I'm beginning to see that a hallmark of the peace of Christ is thriving as a player in an incomplete story, reading well from a script that we get only one line at a time. A recovering control freak, I'm slow in learning to embrace the fact that we live our lives with only minuscule amounts of information, and that our entire earthly existences -- let alone any particular situation -- are only tiny parts of a grand storyline that is far, far bigger than we are.
Jennifer at Et tu?
I believe that one of the gifts of growing older is realizing what a small part we play in the drama of life. Looking back I see that I was much more burdened when I thought my circumstances were more important, more difficult, more extraordinary than anyone else's. The natural journey from self-focused to other-focused (greatly advanced by having children) takes us away from preoccupation with the little-things-that-seem-like-big-things to an appreciation of the big-things-disguised-as-little-things.
As a teen, I played violin for years in a youth orchestra in my home state. Those in the ensemble, parts of a larger whole, received none of the recognition of a soloist and, thankfully, experienced none of the nervousness. It was an experience that granted understanding of your place in the crowd- each was important, but insufficient alone. The music on each stand consisted of the musicians' own part and no one else's. I didn't know what the trombones were playing and the flutes didn't know what I was playing. We each trusted that the combination of our efforts would produce a beautiful piece of art, and not cacophony. If someone had played a joke and placed Stravinsky on the violas' stands and Mozart on the woodwinds' stands and Gabrielli on the trumpets' stands the result would be less than pleasing.
Yet we trusted. We trusted our director to guide us, mold us, bring out the best in us. He did not lead us astray.
And neither will God.
Have you ever wondered how something would play out in a long-lost friend's life? How do you feel when a family member shuts you out of their struggles? Have you planted a seed of faith in someone only to realize you would never have the chance to see it bloom, if it even did?
The Grand Design...it's so much bigger than you or me. We are included, our path is guided, but from our vantage point we can't see the millions of other paths criss-crossing in front and behind. We are only allowed view of our own. And even then, we are often only able to see a few steps in front of us. Our perceived "smallness" helps us afford ourselves, and our fellow travelers, grace for the journey.
In closing, I would like to share this passage from C. S. Lewis'
The Horse and His Boy. Aslan, the lion, is a contemporary metaphor for Jesus.
"I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."
"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"
"It was I."
"But what for?"
"Child," said the voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."
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