Do you ever get those times when you come across an old story you don’t even remember writing, but it seems as if someone else – better than you – wrote it, YET, all the evidence says that YOU yourself wrote it – and you can’t even believe it because it’s too wonderful? This is one of those times. Apparently, I wrote this on July 20, 2016. I posted it on my FB notes in 2017 but since that feature doesn’t exist anymore, I’m taking it out of my archive and putting it here:
My father saw me in the crowd, ran up to me, and met me with a strong and hearty embrace.
His claws were velveted and his fur was comfort. (Like Aslan.)
My daughter! he shouted.
She’s come home!
The crowd applauded. But the orchestra kept on playing.
I’ve always been having this orchestra play for you, he said. I’ve conducted it and taught all the musicians to play my song.
It’s always playing for you. It came from my heart.
He opened up his coat and I could hear a separate noise from the orchestra. It was a song from my Father’s heart! It was like a little kitten starting to meow, and compelled by the music and his love, I put my ear to his chest to listen to it.
I was lost, suddenly. It was more beautiful than anything I’ve ever heard or felt before, in fact the things I considered beautiful paled in comparison.
I didn’t notice, but the crowd began to turn their heads to us. For they could already hear the music, too. How could the sound only I could hear arrive at their ears?
I laid this thought aside as I looked into the (amazing) eyes of my Father. He was looking at them in a serious expression, though he still hadn’t let go of his arm around my shoulder. I swear I could’ve seen the sparkle of tears. I wondered why.
Now they weren’t just a crowd. They turned into faces. Faces of his children, all of them. Just like me. But I saw that they were blind. They passed along him without paying another thought.
And I couldn’t hear the beautiful song anymore. I became sad. But he was already sad before I felt my own disappointment at the stopped song.
Dad, where’s your song?, I asked. He was silent. The orchestra buckled to play another song. It was so sorrowful, like the cries of a lover who had lost his beloved to the fire or the arms of his enemy.
Anak – child, these people are so far away from me. I love them as I love you. You already have me forever, but I want you, I want to use you to reach out to them, so I can have them in my arms again. I want you to sing the song I have in my heart for them. My song is power. My song comes from me. And I am changing the hearts of those who hear it.
I swallowed all this, as well as my tears, because i became infected by his emotion. The music changed, and I was raptured by his beautiful song again. This time, I observed the people around me perk up.
They were before entrenched in their own troubles, ambitions, agendas, but their concentration was broken by a primeval wonder – taken off guard just like any grown-up faced with the contagious joy, laughter, and antics of a beautiful baby.
I wondered why. For a moment, I felt like they were being led on to a peace they’d never known before. Was it the song? Yes, of course.
Then I saw that it was coming from me. My own, my very own heart. I caught the sight of sparkling green eyes from the sidewalk. A lady with brown hair broke into a smile for me. A teenager in nerdy glasses and trendy clothes awkwardly started to walk up to me, hands in pockets, but a paining heart beating fast. The song was coming from me. And they started listening to it.
I looked around for my father. He was gone, but I heard his magnificent voice in the breeze. I am always with you, my daughter, my princess, my amazing ambassador. I have given you my own song, please keep it, don’t let anything become louder than it. It plays in the same time with my own, unending song. I look forward to giving a group hug to you and the people you lead to Me. Now, watch out! There’s that funny teen, the single mother, and the tall green-eyed guy who’ll start asking you questions. Tell them about Me. I love you.
And they came, and we all sat on one park bench as I told them the story of my dad. The sun sank low, and we eventually bid goodbye. When they walked away, I could hear the same notes from their lips as they synchronized with the ones in my heart.
[Cover image credit: Adam Young]