Shadows and rests

I saw my shadow today. An honest-to-goodness dark shadow, cast by my own form in the brightness of brilliant sunlight, warm sunlight, the sort of sunlight D.C. doesn’t usually get in January. I felt the wonderful warmth on my face and cast an eye to my side. Funny how the contrast of a shadow makes the light seem that much more glorious.
And then I read this in “Streams in the Desert:”

There is no music during a musical rest, but the rest is part of the making of music. In the melody of our life, the music is separated here and there by rests. During those rests, we foolishly believe we have come to the end of the song. God sends us times of forced leisure by allowing sickness, disappointed plans, and frustrated efforts. He brings a sudden pause in the choral hymn of our lives, and we lament that our voices must be silent. We grieve that our part is missing in the music that continually rises to the ear of our Creator. Yet how does a musician read the rest? He counts the break with unwavering precision and plays his next note with confidence, as if no pause were ever there.
God does not write the music of our lives without a plan. Our part is to learn the tune and not be discouraged during the rests. They are not to be slurred over or omitted, nor used to destroy the melody or to change the key. If we will only look up, God Himself will count the time for us. With our eyes on Him, our next note will be full and clear.

Oh, that I would learn patience for the overcast days, the “rest” days...