Melody on a Mountaintop: Fast Forward

Stop.  Rewind.

It was the chilly afternoon of November 3, 2013.

My plane had touched down at exactly 1:00 pm. Right on time and not a second too late.

I swaddled a sixteen-month-old Harlow in the Moby wrap and nestled a pacifier between her lips to keep her calm.

I'd have given anything to have had something to physically calm me at that moment.

But I had to keep it together.  I had to keep my composure.  Don't ask any questions, Chels.  Just keep calm.

With the weight of a week of sleepless nights and unintentional starvation, I carried her out to baggage claim and texted him that we had arrived back in Nashville, so that he could pick us up.

I was tachycardic and sweating despite the November nip, and when I saw him, my body kept moving in normal movements, but my heart.

My heart was breaking in two.

He was cordial and elated to see Harlow, so I slipped her out of the wrap and into his arms so that he could hold her.

I turned quietly and waited like a zombie for the carousel to begin turning.

I must have stood there for the eternity of ten minutes before my bright pink bag shouted its arrival amongst the other luggage, and I pulled it down beside me, rolling it dejectedly behind me.

There he was.  Waiting with the car.  And holding my future in his hands.

I paused and felt the breeze whip against my blue sweater.  Fear began to suffocate me.  And I'm glad I didn't know the future because getting in that car would have been ten thousand times harder.

I didn't know.

I didn't know he was going to leave me when we got home.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a perfectly warm late night on July 26, 2014.

The plane had touched down at 10:38 pm. Two minutes early and not a second too late.

And this time, I found that I was in the same car in the same parking spot that I had been in that fateful November afternoon.

And when I realized the irony, I felt those old nerves wriggle me into a mild panic.

But this time is different, the Lord reminded me.  Calm down, Chels.  And look.  Look at what was and look at what is.

For God can redeem even an airport parking lot.

~~

Stop.  Rewind.

It was a fall evening in 2013, not long after he had left.

And my dad sat miserably at a wedding reception, haunted by the hope and happiness of the beginning of a marriage, and distraught at the crumbling of his daughter's.

And then, the song played.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright, blessed day

The dark, sacred night

And I think to myself...

He hung his head as the sweet melody reverberated.

For that was the song my dad had danced to with me.  At my wedding.

A day when we only thought about for better and not for worse.  When "'til death do us part" felt true.  And we thought the "I do" was honest.

The song that had moved him to happy tears on August 15, 2009 now broke him.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a summer morning in 2014.

And the video sent to my phone had a song specifically chosen for me.

The chords began to sound beautifully from the piano, and then, the words began.

I see trees of green and red roses, too

I see them bloom

For me and you

And I think to myself...

There was a simultaneous eruption of sadness and joy that developed in me that very moment, a tangible definition of the word bittersweet.

And before I could dismiss the song as forever tarnished, I became still before the Father. 

Listen.  Hear what was and hear what is.

And I thought to myself...

What a wonderful Lord.

For God, He can redeem even a song.

~~

Stop.  Rewind.

It was all those weeknights I was living in our house alone with Harlow, and I would haul her to the Target parking lot to put the song and cry of my heart on repeat.

Lord, I come, I confess

Bowing near, I find my rest

Without You, I fall apart

You're the One that guides my heart.

Oh, the sobs that shook the car as my world crumbled bit by bit around me.  All of my fears, all of my worries, all of my "what ifs" had transpired, and there was nothing left to do except surrender.

And worship.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a morning made for redemption on July 13, 2014.

And the song that filled my car as sadness and desperation abounded now echoed in a church sanctuary from the most angelic voices.

Lord, I need You

Oh, I need You

Every hour I need You

My one defense

My righteousness

Oh, God, how I need You.

I had been asked earlier that week what song I would like to hear that Sunday morning, and I could think of none better.

The tears spilled over my cheeks in awe and wonder.  Could it be?  Can this really be happening?

For come and see.

Pause.  And absorb.

What was and what is.

For God.  He can redeem anything.