It wasn't the thought of driving 600 miles by myself for the first time in my life that frightened me. That would have been exciting if not for the urgency and uncertainty of my destination. While my husband and babies were staying at home in California, I was going to Portland to spend a week with my mother. I didn't know what her condition would be. Although she was only 48, her seven-month battle with cancer had left her aged beyond her years and twisted with pain.
In the past seven months I had experienced a gamut of emotions: shock at the discovery of advanced cancer in my mother's lung; sorrow when I almost lost her; determined hope for her healing; joy at answered prayer; and now, discouragement that cancer had again been found spreading throughout her body. These thoughts dulled my senses on that predawn October morning, as my car crept through the darkness over the northern California hills beyond Calistoga. I felt none of the usual excitement of autumn. The world around me seemed only dark, cold, and wet.
What had become of the hope I felt last spring, with dogwoods in bloom and tulips parading their color? When had the peace and warmth of summer vanished? Did the chill set in the moment I realized Mother was not winning her fight with cancer? This fall I sensed decay everywhere: in the smell of damp, trampled leaves, in the withering of the garden, and in the brown of the hills. My heart responded with fear of impending loss, change, and death.
"God," I cried, "where can I find You in this time?"
The night before, my husband and I had attended a symphony concert. The beautiful, soothing classical music had lifted me momentarily out of my world of problems. This morning, setting out by myself in the darkness, the full weight of an uncertain future fell upon me. However, the music of the night before still lingered in my mind as the sun suddenly peeked over the hills, surprising me. The landscape, which had looked drab and pitiful, now awakened in a flood of sunshine streaming down the tree-covered hillside. All the colors of autumn were in full display.
I slowed the car on the quiet mountain road and gazed across the ravine to the brilliant hillside of autumn leaves. The magic of melody and orchestration fresh in my mind mingled with the beauty of the moment and produced in my imagination a symphony of color. It seemed to me a foundation of evergreen trees resounded as deep cellos and basses. Waves of brown leaves hummed the warm violin tones. The bright oranges dancing across the hillside sang clear, sweet flute melodies. Here and there a perky yellow piccolo pipped in. Occasionally, a splash of brazen crimson called forth with the intensity of the solo horns. My heart responded in wonder at such a concert. How could I have doubted the wisdom of the One who composed the score of the seasons?
"I lift up my eyes to the hills. From whence does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth" (Psalm 121:1-2, RSV). These words took on new meaning for me. I felt renewed courage and hope rise within me.
I took a deep breath and pressed the accelerator to get on my way. I would thank God for this opportunity to be with my mother, and face whatever lay ahead. He was in control. If He could bring forth such glory from nature's season of decline, could He not do the same for His children?
"Thank You, Lord," I prayed. "Make our fading lives sing for you!"
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Copyright © 1980, 2006, Catherine Lawton