[Recording located at end of post]
Upon analysis, which I am wont to do, I understand I began my day knowing it would be wonderful. It did not disappoint.
Obviously, I had been looking forward to the invitation to join area directors of community arts centers for their bi-monthly meeting, even if I am just a novice with a single, developing program. I imagined feeling more in community after months of slogging it somewhat alone. Or, with, at least, that perception in my mind.
My husband urged me to leave earlier than the 30 minutes I'd allotted, yet I wasn't compelled to push it getting ready, so I didn't have much time to spare. There was traffic, I hit most stop lights and it seemed I would be a tad late, maybe five minutes. I wasn't jostled by this for some, unexplained reason. I enjoyed the drive, even the energy of the late rush hour. Not even nervous when the sheriff's cruiser followed me more than several blocks, turning shortly before I reached my destination. Guess what? There was a parking space right out in front and I had plenty of quarters for the meter. Blessing, definitely.
The table was large and astoundingly full, more the two dozen bodies. I had thought it would be an intimate group. As you would expect, there was one seat left as far from the door as you could imagine, next to the guy facilitating the meeting. I waltzed right up. He'd been my initial contact at the organization and coached me through a grant proposal. I felt very comfortable.
The meeting, for me, was rich and opened new, juicy possibilities. I also realized everyone in that room had once been in my shoes. As they planned a collective community arts centers' day, I asked if fledgling groups could participate and was answered with a resounding affirmation and empathetic sighs.
I lingered, eager to soak up the ambiance and make a few connections. One of the organization's members asked if my contact had given me a grant-status update. I responded no and she led me to him. I am a patient person and had been willing to wait for the letter. "Fully-funded" he said and I was stunned. Mind you, it was a modest sum, but it is a foot in the door of the country's largest private funder of arts organizations and they believe in me and Artsy Fartsy! I wanted to scream it to the rooftops.
Not official, he said; you'll be getting a letter later in the month, but they were really taken with the fact you are working with Milford's only subsidized housing with children. OMG I whispered as a prayer, they get my mission. Not only do they get it, they are going to support it.
It had also been so affirming to learn how many other centers are located in aging, cast-off schools and their journeys to creating community cultural centers. One nearby is a few paces ahead of me with a goldmine of a plan they will graciously share. Blueprints already exist! Again, I felt less alone.
I've been anxious about the tenuous state of Milford Main, the wonderful old school that's home to my studio, Especially anxious after an advisory group charged through last week, stopping at my door to discuss violent scenarios such as tear downs and public auctions. Two days ago, I happened into a building neighbor who'd been absent many months, but been through threatening times before. "Don't worry," he told me and I recognized it as God's voice.
The arts-centers meeting re-affirmed that command.
I floated away from that meeting, gravitating toward the public library since I was already downtown. Again, there was one parking space just in front waiting for me. I sailed up to the third floor in search of a specific book and walked past a private database just for discovering grant possibilities. The study carol was vacant and, almost in disbelief, I enlisted the assistance of a librarian to get me started. Even printing was free! About 80 pages and an hour later, I decided to stop, humbled, grateful and excited by this unexpected gift.
If God isn't making her wishes known that this is my current course, then I have no other explanation for the synchronicity of this day. It reminded me of that November morning in San Antonio when I stumbled onto Afghanistan veterans receiving Segways at the Alamo in one of the most touching experiences of my life.
God really is present and the times we can recognize it carry us through the days when we can not.
• When have I experienced synchronicity?
• How have I felt Spirit's presence in that?
• How do those experiences buoy me in drier times?
• How does this deepen my faith?
• How do I express my gratitude?
parking spot in
energy in a
as well as
into a wealth
it was a good
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