Moments

“We had a moment,” she said.

I laughed because it’s the kind of statement made by any fanciful teenage girl returning from a concert—the wishful musings of a dreamer who thought the electric guitarist resembled a sexy pirate.

And I might have shrugged off her silly comment had I not been sitting right next to her, witnessing the event with my own eyes.

Because there really was a moment.

A fragile, yet certain beat when he looked right at her and their rock fists made like a long distance high five.

They connected. Not with their hands, but with their hearts.

In that moment, though it seems hard to believe, he truly was playing for her.

And he kept playing for her throughout the remainder of the concert.

A kiss was blown; a wave was exchanged; and the girl spent the rest of the night on her feet, cheering, chanting, screaming his name.

It was their moment, sacred and shared.

A tenuous connection weaved on the threads of a guitar riff, beautiful in its simplicity, magical in its certainty, and exciting in its spontaneity.

It made her day. It made her year. And she would even go as far as to say it made her life.

Somehow I don’t doubt its life-making potential.

Even as an observer, I felt the magic of the moment. Sensed how she caught that magic, wrapped it up in her hands, and pressed it close to her heart.

It is moments like these for which we live.

Moments when two hearts begin to beat to the same rhythm.

Moments when two souls that will surely never meet again forge a bond across a distance, rock fists held high, heads thrown back in elation.

Yes, life is made in moments like these.