Lovely Day
I have a feeling this is going to be a long post but sometimes miracles are time-consuming.
I ended my last Facebook post yesterday with: “The only attention I’m seeking is the kind that believes in asking for miracles. So if you’ve got that kind, we’re a great match.”
Turns out we’re a great match, you guys. I think I got a miracle.
How do I know?
I caught myself dancing.
(It’s been a dark six months and before yesterday, I couldn’t imagine bopping around to music.)
There was only one other time in my life that I crowd-sourced prayer. It was over thirty years ago. I was raw then, too. I got a miracle, then, too.
To recap events/bring you up to speed/let me back up. Here’s the first Facebook post, the one where I was desperate enough to crowdsource prayer. I’m sure I’ve asked for prayer on social media before, but I don’t think I ever have for myself. And if I have, it was never this kind of blatant exposure, vulnerability, and risk, especially on my own behalf. I was badly hurting and I told the world (my world). Yesterday was one of the lowest points. Another day seemed impossible to face, folks. I. Was. Wrecked.
Here’s what I wrote yesterday on Facebook:
“The wonderful Trader Joe’s cashier was too friendly and it exhausted me.
This isn’t uncommon now.
I put my groceries into my car, began to drive away, and had a massive, crushing wave of disbelief that Joey died.
That he’s dead.
It is incomprehensible.
I burst into tears.
I bawled throughout the drive home, the unloading of my car, and as I put my groceries away.
I’m still crying.
It’s not even the monthly anniversary yet. That’s in three more days.
In three days it will be six months since Joey left us.
If you can, will you say a prayer for me today? I know many of you are doing that very thing so if you already are, it’s okay if you want to do it twice. I don’t mean to be greedy.
I hope my rawness here is not too much, like the wonderful, too-much cashier. The only attention I’m seeking is the kind that believes in asking for miracles. So if you’ve got that kind, we’re a great match.”
So, I served up my desperation on a platter, and here’s what happened next. I’ll just copy and paste the next Facebook post:
“Thank you all so much for going to work for me and praying when I asked. I felt so vulnerable doing so. But I also felt so much love. A few minutes after I posted my prayer request yesterday, thinking maybe the distraction would help snap me out of my meltdown, I decided to flip on the TV. The channel was tuned to CNN’s Juneteenth celebration and I heard the beginning of a familiar song–Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day.”
“I love that song. For our anniversary one year, John used it as the soundtrack in a video montage he had created for me. It was my gift, and if I remember correctly, I watched it from my laptop on a sailboat in the Mediterranean. It was a super-glorious-lovely day. Yesterday, as I listened to the words from “Lovely Day” sung by the artist Adam Blackstone—it felt just a little too much for a coincidence—it felt like a DM: ‘Pammy, look at me. You looking at me? I see you. I know you are having a hard time believing in the possibility of any more lovely days—but look at ME. I know the days that lie ahead seem impossible to face. BUT lovely days are on the horizon. Just one look at me. Do you believe? What’s it gonna be? A lovely day.'”
*(For the record, I think it is a message for all of us.)
“God underlines, He boldens, He italicizes His message when Adam Blackstone takes us to church. He even says, “I see some church folks.” The joy in the audience is palpable. Just in case I wasn’t absolutely convinced God was talking, Adam specifically mentions the miracle-maker—he riffs, “Just like Jesus, He turned that water into wine…'”
I have to reiterate just in case you blew past that last sentence. I can hardly believe his seemingly “random” ad-lib in the middle of a secular song: “Just like Jesus, He turned that water into wine…” How would anyone explain that other than pointing to a divine occurrence?
On my bike ride today, I will be adding “Lovely Day” to my iTunes loop. Over and over and over I will hear:
“When I wake up in the morning, love
And the sunlight hurts my eyes
And something without warning, love
Bears heavy on my mind
Then I look at you
And the world’s alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it’s gonna be
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
When the day that lies ahead of me
Seems impossible to face
When someone else instead of me
Always seems to know the way
Then I look at you
And the world’s alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it’s gonna be
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
When the day that lies ahead of me
Seems impossible to face
And when someone else instead of me
Always seems to know the way
Then I look at you
And the world’s alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it’s gonna be
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
A lovely day (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)
(Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)”
I literally caught myself dancing as I watched Adam Blackstone singing–moments after I had been sobbing. That was a real tell, as they say in poker. I can’t remember the last time music moved me to dance, the last time I felt joy like that. Full disclosure, I have had one or two momentary recent flashes of joy since Joey died (these were distinctive, glimmers of hopeful moments cycling with my daughter Cassie), but nothing like this. The joy in the crowd bowled me over and the music seeped in through the cracks of my broken heart…and my body responded. I couldn’t be still. I’m grieving and I’m dancing. What?
Here’s where it gets even more interesting. I did as I said I would do, and I got ready to pour myself a mega pint of Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day” for my bike ride. I’d put it on a repeating loop as I have done with other music that I want to camp out in. This is my MO. So I did a quick search in my personal iTunes library and three separate songs popped up. (Mind you, this was after I had already left home and was straddling my bike on the side of the street.) For some reason, I had “Lovely Day” in my library twice (it’s likely that one was a single download and one was part of a Bill Withers album, purchased at separate times), but there was another song in the group that I didn’t recognize. I didn’t want to take the time to remove it, so I just hit play and tapped on the icon to have the songs on an endless loop and started to peddle again. I heard “Lovely Day” twice and then the “extra” mystery song began. The tone shifted from the upbeat, joyful “Lovely Day,” to something reverential—a somber, gentle, soft tone, almost like a whisper.
I could not believe my ears.
When I got home, I googled the lyrics, wondering if I heard right.
I could not believe my eyes.
It was so personal.
I have been begging God to give me something–something I can hold onto, something to give me a touch of peace, His spirit, His sweet relief for my grief–to intervene and show ME a sign, not someone else. Not hearsay, I need it firsthand, from The Source.
The lyrics of that third song could not have been more perfect, more spot-on. God whispered to me a powerful message. So intimate, so deeply personal, and specific. What’s more, I YouTubed the song and saw that it was produced in 2006–the traumatic/dramatic year that we almost lost Joey for the first time.
Today—even before I peddled out of my garage and headed for the beach—I hit play on my new three-song playlist loop.
I caught myself dancing at intersections. No kidding. And singing along. I also had this sort of super-humany, weird-beautiful energy in my legs that I had when I listened to the Tori Kelly’s version of “It is Well With My Soul” (“Soul’s Anthem”) song right after Joey died. The kind that makes me slay a hill and break my Strava records without even trying.
Since Joey’s death, today has been my first full Lovely Day. Yesterday I couldn’t wrap my brain around having another day, period. I mean, come on, if that’s not a miracle.
Today I rode the same path to the beach as I did a few days after Joey died—that was the first day I had “It is Well With My Soul” on a loop. I wanted to camp out there, I wanted it to be well with my soul, I wanted to accept this terrible new reality and still be okay. That was a stormy winter’s day and I wept. Today was pure sunshine and I danced. I referenced that dark day in the words I spoke at Joey’s service. I wanted to be able to say and feel It is Well with my Soul, but it, in fact, was not. For nearly six months, it has not been the slightest bit well.
It’s been hell.
It’s been dark and chaotic and yesterday reached a crescendo.
And I asked a lot of people for help. I actually believed all the comments that they were all praying. For me.
Every time I hear Bill Withers sing “And the world’s alright with me” I immediately think of the words “It is well with my soul.” To me, they are synonymous. I may not be able to say the words empathically, it is well with my soul now or the world’s alright with me, but I think I’m closer to it. I have hope. That’s a miracle.
*( I also think—in theory—as narcissistic as it sounds, it’s possible that God orchestrated all of that, just for me. Yes, I think He might love me that much. And I also think He also loves you that much.)
You have turned my mourning into dancing;
you took off my sackcloth
and clothed me with a garment of joy,
so that I may sing praise to you
and not remain silent.
Lord, my God,
I will give you thanks forever! –Psalm 30:11-12