For Every Mountain, and Even in the Midnight's Deepest Valley (Kurt Carr, Brahms, Bach)

All photos by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, from July 8, 11, 19, and 20, with the second to last a throwback to January 30, 2024

For a time this month my work took me to the northern side of the city, and that meant I had time to stop in Alta Vista Park, where Martti Talvela singing "Stille Tränen" so came to my heart and mind in the winter ... I looked back from near its top in the summer and, while looking down a hill bejeweled with gold and diamonds in jade, I looked and saw every hill I have climbed except Strawberry Hill ... the distant steeple on the right is Lone Mountain, in the middle is the Sutro Greenbelt, and to the left is my beloved Buena Vista Hill. Far off still are hills awaiting my footstep: Corona Heights between Buena Vista and Sutro, and behind them -- better seen in this picture with its three great antenna towers --

-- are the San Bruno Mountains, and in that picture, on the left, are the East Bay Hill across San Francisco Bay, amidst which I once rode to and from work, and upon which I of course have designs!

But at that moment I was nearly overcome ... with memory of how far I have come, and have been permitted ... the memory of an elder friend's favorite Kurt in music came to mind ... she has gone up now into Glory, but one day some years before that, she introduced me to "For Every Mountain," and this amazing gospel song came back to mind as I surveyed how high I had climbed, and from how deep the valley ... how I had been led and strengthened ... if I had not needed to get to work, I probably would have broken down on that hill, for the song my darling friend bequeathed to me is indeed now my testimony!

I understand now why different people cannot perform certain songs ... I don't even know if I would make it through there in the alto section, to say nothing of leading it ... it is different when you have literally walked it ... and when there is so much depth and height to one's life ... the fact that my elder friend felt that she could share it with me at my much younger age then tells me what she often did: "I see myself in you, Deeann ... follow what is good in my example, but don't make my mistakes." She left me music to help me ... and then moved up a little higher ... soprano Denise-Marie Standard Mitchell left here just before Covid became a thing, and I have thanked God a thousand times she did not have to live through that, or see any of the political upheaval there has been since. It was enough -- time for her to rest on high, having had home's things all the way home!

"Abhor that which is evil; cling to that which is good" ... she also provided me that echo, with that of how to look back in praise.

Yet at the same time on Alta Vista Hill, it had come to me: why should I be given this particular retrospective of my climbs physical and spiritual now, and be reminded of an end in praise?

Little did I know on July 8, when I woke up and viewed my holy hill ...

... that for the rest of the summer, this is the last photograph I would have of walking it.

This week my mother shared with me how that would be, in retrospect ... we had many visitors on Sunday for it was a high day, and few people are masking ... one near her was coughing just a little ... and thus Covid-19 made its return to her, my father, and me. And just that quick ... for it is already August 1 ... my strength for hill climbing is gone, and, if the last bout of Covid was any gauge, it will be late September into October before I dare to make any such attempt.

The funny thing about Covid-19's later variants: they are not as violent in terms of the respiratory tract, and so much more survivable, but if one pays attention, one notices they attack other areas of the body and other organs. Bad things happen when one does not account for that. I already know in my case: a minor injury that I had has been flaring and flaring, my usual allergy weak areas have been on fire, and my ability to eat enough to have extra strength is gone. That latter part, by itself, lingered a year in 2022, and required four months to clear up enough to allow me to get back to my regular walking length.

None of this, however, was my main concern. My main concern was to stay strong enough, somehow, to nurse my parents, also sick, and much older than me. Anxiety for myself I have none ... I should rather be tempted to climb above my strength and go home from the height of any peak ... I understand how it happens on Everest and many great mountains ... and from the top of Buena Vista Hill on a halcyon day is not far from Heaven, surely ...

... except that I know I am meant to be here. I have seen enough in this world already to not be sorry when it is my day to leave it ... except that I will not consent to leave so long as I know I am called to walk here and bless those around me. That is my deep concern ... and so the only thought that troubled me was not getting so ill that I could not nurse my parents. Enter RIDICULOUS amounts of Vitamin C in both food and supplement form, and a modestly elevated amount of zinc ... the former is an experience on its own, but I found the trade worth it.

Yet and still, that first night ...

... as I went to sleep still pondering how I would find the strength to both be sick and heal while making sure my parents did the same, it came to me im Traum, in der Erinnerung ... in dream, from memory ... of course I knew the answer ... have I not been a year and three months in training?

Keine Angst, Frau Mathews -- nur ruhe!

Was I not given an Echo to remind me of I Corinthians 13 ... and how even in the face of grief and misery, love is the greatest? Of course ... and so the instant I was asleep, on came that bass summer midnight voice of Kurt Möll, singing the fourth of Brahms's Four Serious Songs ... the timestamp here is 13:15!

And although I am getting up to go nowhere but to see after myself and my parents, being in isolation with them, have I not just learned how to get dressed for every situation -- to adorn myself, with my beloved soul, for even though I could not go to church this past Sunday, does not He Who called me fill all things, and can I not, in doing what He has called for me to do, meet with Him in joy and peace everywhere and in every situation, even as both patient and nurse?

And then, was my heart not nearly moved to bursting when my grand old soldier found out I was ill and called me to tell me: "Whatever you and your parents need that I can provide is yours -- if you need anything brought to the house, or there is any emergency, you are not by yourself: CALL ME!" Now he can no more afford to get sick than they can, running over here as his American hero self ... but as you know, a basso profundo voice expressed in love takes me right out, so I was in no position to argue ...

So deeply to walk, to abide, to adorn ... to my own surprise, I am not hankering after the high places I used to walk in and shall not now see for months ... for all that I learned and found of peace and joy has come inward to me -- it was given to me to bring inward, now, so that I might remember in praise what I have already passed over, and know that I shall be able to move through this time in faith, hope, and love, the latter giving me the strength to do all that I must. My father is now recovered, my mother is close to being there, and so am I ... it is now just a question, for me, of slowly rebuilding my strength.

My strength is not what it was for anything ... I laugh at winding this post up well under 2,000 words ... but so it must be -- es muss sein, as Beethoven wrote at the end of his last quartet! I expect that if my parents and I continue to recover at the rate we are going at, some flatland spots will be within my reach before too long ...

... but in not knowing exactly, I have no concern about it ... I have learned my lessons. I know Who has led me and called me and kept me, and thus will lead me through this. There is nothing in the world I am missing. I shall walk, abide, and adorn my soul daily, knowing that there is nothing better or of more peace or joy for me than to be doing what I am called to do now, which is to care for my beloveds and endanger no one else. Such music old and new has sung over me when I have had time to rest ... Bach in memory has been meeting with my own compositional ability, and also has found a quote in Beethoven that I hope to write of after ... who would have thought the two of them would have taken the same opening chords and told two completely different stories with them? But that will wait ... to recover, I must rest, and so...

Keine Angst, meine Töchterlein ... nur ruhe!

I have learned my lessons!