Isn’t it fascinating how moments can find their way into your life, catch you off guard, and change you? There is healing and grace so abundant that you leave feeling cleansed and connected. And, really, as I sit here and write about this moment, it really isn’t random or all of a sudden. It is the years leading up to the moment, and for us, the purpose of the weekend.

My youngest daughter and I went to see the Broadway play, Hamilton, in Durham, North Carolina. I highly recommend the venue, DPAC. I’ve seen the play before. You learn so much about the History of the Revolutionary War while also laughing at the humorous way they portray characters and the “one-liners.” In the second act, towards the end, you are lifted from the heavy cognitive attention and humor to a serious parade of music and words that create space to ponder grace, forgiveness, pride, and taking someone’s hand in love.

They are standing in the garden, Alexander by Eliza’s side. She takes his hand. It’s quiet uptown. Forgiveness. Can you imagine?”
— Angelica Schuyler, “It’s Quiet Uptown”

Like all theatre attendees, we lay in the hotel room later that night recounting our favorite scenes and how they touched us. One of my favorites:

The exact Aaron Burr quote from the musical is, “I should’ve known / The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me.” He says this in the final duel song, “The World Was Wide Enough,” as he bitterly regrets shooting Alexander Hamilton and ruining his own life.

Lin-Manuel Miranda adapted this line directly from real history. Historically, Burr expressed his remorse years later by stating: “Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me.”

The first year of COVID, my father passed away. All the events leading up to his passing are significant and could take a few long posts. I didn’t know how to fit that story into this post, but I’m going to try. He passed away too quickly. We had a bedside going home, and he passed away in the arms of his wife in the small hours of the new day. I heard a voice that sounded like my mother awaken me in the middle of the night to come to his bedside. I kissed his forehead and knew. My dad desired to pass away in his home.

How does my dad’s passing relate to a Hamilton weekend in Durham?

Stories. When we tell our stories, we can re-live our experiences and process them in a way that feels less invasive, and gives us an example to speak to. The next day, we got ready, checked out, and went to Foster’s Market for brunch. We sat outside at a table for two.

We began to chat about her progress, growth, and perspectives. All of a sudden, the Spirit wrapped around our table. In the movies, it’s like the scene where they are in a crowd, and the camera zooms in on them, leaving the chaos of the surroundings behind or fading. We both, in rhythm and through tears, talked about Papa’s passing in detail from our heartfelt perspective.

I asked her to remember this moment in her heart and mind, when my mind is not filled with disease. You may be the one to care for me in hospice, or maybe you get the call, and it is sudden, maybe I say things from pain or confusion, but know that this is the moment you see in your heart – “I love you. All is well. Thank you for doing the hard work to help me pass to heaven.”

She talked about visiting Papa’s grave and talking to him, and the conversations. She shared how my brother, Harvey, supported her through the difficult time, and at the funeral when she was sharing her eulogy. Our eyes were locked, our hearts open, and my dad’s spirit was there. I know when he is. The last time was a conversation in the stillness of a morning meditation and study. That was a long time ago – October of last year.

We happened to select a table right beside the door, where the waitstaff would come out to the patio and yell the order name so they could deliver the food to the right table. We made a game of listening to the names and finding a song or movie that the name related to. At the exact moment, at the height of our conversation, a woman came out, softly spoke (the others were very loud and would make us jump), softly she said,

“Order for Tom.”

That’s my dad’s name.

We smiled, “No way.” She says. I can’t describe how intentional this timing was for us, and the way she said it.

I’ve been talking to him a lot through prayers, healing, and decisions I need to make. The glow and warmth have lingered, and I’m astonished at how the years passing bring clarity and connection with my daughter. In the moment when things seem hopeless, we can count on restoration over time. It’s a simple, but hard truth to let sink inside your bones.

We left brunch to visit the residential facility for eating disorders, then known as Veritas, and now called Emily’s Place. At that time, we were coping with Papa’s passing while also navigating the healing process for her eating disorder and the services that transformed our lives and saved hers. Standing in the facility’s spaces was heart-wrenching, but now I see them with new eyes filled with hope and understanding. I reflect on the good, the bad, and the challenges we faced in our renewed relationship, all under the comforting memory of Papa’s love. It felt strange to eat lunch in a place where Parish and I would visit during visiting hours, but now I was sitting there with her. It was incredibly surreal to stand on the grass of the sitting area and walk the sidewalks with her, recalling where she was then compared to where she is now in her life. We left a bird feeder and a house as a gift among the trees, and it’s still there. I remember hanging it with Parish as we transitioned her home. I went back to read a post from 5/30/2021. Wow, the tears are flowing.

How about you?

As you look back on the chapters of your own life, I encourage you to pause and look for the threads connecting your past to your present. If you are searching for clarity or healing today, try leaning into these reflections:

• Listen for the “Soft Orders”: In the noise of daily life, where is God softly whispering a name, a memory, or a sign to let you know you are not alone?
• Reclaim Your Spaces: Is there a place that once represented pain, fear, or grief for you? Consider what it might look like to revisit it—if only in your mind—and acknowledge how far you have come since you last stood there.
• Share the Story: Who do you need to sit across from and speak the hard, beautiful truths to?

Our stories are less invasive when we share them, and infinitely more powerful when we use them to build bridges to the people we love. In the moments when things seem hopeless, hold onto the simple, hard truth that sinks deep into your bones: restoration is coming. What is a moment in your life that caught you off guard and changed you for the better?

Hamilton Scene to Ponder

In Hamilton, Eliza actually doesn’t speak or sing at all for most of this song. Because of her immense grief over losing her son and her heartbreak over Alexander’s past betrayal, she is entirely silent—representing a pain and a “quiet” that words cannot reach.

However, her silence breaks at the most crucial moment of the song. As Alexander begs for her forgiveness, the narrator (Angelica) describes what Eliza does instead of what she says.

When Eliza finally chooses grace, she sings just one single, breathtaking line, right before the chorus swells around them:

(Angelica)

There are moments that the words don’t reach

There is a grace too powerful to name

We push away what we can never understand

We push away the unimaginable

They are standing in the garden

Alexander by Eliza’s side

She takes his hand…

(Eliza)

It’s quiet uptown.

(Company)

Forgiveness. Can you imagine?

Forgiveness. Can you imagine?

The Power of Her Gesture

Even though the word “Forgiveness” is sung by the background company, it is Eliza’s choice to reach out and take his hand that represents the act itself. By singing “It’s quiet uptown,” she isn’t just talking about the neighborhood; she is signaling that the storm inside their relationship is finally over, and they are choosing to face the unimaginable together.

My sweet mom was waving goodbye to us as we left for Hamilton – she, too, had a dream about Valentina and came to check on her when we came home. God is speaking. I love you…