents stared at each other.
"All right," she said. Perhaps he would want to take lessons someday. It was worth a try.
They arrived early, to get settled, while the musicians were absorbed with tuning their instruments. There was no effort to coordinate with one another, but rather busied themselves adjusting their cellos and flutes. It sounded like traffic at rush hour.
Just then, the mother's water broke. She grabbed her husband's arm.
"We have to leave," she whispered, scooping up her son's hand while holding her stretched belly.
The conductor strode to the podium, baton in his hand. The audience erupted into thunderous applause. The boy looked back over his shoulder at what he assumed was the greatest concert he would ever hear. Which he had found to be disappointing.
When the family hurried through the lobby, the first measures of the symphony hit the air. He could just barely hear them. It did indeed sound peaceful.
We are often completely enthralled with tuning our own lives. The people next to us are also tuning theirs but we forget that. The cacophony that results can be disappointing. Yet the Conductor knows the music. When all the rehearsals that we call life are over, and He taps His baton, we will be swept up in the most magnificent symphony imaginable.
Love,
Lori
