Ravinia

Even the name carries enchantment, doesn't it? I don't know what it means, but the just the sound of the name somehow captures it. Oh please come, everybody! I have lots of praise for the city of Chicago, but it is even more inspired with Ravinia Park (which actually is just outside of Chicago in the town of Highland Park). Ravinia is an expansive outdoor concert venue. It has a pavillion and a lawn and tree-covered walkways. It's dusk and there are blankets and people scattered over the lawn. They have candles and picnics and they're sitting close to each other, sipping wine, or lying down talking softly. The sound of cicadas in the trees resonates with the tuning violins. There's a sort of stillness and expectancy in the air. And when the symphony begins to play I am completely lost in the enchantment. Tchaikowsky.

You know how God gives you just what you need when you need it even when you didn't know you needed it? Oh my goodness... what a night. I was visiting my friend Allison -- an awesome woman from church. She and I are like the same person except she's almost a foot taller than me. It's so funny but we really are similar in the strangest ways! I just feel so full of life when I am around her, and unafraid to be totally who I am. It is so refreshing to have that sort of honest and raw friendship. (My girls, I miss you so much! Maria, I can't wait till you arrive!!) Anyways, I was visiting with Allison and she had been helping out at the church this afternoon with one of the pastors. Well he had these two tickets to the concert this evening that he wasn't going to be able to use, so he just gave them to us! Can you imagine? Tchaikowsky! The Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Did I mention Tchaikowsky? Oh my goodness... I was almost in tears. I really thought I was going to lose it. It was too good to be true. When I was there in the park it's like I was completely taken over by the music. It brought be back to so many memories and to so many places that I hadn't been in so long. I thought of Mr. Pritchett, Mr. Roble, Mr. McWilliams, Mrs. Penvenne, Barbara Bateman... all my old music instructors. I thought of the sensation of playing. I thought about when Mr. Pritchett died. I thought about playing at Stanford and my decision to stop.

You know what I realized? Even though I don't play anymore (save for fiddling around on other people's pianos when I am visiting), music has shaped who I am more profoundly than anything else I have ever done. I mean more than loving all sorts of music, or the constant soundtrack that is playing in my head. Playing music has made me musical, just who I am. Or maybe God made me musical and that's why I played. But everything that is important to me I do musically. The way I dance is by connecting to the music. The way that I write and the way that I speak. The way that I can pick up languages and imitate accents. It's all related, I think.

Oh, Tchaikowsky. The strength of his chords and orchestration. Every song is like the most riveting story unfolding right before you. You are so involved that you get goosebumps. You soar with it and dance with it and it sings to you.

I was enchanted. I didn't even want to breathe if it would disrupt the spell. It's like this big part of me had gone untended for so long that it had dwindled down to some embers. This evening it burst back into life. I realized something else, too, which is how much God was a part of this experience. It's like he was sitting right next to me because I had invited him in. I don't know if I've ever invited Christ in to that part of me before. I mean, music can certainly be spiritual (I'm particularly remembering the last concert of Talisman that I went to at Stanford) but tonight it's like I was just enjoying the music *with* Jesus, sharing with him my delight and my awe and the beauty of it all and he was just there agreeing with me.

Ha-- this is how much I was moved: driving back, there was a spider on the steering wheel. I didn't even flinch but I softly swept him onto the dashboard.

I don't know if anything that I'm saying is even making sense. I just knew that I had to write about it.

www.ravinia.org