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What are you willing to push through to get what you want?
Roadblocks. They are everywhere: emotional, mental, physical, even spiritual.
My question is: are you making them appear bigger and worse than they really are? I have been there. Trust me.
I remember the day clearly as a bell. I was sitting in my kid’s eye appointment when the doctor asked nonchalantly, “Who in your family is colorblind?”
Huh? Truth was, both of my sons didn’t need glasses; their vision was 20/20, but not one—both of them were colorblind. No green, no red—instead, only gray and brown. The air left my lungs. I was stunned.
Tears burned in my eyes. Now I understood why they weren’t blown away by a magnificent sunrise or the miraculous glory of New England foliage in the fall. I drove home trying to hide my tears from my little spuds giggling in the back seat. It was my fault; I carried the family gene! I felt like a complete failure.
I pulled in the driveway and both boys jumped out—my beautiful young boys, ages five and seven, innocent, laughing and stumbling into the house while I sat in the car trying to process the news. Eyes closed, breathing.
Then I heard it.
Beethoven, “Moonlight Sonata.”
(Check it out, you will get what I mean.)
My oldest son, Will, is in the house on the piano playing with such emotion. And my tears flow at this moment, not with sorrow, but with utter delight.
Ah, the beauty! I rush into the house and sit perched on the couch taking it all in, Will sitting erect, and Johnny sitting next to him on the bench, leaning in, both reveling in the gift of music…and each other.
So, what I perceived for them and for me as such a massive roadblock—a mountain climb insurmountable—turned out to be their greatest blessing and more. The gift of music in my house by both boys translated in such a way that brought us much joy and now even poignant, yet beautiful sorrow as the music still reverberates and moves me even though Will no longer is here to play it.
How in your life do you perceive something that looms high and wide ahead as a roadblock and not a blessing?
Today, in this moment, how can you see this differently—divorce, communication breakdown, the crisis of faith, an ailment, a loss—as a blessing? A place to seek an alternate use with greater ease, less sorrow, and potentially greater wisdom and even joy?
I revel in music through the gifts that my sons have brought me and still savor my sunset and foliage for myself and also for them.
What will you revel in today? What glory, what gift?
Celebrate your new ways of seeing and remember: often, our own roadblocks are gifts for us to push through so that we can revel at the wisdom that lies just on the other side.
The truth is, sometimes, our most beautiful gifts, our most profound lessons, just so happen to come wrapped in sandpaper.