A discovered symphony

My heart pounds all night, 160 beats a minute, and the instinct to run, hide, is high up in my throat. I can't slow my heart, and I begin to panic. A prayer, a pill, a liter of electrolytes. Another movie to watch, a distraction. I don't understand why these nights of the racing heart. Psychological? Physical? Who knows anymore, with PTSD knocking on my door although it knows it's been shut out. My cancer rearing it's ugly head (literally) as I lose my hair and my body changes shape, and I fight off pneumonia and then Lyme's disease. I lose track of where the trials are coming from, and so I just rest, instead of running, and pray that God lifts the racing heart so I can sleep. At four a.m., it finally slows to a tolerable 120 beats per minute and I sleep deep and restless.

I wake, though, listening to the song of the world with different ears because of this video (if you can't watch the whole thing, watch from 42:00-50:00. It will blow your mind). The trees are aflame in the valley and the crickets still sing their high percussion. A bluebird lands and lends his whistle to the symphony. The buck grunting in rut, the moose's high trumpeting call, the caw of the hawks and the wind through the trees...all part of the way that rocks cry out His name.




I sit and listen, and add my voice,
"Holy is the Lord, God Almighty,
the earth is filled with His glory.
Holy is the Lord, God Almighty,
the earth is filled with His glory.
It's rising up, all around,
the anthem of the Lord's renown.
It's rising up, all around,
the anthem of the Lord's renown."

I am struck with the vastness of God's creation and the constant praise it sings - the pulsing stars with their chords of melancholy, the percussion of handdrums from the larger stars, the animals in the deep singing to each other, and the whole firmament constantly aflutter with noise and beauty. He whispers a verse I memorized as a child, For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. (Psalm 50:10)

I listen again to the music of the pulsing stars, the whale song. I think of the rushing sound of the wind blowing snow, and the thud of hail on the wet grass in summer. The fireplace in the living room crackles alive with sound, and the waves rush in from the ocean, caught in my miraculous conch shell.
Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights! Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his hosts! Praise him, sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens! Let them praise the name of the LORD! For he commanded and they were created. And he established them forever and ever; he gave a decree, and it shall not pass away. Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all deeps, fire and hail, snow and mist, stormy wind fulfilling his word! Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Beasts and all livestock, creeping things and flying birds! Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! Young men and maidens together, old men and children! (Psalm 148)

What more is there to say? I breathe the words of the Psalm to my God, whose praise is rising all around like mist from the cold earth. Tonight I get to join the symphony as I play in worship for a whole group of His wounded warriors. Praise God, indeed! For voice to sing, fingers to play, harmonica breathing it's vibratto over a chorus of wonder. For a spirit of peace instead of a spirit of fear. I am buoyed up on the earth's song and in wonder that I can join in again, my spirit set free from the chains that bound just a year ago. 

God is good, and He is with us, in every cricket song and sunrise, in every note played and every word written. God is with us.