Today the sun shone down on the pacific coast of Southern California. My best friend from high school, J, picked me up from my hotel, and we made the trek from Burbank to Malibu under beautiful, clear blues skies. When we crested the mountain top, he rolled the windows down so I could inhale the intoxicating aroma of salt water, warm sand, and Coppertone. God love him; that man does know the way to my heart, but before you get any ideas, he’s not one bit interested in that same heart, at least not in the way you think.
We spent the day driving the Pacific Coast Highway laughing at the proximity of the “recovery centers” cheek-by jowl with the liquor stores, and fantasizing at living on the ocean, separately, of course, someday. It’s nice to dream. The ocean couldn’t have been more azure had it been computer-enhanced, and in this town that’s a real possibility. The warm sand beneath my feet, the cold water rushing up my legs, splashing onto my calves and then my thighs left me delighted, and, dare I say it, feeling free. Free to be just me, just a child in the presence of God the Creator and this man, J, whom I’ve known more than half my life. And I was happy. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been truly happy? In all honesty, I don’t remember.
Finally, we arrived at the Santa Monica pier, and, on course you have to walk it just to experience it. Fabulous doesn’t begin to describe the mash of people crowded against you, the cloyingly sweet smell of funnel cakes, and the tang of seafood. I loved every moment of it, wanted to bottle up those memories of feelings and care them home with me. (Not in my carry-on, of course, because, I’m quite sure TSA would have no clue at all what to do with that.)
The 405 didn’t make me crazy going home. Almost 2 hours after getting in the car, we made it back to Studio City without a single expletive being uttered and no pounding on the steering wheel. I was impressed. I should probably mention that I wasn’t driving, or I might have let a few delicate and ladylike rejoinders escape from my lips when people didn’t signal or when they cut us off, and yes, I am aware that this is never helpful.
Tonight J took me to the Hollywood Bowl to hear the philharmonic play a selection from Beethoven. It was fabulous. But what I remember best is looking up at the night sky glittering above the Bowl, to the right on a mountaintop glowed and enormous cross, and to the left a bold and beautiful American flag snapped in the breeze.
The orchestra began by playing our national anthem, and looking down and across from our seats, every man and woman I could see rose from their seats. Hats were removed, and the audience – the audience mind you – sang those glorious words penned by Francis Scott Key. And I was floored. Were we still in California, the state known for its liberal, crazy politics and it’s occasional portrayal of anti-patriotic behavior? But that’s not at all what I saw or heard. Instead, I witnessed hundreds of people raising their voices in honor of their country and their freedoms. It was an enigmatic scene for me, and the overwhelming antithesis of all my prejudices washed over me. I must admit I felt a wee bit ashamed.
The real concert began, and as the orchestra floated Beethoven’s chords through the night sky, I thought about all things I have to be thankful for, and so many of them that I take for granted. Illuminated on that hillside on either side of the famous white Hollywood sign I could clearly make out the symbols for our God and our country, both gifts I’ve been given, both gifts for which my acknowledgement has required great loss and, at times, significant, flaying, searing, shattering pain – pain I would never survived had He not whispered, “Stand, take my hand and walk with me. You will survive this because I am here, and these things, too, shall pass.”
You see, He provides. Whatever the need, whatever the loss, whatever the fear, He provides. And as the music floats on the breeze, listen closely, because it may not be music at all; it may be His voice calling to you.
The Unexpected Life 