Tonight I ventured to the music building after class. Lost in my thoughts, I slipped out of myself for a few minutes in order to talk to my friend Naz. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make dinner plans with me the following day. Still, we chatted with one another until I’d gone all the way up to the practice rooms in the music building.

As I told her goodbye, I slipped into the quiet room. The sound of the piano proved rich and melodic. Something within me seemed to say, “Don’t play anything you already know.” I started with a random variation on a D Major chord. After that, the notes just seemed to flow. The melody was playful, yet intentional. It spoke of pain, but carried an air of warm resolution upon its phrases.

Months have passed since I’ve experienced this kind of musical expression. Long months have passed since the keys have flowed so freely underneath my fingertips. I was consciously aware of the music, and simultaneously a bystander, an observer of my own talent. I almost wanted to capture it—to remember the patterns exactly as they were expressed. I wanted to later share this music with those I love.

Still, the memory eludes me. I don’t think I’ll ever truly recreate the melody I played tonight. Instead, I’ll remember only the joy that I feel when I am engrossed in my music—music that is veritably, wholly my own. A peaceful feeling overtakes me at the thought of it, and gives breath and life to the words I’m now writing.

As I left the building later that evening, I found myself avoiding my conventional path home. Instead, I was inclined to wander. I wandered over by the law school. The winding sidewalks were splashed with pools of light, freckled by flowery trees. I found myself desiring to be a student there next year. Yet, at the same time, I felt entirely content with the idea of going elsewhere. It was a strange extension of the peace within my music.

Eventually, I wound my way around to Dean Keeton. I was struck almost immediately by the beauty of north campus at dusk. The rich blues of the fading sky brought depth and contrast to the bright cream of the buildings. The warm breeze wrapped around the surroundings, danced across my bare arms, and eased the intense heat.

Looking over my shoulder, I realized I could have taken a much more efficient path from the music building to Dean Keeton. If I had simply walked through a parking garage, I could have skipped my winding path around the law school entirely.

Yet, what if I had? Would I have enjoyed the scenery along the way? Would I have discovered the charming George’s Café? Would I have enjoyed the splashes of light, the winding paths, and the flowery trees?

Probably not.

Whispering a prayer to the Lord, to my sweet God—I found these words escaping me. “Sometimes you have to take the long way around----“ I chuckled when I realized how I would complete the sentence----“in order to see the beauty.”

 For me, it has been a long year of struggling for contentment. At times, the discontent has brought me to my knees, even to bitter tears. I’ve repressed many emotions, in many ways withdrawn. My heart has been numb, a symptom of being hurt and hurting others, forgiving deep wounds and been forgiven for inflicting them.

I now find myself waking up.

I find myself feeling free, feeling healed. Like the characters in Chocolat and Babette’s Feast, I am awakened by a warm, gentle breeze. Though at times its presence feels harsh and unwanted, it nonetheless entices me to enjoy the warmth and beauty of my Creator. He challenges me to enjoy His many facets, His many manifestations of Himself. He longs for me to know the excitement and the contentment that can only be known when experiencing Him.

 I am delighted.

Yes, sometimes I have to take the long way around in order to see the beauty. I must say, however, the beauty is more than worth the wait.

Well.

I'm an idiot.

That's all I have to say.

Grrrreat weekend.

Austin College: supah sweet. Oh-so-relaxing. Sigh.

I love Jack Johnson.