Resonance

Written 1/11/26

The back door was kept busy as the kids went back and forth to the trampoline, deeply immersed in some game I could not figure out. And maybe that was the point….no purpose, just play. Ages five to fourteen, all tangled up together. 

And we knew they would get hungry, likely soon. We needed to act before the hangry kid mob wrecked the gathering. 

I gathered each kid’s order for P. Terry’s, our go-to for quick and easy burgers. The five-year-old clarified at least three times to “get a lot of ketchup.” Noted.

Five minutes later, I left the house to pick up the order. Ash, our dog, came along to get a break from the crowd which can give him lots of joy and some anxiety.

Still trying to recover from chemo early in the week, I needed a small break from all the activity too. This latest chemo protocol has been more unpredictable, generating a deeper fatigue that has been tougher to recover from. So the short trip with Ash - windows down by his request - came at a good time. A short time later, I pulled back into our crowded driveway, loaded up like a Cheeseburger Santa.

And the moment I walked in the front door of the house, the divinity of that place washed over me. 

My wife’s parents, in town for my daughter’s 13th birthday, were right in the middle of the conversations with the others. The others in the group were our “framily”, a group of close friends we’ve gathered with every other week for 15-ish years. The artificial lines between family and close friends gone, there was this lovely hum to it all, resonating in my chest as I paused in the entry way. 

A pile of shoes by the door. The kids swarming toward the food, bringing in some of the cold from outside. Conversations, both serious and decidedly unserious. Laughter. Real honest laughter. The football game on in the background. No empty seats. Strung lights visible in the backyard. A bunch of people I love and that love me.

The same space I had left 15 minutes earlier came into an entirely different view. One I noticed. One that noticed me. That resonance in my chest? I call that God these days. As mentioned in previous writing, I don’t really think it matters much what we might call it - any words only fall short. But I do think it’s important to pay attention to the wisdom of that experience of resonance.

Using the word “God” has been a less thoughtful, passive, and even murky, exercise for me historically, for a range of reasons. In the last few years - in a perfect storm of life experiences, conversations, silence, and a lot of reading - I’m finding it’s often more helpful for me to think of God as something other than some person-like form. God for me is that resonance in my chest I felt when I walked in that door, that frequency and hum of love and communion. 

I’m sure I’ll read more, have more conversations and experiences, and sit in more silence. And that will continue expanding how I think about and experience all of this. I also recognize there are a lot of theological explanations and arguments related to all this, and so much to learn from traditions that use terms other than God to point at the same good stuff. I’m embracing being provoked by all that….while also just surrendering into the beautiful mystery of that feeling I had when I walked in that front door again, as if for the first time. 

One thing - one of the few things - that feels solid to me at this moment is the complete confidence that the resonance and vibration of love is always enveloping us and connecting us to everyone and everything. Even when - especially when - despair feels like it’s right around the corner. 

And maybe what’s mine and ours to do is to feed that frequency of love, to notice it, to be noticed by it, and to feel it deep within our innermost selves. What will you and I see and feel when we walk through that next doorway, as if for the first time?

Love,

Matt

*I’m a keeper of quotes, excerpts, poems, etc., and I’ve kept this one from Rilke nearby for a bit. It came to mind when thinking about the mystery of God. My Mom and I talked about it right after we both got simultaneous cancer diagnoses, and I think I’m only starting to understand what “...mystery at the crossroad of your senses” means for me. Anyway, I love this poem. Hope you enjoy.

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.

Let this darkness be a bell tower

and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.

Move back and forth into the change.

What is it like, such intensity of pain?

If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,

be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,

the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,

say to the silent earth: I flow.

To the rushing water, speak: I am.