I have received many blessings since April. July 10, 2011 was particularly exhilarating with a shower of them.
That Sunday, you permitted me to comfortably request, as if a close family member, to keep my daughter in your mind since “as we prayed she played tennis” toward a goal in Dallas she’d strived to attain for two years. In the early afternoon, she accomplished her goal, winning her tennis tournament! I jumped up and down, congratulating her profusely, clutching the phone. It felt like she was beside me, not 1500 miles away. Joy defied distance. This accomplishment opened the door for her to play tennis at a more advanced level. She had “champed” in the TX USTA lingo!
That afternoon, I hosted a party for the Court Hill Singers. They gifted me with laughter, song, assistance, play, good food—let your hair down appreciation of each other. We revived our love of the Beatles in our voices and musical instruments.
And you, the congregation, that morning, cheered me on with your gleaming eyes and beaming smiles, as I read three poems by a personally meaningful author, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
And yes! We were propelled by the Court Hill Singers’ rendition of Building a New Way by Martha Sandefer. The words confirmed Longfellow’s urging to: Act—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
The music and poetry lingered in me early the next morn, leading me to two poems I’d written for my grandparents. First, I read Musical Transcendence, a warm, sweet memory of attending an Armenian concert with my grandmother on Sunday afternoon long ago. Then I read The Candle of My Soul, composed and read to my grandfather the day prior to his passing. I had wanted him to know the non-materialistic gifts of his life were gold. As I had read to him by his bedside some twenty-nine years past, I gave my best dramatic performance-- to an audience of one—but an extraordinary one. I was determined he’d be absolved of any guilt he had about leaving his grandchildren with meager material wealth. In the poem, he lauds his wrinkles as “a testimony to the struggles I outwitted and outlived.”
Outwitted and outlived--an orphan, a survivor of the Armenian Genocide; a brilliant, self-educated, hard-working man; progressive before his time in his treatment and respect of women. He was not afraid to be an equal partner and share domestic responsibilities. He had already liberated the women in his family.
I recalled your compliments of the day. I wept tears of joy and gratitude. What had you given me? You, like my grandparents, had complimented my inherent talents—writing, speaking, singing, dancing, my work ethic. You had augmented a void of the past when I received minimal compliments—compliments limited to looking good in an outfit and excelling at making some Armenian foods. You outshined what I’d expected in the most sacred bond between a man and woman. What a gift!
Let the dead Past bury its dead! Longfellow shouts at us. If my voice left no other message to you as I resounded A Psalm of Life, I wanted it to be this one. I planned for it to jolt and permeate the very atoms of your being.
You and my grandparents had reminded me the non-materialistic entities of life endure. We spoke thus in our Common Prayer by Jacob Trapp: Grant us to see the things that bear the mark of the eternal…loving kindness…wisdom and understanding…the divine impulse given and received.
To conclude my morning reflection, in vogue with the Court Hill Singers, I turned to a holy book of Beatles songs. There's an Armenian tradition that whatever page you open to of a publication-that's what you are supposed to read. I opened to the tune, Tell me What You See. We can interpret the song as an intimate romantic request, or also, for this purpose, a general “I acknowledge the light in you summons”.
Big and black the clouds may be, time will pass away. If you put your trust in me, I’ll make bright your day. Look into these eyes now, tell me what you see. Don’t you realize now, what you see is me.
You told me what you saw and brightened my past, present, and future. Shnorhagal em--"Thank you" in Armenian.
July 14, 2011
