Raise your hand if that happens every flipping day.
The frustrating thing is, I have a short list of orchestra pieces I actually enjoyed playing and as I listened to it, I knew it was on that list. But for the life of me I could not remember the name. By the time I got home, I couldn't leave the car until I knew what it was. I sent WG inside and sat in the dark garage, seeing Maestro Brusilow shape the sound before me in my lowly seat in the 2nds and let the sound wash over me. It just kept getting better and better and I drifted back into my latest brain ramblings.
Michael's recovery will be slow and painful, but he is with us, and I have to be thankful for that. I remember kneeling by my bed after I heard about Megan's accident, begging God to let her stay here with her family, even though she was already gone. None of us get out of this alive, no matter how hard we pray. What's the point of praying then, if sometimes it's just inevitable, sometimes it's just time?
I'm not going to say I know. The point I've been shaping in my head is that my job at least is that I'm supposed to recognize all the blessings and tender mercies that come from either situation, knowing I'll have to experience both more in this life, and live for the next life. Michael was run over by a car, but news trickles in about how his injuries could have been far worse. I'm supposed to hope for the best - ask for the best - even when I don't know what that is, and look for the light in what actually happens. It is easier at 32 than it was at 16. I'm so thankful for the knowledge and comfort my faith gives me.
I just rewrote that paragraph about 14 times. I don't know if it makes sense, but sitting in my dark car, it made a little sense to me. By the end of the song, my eyes were wet and I was SO impatient to hear what the name was of the song had comforted me just right - Strauss' Death and Transfiguration. Of course.