Mornings. I simply love them. The chirping of the birds, the purity of the day, the clearness of the sky, the warmth of the sun's rays as they just start to peep through the branches. I love the stillness, the dew. The flowers emerging for the day. I love that as people are dragging themselves out of bed, I have already been up for hours. I love the quiet productivity of mornings... before normal people stir.
Today my friend and I decided to fulfill a promise we had made to each other last year... that we would play violin together. Our hearts are both entwined in the fiddle, and have had no one to share it with. We are stuck in the same position: no place to practice but our dorm room... leaving us feeling vulnerable, awkward, and annoying, no matter how many people tell us we are welcome to play.
She came to my room this morning at 8... not too horribly early, but early still. We trekked across campus to a local church where she has often practiced. After exploring rooms in the empty church and asking if we could use any of them, we had to turn back... a big event was planned for today, and the church was not available.
We sighed, rather defeated, and lumbered slowly back across campus. We shared our frustrations in having no place to go... I felt like a nomad... I could think of no place that at this hour would appreciate a chorus of two fiddles.
It started as a joke: I suggested playing in the open air in the large field between my dorm and the science center. The sky was a crisp blue, the air already warm. The sun was shining brightly, and hardly a cloud dared to mar the purity of the morning. We laughed. Then, at the same time we both thought of the nature trails behind the science center. Surely the outdoors would make room for us...
After pausing to roll up my pants (I wasn't dressed for a hike), we walked thoughtfully along the path. It was shrouded in green, a beautiful contrast to the clear, endless blue above. We pointed out the tiny violets that dotted the greenery along the path, and stared with awe and wonder as we found flowers nestled in a twisted, gnarly branch of an old tree. We stooped low to avoid the leaves and branches of a shrub, and came to a clearing. The pond was visible from here, and we heard the happy quacking of ducks and the occasional splash as they landed in the still water. Above us we heard thrashing in the bushes, and saw two deer as they scampered away from us. A woodpecker was already busy on the tree overhead. We were hushed by the beauty and stillness. At the edge of the path, there was a dock. After viewing the glistening dew on a delicate spiderweb, and staring into the murky depths below, we gingerly put our cases down, tuned, and played the first note. It rang out, clear and pure in the morning air. It was followed by another and another, until the melody of Amazing Grace floated above us, bouncing off the branches, the trees, the still water, and the sky.
For an hour we taught each other what we knew, shared our music and our songs. Our fiddles played in harmony, and our hearts were glad.
By the end of our time together, I had decided that I was very, very glad for the lack of room anywhere else. I was glad that nature is always willing to listen. While the initial "no" was frustrating and discouraging, the "no" prompted us to seek another way. And it was through this other way that we were most encouraged, most blessed, and most filled with joy.
Rejection stings, but joy and beauty can still be found for those who search.
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