The Master

The Master

A painting. The canvas lies bare, expectant. A blob of yellow paint in the middle marks the beginning. A perfect, round circle. Presently, a red drop joins the yellow, and then orange and green. Colors, wild and brilliant, carefully applied. And a picture begins to take form.

As humans, we like having our lives under control.
We enjoy being prepared; we need to know things in advance.
I too. I feel accomplished when I plan something and it goes just the way I wanted. That sensation of, yes- exactly! I'm so glad it went my way!
Maybe it's the idea that my life is running smoothly, like a well aimed golf ball rolling along the golf track.
Or maybe its the simple satisfaction of me plus organizing equals- success.
Whatever it is, I suspect I am not the first to be sucked in to the Control Master. It has been this way since time immemorial. People planning, deciding, organizing. Arranging and rearranging. Working tirelessly for that picture perfect result.
Until Someone knocks over all the paint bottles. And that beautiful canvas is streaked, rivers of color snaking their way past detailed landscapes, reds and blues meshing as one, greens and yellows running into each other, all but obscuring the original painting.
A terrible shame. Oh, how frustrating, to spend hours meticulously calculating every detail, eyeing every corner, filling in every last gap. The time and energy- gone to where? One false move and everything is lost, an eyesore in its place. There are other wonderful paintings gracing the walls. They were not touched by this hand of bad luck. What is it, the firm redirection, the stark reminder- that we are not in control?
What does it take for us to come to the realization? As an individual, many have been the times I was treated to the gentle nudge. Hard earned money stolen at the brink of dawn, from my very own home, the day of a long awaited trip.
A negative response in answer to a seminary I so wanted to attend. News of sad happenings causing me distress on a day that should have been full of fun and excitement.
I plan. I brainstorm. I pool my resources, both physical and mental and look toward the future. And in my naivety, I used to assume the road would always be smooth, the path always clear. The bumps would never tilt my carriage. For my life so far had been free of obstacles and my journey uneventful. Smug in my experiences, I felt comfortable and even a little proud.
That's when the first jolt came. And following the first came many more on its' heel. My walls were soon dotted with unfinished paintings and clumsy looking canvases. With every knock, I would emerge sheepish, a little bruised but ultimately wiser.
The world is a place full of the unexpected. And those who don't expect the unexpected may lead simple, blissful lives- until the unexpected arrives, as expected. For we are but puppets on a string, dancing to the tune of a Master puppeteer, in a giant theatre known to us mortal beings as The World. Every so often, looking upward, we see the Hand guiding our steps and we are reassured. Everything is as it should be. Sometimes, we see where the strings are leading us, even if we don't see Who's controlling them. Those are the times we need to have faith that the strings are being pulled by the same Hand as before. Then there are the moments where even the strings seem tangled and interwoven and all seems worthless and confusing. Those are the times we look upward fruitlessly, desperately seeking a glimpse of that wonderful, sure Hand- but alas, the Hand is hidden between the folds of the canopy and Its' actions and their purpose are unbeknownst to us puppets down below. And it is then that our deepest faith must come to the forefront and fortify us for the journey ahead.

A simple Yiddish saying well used by my family and Jews worldwide: Ah mentch Tracht un Got Lacht. Man plans, and G-d laughs. Timeless. And so true. Every day, we start out in the morning with a plan and an objective. We know where we're going, who we will be seeing and what we will be doing. We dance to the familiar tune of life, content in its familiarity, recognizing the light beats and the hard ones. And then, one day, the tune suddenly changes. We grope around like blind men searching in the dark, listening for the comforting notes. But they are yet to come.
First, there are the heart stopping drum rolls, belted out with an intensity like we've never heard before- a three year old has died, a young girl has been hit by a car, a father of many children lies in critical condition. The strings are becoming more and more tangled. Where is the Hand Who has guided us along so peacefully until now? We search for It but it is hidden. We look around us. We implore the Master to unravel the knots. She was just coming home from preschool, like any other day... and she had flown in for a family wedding... and he was driving back from a Simcha...
Regular, everyday events. Events that happen everywhere all the time. Events that are planned and scheduled. Events that end in tragedy.
Because the Master wants to remind us that it is not us who are in control.

Hashem, You nudged us once. You knocked over our paintings twice. You put obstacles on our path three, four, five times. You've tangled our strings, jolted us to our very senses, drummed the message well into the membranes of our heads. Isn't it enough? When will the final painting be revealed? Our pain is overflowing...
But through it all, even as our eyes searchingly grope the heavens for an answer, our timeless source of perseverance pushes us on. Ani Maamin Be-emunah Shelaima. Despite the many obstacles, our eyes, blinded as they are by our desperate tears, shine with an inner light, a light that was passed on to us since the times of our forefathers.
Our Emunah.
Veaf Al Pi Sheyismameia, Im Kol Zeh Achakelo Bechol Yom Sheyavo.
May it be speedily in our days.