Why do things happen? A Ponderable ...

Have you ever asked why certain things happen, or why they happen at the specific time they happen? I would like to think I'm not the only one who has wondered why a song comes on the radio just after you think, "I haven't heard that in forever". Or you think of someone that you haven't seen in a long time and they knock on your door? Is it truly explainable as "just a coincidence" or is there a Grand Plan at play here? 

In the loss of a loved one there are quite often questions of, "Why her/him? Why now?" In discussing grief with many people over the last 3 1/2 years I have been exposed to many attempts at an explanation. If you are a "person of faith" there is a poem that I believe comes close to a truth, whether or not it is THE truth depends on your personal beliefs. It is called "The Weaver".

Just A Weaver

by Benjamin Malacia Franklin

My life is but a weaving


Between my Lord and me;


I cannot choose the colors


He worketh steadily.



Oft times He weaveth sorrow


And I, in foolish pride,


Forget He sees the upper,


And I the under side.



Not til the loom is silent


And the shuttles cease to fly,


Shall God unroll the canvas


And explain the reason why.



The dark threads are as needful


In the Weaver’s skillful hand,


As the threads of gold and silver


In the pattern He has planned.



He knows, He loves, He cares,


Nothing this truth can dim.


He gives His very best to those


Who chose to walk with Him.

Is all of life simply the backside of an intricate weaving? 

Well, if you think you're going to find the answer here, you're wrong. But I did have a "moment of clarity" the other day that I wanted to attempt to reason my way through.

On the day I was arriving in Burgos, along the Camino de Santiago, I had a small series of events that could simply be happenstance. Or they could be the personification of the Camino, and life itself.

As I mentioned in my blog entry, "Atapuerca to Burgos", my plan was to start early and hike to the first town to eat breakfast. But as I walked through Cruz de Matagrande I found no place to eat, so I continued. The same thing happened in Villaval. I saw places that ordinarily would have been serving breakfast, but on that specific morning, at that specific time, I saw no signs of activity. Something told me to continue.

When at last I came into Gardenuela Riopico, I found a bar with a tent set up, and in the tent were a number of pilgrims that I had not seen in quite some time; most of them as far back as day 1! 

A group of peregrinos had just discussed a couple nights before how people you had met and walked with would show up suddenly when you figured they were days ahead of you and you would never see them again. But here these Pilgrims were, all smiles, turning up on this specific morning. What made this morning special? Let me add another tile to the mosaic.

That evening, in Burgos, I went to the front desk of the hotel and asked if there was a restaurant that they would recommend. The young lady wrote out the names of three that were nearby and I, as most would do, went to the first establishment on the list. I walked in and selected a table (they were all empty). A woman walked by and I asked if they had a menu in English. She somewhat angrily replied that they were closed and I could not be served until the time she indicated.

Normally I may have hung around, but the tone of her Spanish ire made me think I would be better off looking elsewhere.

Again, ordinarily, I would have gone to the second name on the list, but I opted instead for the last name on the list. Why? I don't know.

When I arrived I was told, very politely, that they didn't open until 7 p.m., but if I wanted a drink, I could have a seat at one of their outside tables until then.

As I sat waiting outside, a man came in and sat at the bar, ordering a drink. He happen to turn and look outside and saw me. It was Yogi, with whom I had ridden on the train from Madrid to Pamplona. He came over and sat at my table and, after only a couple of minutes, in walked Sharon from Seattle, the third person of our train trio.

I had walked past a dozen restaurants on the way to this place and was even rejected by one. Why did the young lady at the hotel recommend this specific eatery, at this specific time?

We had a very nice dinner together and it may have never crossed my mind that there was anything unusual about the timing, had it not been the same day as my morning encounter. That, and then there was the e-mail I also received that day.

The e-mail was from my friend Scott and it contained a link to a You Tube video. He had sent it several days before but, due to poor Wifi connections, it wasn't seen by me until this day.

The video shows a flash-mob, set up by the Queensland Symphony Orchestra on the banks of the Brisbane River. It was a performance of Bolero, one of my favorite pieces of classical music. I no sooner began to play the video then I was struck by the symbolic representation it presented of the Camino de Santiago, and perhaps life itself. Here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/embed/xn7CYzPMf2o

As you see, just like the Camino, it starts with but a very simplistic singular beat, much the same way the Camino starts; the sound of a solo pace, footsteps on pavement, each person setting their pace, the beat that will carry them to the end. Then a stranger steps from the crowd, perhaps an oboe player, perhaps someone from Germany. They add their part to your beat and now you progress. One by one, each person adds their talent, another flavor to the mix, creating a unique experience. Someone from Hungary, a tympani, a young lady from  Australia, a french horn, an 81 year old man from Japan, a harp. Each person steps seemingly from nowhere and, in perfect syncopation, adds their piece to the symphony of life. Some have major rolls, some but a single note, perfectly placed to create this work of art.

So why did Scott send this to me? Why did I receive it when I did? Why did all of this occur on the same day? It could have been all disjointed circumstance. Simply coincidence? I thought about this as I walked out the front door of the hotel where I was staying on this same day; a hotel that had been suggested to me by a total stranger with whom I walked that very same morning; someone I likely will never see again.

As I looked across the square I realized that the front side of the weaving was being revealed. On the other side of the square was the Museum of Natural History, extolling their new exhibit. Coincidence?