Oiling the Hinges
Lord, oil the hinges of our hearts doors that they may swing gently and easily to welcome your coming. ~Prayer from New Guinea
Music under a bright half moon sky, listening to a musical legend, is an undeniable opportunity for joy. In the midst of a crowd of musical lovers, Paul Simon crooned out songs that reminded me of childhood, my parents, the first night I met my college best friend, summer drives with the windows rolled down. Looking at the faces of people around me, it seemed evident I wasn’t the only person experiencing a series of musical flashbacks.
We’d come to kick-off birthday celebrations for my mom, an 80-year-old legend in her own right. Years since she’d been to an outdoor musical concert, we witnessed her touched by the energy of the night. The woman sitting in front of us reminded with her chair: “Life Is Good,” and in that magical evening, it was indeed. So much was forgotten and left outside the gates of the concert venue. Nothing, it seemed, could touch the spirit of joy on this warm, late spring night.
All week leading up to the night of Paul Simon, I’d read the prayer: “Lord, oil the hinges of our hearts’ doors that they may swing gently and easily to welcome your coming.” All week, I considered this image, the heart with a door. The door with hinges that seem to harbor some rust, hinges in need of oil.
Considering the door of my heart, I kept remembering the collage of a fountain of love rising up and up that I made back in the fall. Perhaps this is what the doorway of the heart gives and receives. What would be the oil that would allow it to swing gently open into this kind of abundant joy?
There were plenty of obstacles to address to getting ourselves to this outdoor musical evening of Paul Simon. Complications, or potential ones, in the weeks leading up that we had to think through. Then, the night prior to the concert, my mom spent the night at the hospital with my stepfather, who, as it would turn out, had a mild heart attack. Complications.
Though we were unsure if we should continue with our plans, my stepfather insisted, and so we did. As we sat and swayed, stood and danced, sang along, made friends with the folks around us, ate a picnic dinner under the remaining light of the day, and toasted my mom with Aperol Spritz’s, the hinges of my heart’s door swung open a little wider and from the doorway, joy. Not only mine, but joy multiplied as I watched my mom relax into the night, embrace the magic of a musical concert. She looked more like she was turning 20 than 80.
There was magic in that night that oiled my old door hinges. It came from the delight of a shared experience, of live music filled with old memories, of the kindness of newly met strangers, of an evening warm and glowing with moonlight. All of it a gift.
It’s all too easy for me to let the door remain tightly closed, the hinges creaky with anxiety, stress, anger, old and new hurts alike. Yet, the smallest amount of “oil” and suddenly the door swings wide.
