Suppose life is a conversation – between each of us and the wellspring, however we describe it – or him or her.
It would explain all those synchronicities, solutions that miraculously appear, people we meet by chance who change our lives.
What's more, why not live life as a dialogue with the divine?
“Let me be a blessing to someone today,” prays Jan Karon's Father Tim. I was so struck, that I adopted his request, which started my living conversation with God. You see, keeping my eyes open for the opportunity to be a blessing, rather than waiting to receive one, changes how I look at life.
Instead of standing in line impatiently with a phone, I am searching the face of the clerk. Is she weary? Or down? The woman behind me with a toddler, would it help if she went ahead of me?
Last week, the cashier in my local food store tried to smile with reddened eyes. Her in vitro attempt had failed again. Life had brought me there, then; I knew the pain of infertility so well. We hugged and my heart was full. I hope hers was eased a little, because I know how hard it is to carry a grief like hers when others may be kind but uncomprehending. I hope she felt a little less alone.
If life is a dialogue, who or what are we talking with? How is life communicating with us? I see its signature in random kindness, happenstance and in others' eyes.
Making life a conversation means noticing, for example, a strawberry moon tonight and being humbled by the magnificence of the universe. Recognizing the life force flowing through a horse as it runs freely or Thea warm with purrs on my knee. Or the tenacity of a wind blown tree clinging to a rock face.
It means allowing life to speak to me through challenges and believing that we are in a dance: I am learning, growing – the soul is liquid – as life leads me up a sometimes steep path. As I climb, I read life's message: a helix of energy, joy and light – even though through a prism of pain.
At Home in Mitford by Jan Karon.
Strawberry Moon – June's Full Moon's name is called a Strawberry Moon. According to the Old Farmer's Almanac, the Algonquin gave it the name because it signals gathering fruit. This year' coincides with the summer solstice, which happens once in 50 years. The next one will be June 21, 2062.