Memories of Pacabel

In the midst of a busy afternoon, the voice over the phone sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it immediately. Asherel and I were wrestling with the computer trying to find out why the CD was mute, though the person on the CD was clearly speaking. Growing more and more frustrated, I answered the phone, and the vaguely familiar voice said, ,"Vicky, this is Terese, you know, married to Barry, from USC, California days....?"

"Terese!" I cried joyfully, "How did you find me!"
It had been at least 15, maybe 20 years since I had last seen or spoken with Terese. I had seen sweet Terese long, long ago in a lifetime far, far away when the primordial ooze was only just beginning to discuss how it could coalesce to form a mammalian eye when all parts had to be present simultaneously for it to work at all.

What made the sound of Terese's dear voice even more eerie was only a few days ago, Asherel and I had been walking down the street when I heard the strains of Pacabel  Canon in D by Mozart over the tinny sound system of a small village. I paused and began to hum along. Asherel looked at me with a cocked eyebrow.

"I love this song," I told her, "A lovely friend from college walked down the aisle to this song."
Now Terese would cringe to hear me call it a "song". It is a masterpiece, a work of art, a fugue of exquisite beauty by one of the greatest composers to ever live. It was Terese's wedding march that I was humming and remembering so fondly from 30 years ago as Asherel and I shopped for dog booties in the little town.

So we spent the next hour catching up on 20 years. She had grown into just the sort of lovely woman I had known she would and I wished I had managed to stay in touch. I tried, but you know how it is. Dust bunnies and folding socks take over and before you blink, you are on the phone with one of the sweetest people on earth whom you haven't talked with in 20 years.

I have the same jarring self-incrimination when I lay in bed and awaken in the middle of the night. I know something is off as I writhe and mutely moan over all the struggles I need to tackle that I haven't the strength, will, or character to deal with. And then I realize I haven't talked with God about this or about anything in a very long time. I certainly at best forgot to pray when I went to bed. I may have gone much longer without more than rote "thank you for the food" types of prayers.  How long I had gone without  the sweet and comforting and loving voice of the One who knows me best and loves me most! 

Yet like the cheerful voice of Terese, I don't hear condemnation. I hear joy and love that now we are speaking; now we tilt our heads together and remember how dear the journey is that we never travel alone. As I wiggled in bed last night, unable to shake all the looming troubles from my heart, I finally popped open my Bible. Go ahead, Lord, I thought, You have every right to scream at me. I am so negligent and so forgetful of the only One who deserves my constant adoration. Here is what He said:

Isaiah 60:1 (NIV)
"Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.