Morning Song

There are some lyrics from a song that stuck with me for the last few days.  They go like this:

Morning run on the back roads of PA

...Melodies like morning rise, darkness leaning toward the dawn. Into our sorrow sings the light; beautiful redemption song.  

Weeping will not last the night, nor will sorrow be for long. Joy was born of sacrifice; beautiful redemption song...

These words are from a song, written by Sara Hart,  entitled "Redemption Song".  It speaks of God's overwhelming love for us and the wonders of redemption that God's Son has brought us.

Setting the theology of the song aside for a moment, these stanzas echo with me today, on Mother's Day. My mother left this world in October of 2020 so this is a day of great emotion and introspection for me.  As I played this song at church, these particular lines connected music and the experience of sunrise in a way that made sense.

The transition from darkness to light at the start of a new day is transformative.  This is one of the reasons running at dawn is such an important part of my routine.  For me, the sunrise marks a transition from a time of inactive worry and anxiety to a time of activity and hopefulness; from a time of passive acceptance of the way things are to a time where there is a hope of being able to assert some measure of control.

In addition to my running discipline, I am a musician, though perhaps less disciplined in this.  I often use music as a metaphor for things that can be sensed but not grasped.  So the connection between the feelings I have at dawn and music is interesting to me.  I love the image of a song rising into the morning as the darkness recedes.  The idea of music lifting our spirits and penetrating our sorrow just as light overcomes the darkness is beautiful.  I have challenged myself to summon the same inner peace I often get during my sunrise run, when I play music, to bring into my melodies that transformative feeling that accompanies witnessing the dawn of a new day.    

Joy being born of sacrifice connects for me with something told to me many years ago, and I often repeat, "Be thankful for the darkness of night, for without it, there can be no dawn."

There is much darkness and sorrow these days.  Days upon days of what seems to be an endless struggle.  The pandemic has changed things so dramatically. Otherwise normal people have made simple health measures like wearing a mask into symbols of political posturing.  The war in Ukraine threatens to expand and the impact of all of this on the economy creates more worry about things that cannot be managed.  Our illusion of control over our lives has been shattered.  Much of the violence and turmoil in our nation seems to be rooted in people trying to reassert control that they perceive they once had but is now lost.  

When will this night end? How can this result in joy?  It is when these thoughts are attacking me, that I find running at dawn redemptive.  It reminds me that dawn will arrive, on its schedule.  There is nothing I can do to encourage or delay it.  Acknowledging this limitation chases away the demons.   Is sacrificing this illusion all that is required to find joy?

It is a beautiful redemption song...

Grandpa, A new Role

On Valentine's Day 2022, I was blessed with my first grandchild, Alfred Timothy Limer.   It was special for me that this was a grandson, born to my son and his wife.  I am at a loss to describe how this wonderful miracle affects my outlook on the world.  Of course, I know the excitement will be just as intense when any one of my daughters has their first child, boy or girl.  But, when your son brings a grandson into the world there is a reassuring awareness of the gears of life engaging.  You realize that the universe continues on with its forward momentum and maybe, there is still hope for our future.

Three generations

Along with our youngest daughter, my wife and I went out to see the new addition to our family about a week after he came home. The overwhelming desire to meet, hold and cuddle this new person was more potent than the anxiety of having to brave NYC traffic and parking. 

When I first held Alfie, I was overwhelmed with many thoughts and emotions.  One of the first and strongest was the pure, unconditional love for this little person and his parents.  A simultaneous conflicting emotion was regret for not thinking about how my parents must have felt when they held Alfie's father for the first time. He was their first grandchild. I realized how self-centered I had been probably for all of the years my wife and I were raising our children.  And, again at the same time, I realized that my father probably felt the same as I do now and was accepting and forgiving knowing it is the way things work.

I hope to be as great of a grandparent to Alfi as my father has been to my son. 

After the Storm

It is a beautiful Sunday morning.  I am sitting in my favorite chair with a warm blanket over my lap.  The room is dark and chilly.  It's early and the house is quiet.  The hum of the small space heater and the click of the keyboard are the only sounds.  The morning slowly brightens the yard and I can see that a thick layer of snow has blanketed everything.  The sky is slate grey, cloudy, and cold.  The snow is beautiful in this morning's twilight.  Last night, the wind smoothed this white blanket's wrinkles and erased the signs of forest life.  The turkey and deer have not yet been back to disturb the fine, bright white crust that flows along the contours of the yard.

This early morning reflection time is refreshing.  It seems to have been forever since writing has made it to the front of my to-do list and I intend to take advantage of this morning to practice my favorite hobby.  This morning is particularly beautiful and demands to be appreciated.

As I watch through the large windows and sip my coffee, warming my chilly fingers on the sides of the large mug, the sun begins to create shadows on the snow.  The grey overcast clouds move off to the east and some blue sky opens up.  The hemlock bush shudders in the wind and tries to shake off its snowy covering.  This must be the wake-up call for the birds.  Cardinals, chickadees, bluejays, and many others sit in the hemlock awaiting their turns at the feeder.  It seems to be by general agreement that only a single bird may alight on the perch at a time.  There is a parade of species one right after the other at the feeder.  A jay arrives, then a chickadee and another chickadee, then a titmouse or sparrow before the jay reasserts its predominance.  The cardinals sit patiently, proudly in the large bush, evidently comfortable in knowing there is plenty of seed and there will be more.  They take their turns but unlike the other birds that eat and fly away, the cardinals resume their sentry position in the hemlock, easily picked out by their striking color.  

I take a deep breath of cool morning air and gently exhale, releasing any tension.  I'll take a moment now to be grateful for the beauty of this morning and get on with my day.