By Monica Miller, a junior music education major from Chambersburg, Pennsylvania
This week’s theme: Restore us, O God! We breathe.
I’ve watched this semester as dust has collected on my bookshelf. The top shelf is exactly eye-level, making it easy for me to see the dust, but I’m reluctant to clean it. (Or maybe just lazy.)
We’re not that different, me and the dust. We both tend to settle, and in our settledness, we begin to forget. Too much accumulated dust obscures the object lying beneath it that gives it its form. Too much settling on my part makes me comfortable. I begin to cruise, and my awareness narrows to only the present moment. I forget.
The main difference between the dust on my bookshelf and my formed-from-the-dust self is breath: I breathe in and out God’s breath of life. But it’s not just God’s breath – the sound of breathing is God’s name. Yahweh. With each inhalation, I begin God’s name, and with each exhalation I finish it. Yah-weh.
When we breathe, we constantly smell things, but our brains decide when we pay attention to our sense of smell. Our sense of smell is intimately tied to our memories, forming associations between scents and emotions even as early as the womb. Scents trigger a reaction, whether we’re conscious of the memories they’re linked to or not.
Each breath – Yah-weh – is an invitation to remember. Every time I breathe, this dusty temple smells the air, whispers the name of God, and remembers where I’ve come from. No matter how long I’ve settled, my very next breath can be the one that restores my perspective, reminding me that this is not my final settling place. This dusty world does not get the last word. Yahweh is on my lips.