On this Easter evening, I feel reflective. I hear this sound behind me as I sit down to write. The soulful sound of the chimes often causes me to pause whatever I am doing and just listen and feel for a moment. I was given these chimes when my Dad died, and I love the sound that often echos in the background of my life at home.
There is something about the chimes that invites me to pause. The gentle movement of the breeze, the gentle lulling of the deep sounds, the surprise of a higher tone amidst the big, long tubes. The gentleness…
I am aware that the chimes awaken my heart to a gentle calm, a tender sorrow, a living hope. Everything about these chimes feels inviting to me.
Tomorrow we expect 50 MPH winds and I will listen carefully to the sound of the chimes. Occasionally they may not carry gentleness, but I am grateful for the gentle presence of these chimes in my yard and all they awaken in my soul.
I did not plan to write about the chimes tonight, but as I sat to write, I found that the crystal clear lulling pitch played over the sound of the news and the COVID-19 updates. The low tones invaded my own thoughts of our at-risk clients and keeping caregivers protected the best we can as we care for the elderly and vulnerable in our community.
The chimes spoke to me as I sit amid so many thoughts. Thoughts of Easter and faith and the week ahead. I imagine chimes hanging at the tomb many many years after the Resurrection, reminding us that magnificent events happened in that sacred space.
My Aunt and Uncle are buried in the wind chime section of the cemetery in Denver, Colorado. This wind chime draws us to the sacred space of remembering Aunt Simmie and Uncle Ben.
The chimes remind me of life and death, of sorrow and joy, of a life lived and experience to be lived.
They carry a message of hope.
They remind me of the sacred spaces of my own world.
They remind me of God’s goodness and presence.
The gift of wind chimes when my Dad died resonated perfectly with my soul. But the ongoing gift that the wind chimes offer me every time the breeze blows is about much more than just the memory of my Dad. Somehow they speak in a way that my soul welcomes.