Friday, November 23, 2007

Some days, memorial doesn’t seem a worthy enough goal for the effort of recording this life. Tonight, I am so tired and cold I want to climb into bed and never get out again.

I woke up cold this morning and piled on tights, socks and pants, layered shirts, sweatshirts and jackets, and topped the whole off with a turquoise stocking cap before heading outside to sort, saw and stack lumber in the garage and barn. The sun never peeped out once to check on me and see if I was warm enough.

Apparently outside work days function on an entirely different schedule. No one started lunch until one-thirty, and it felt a bit odd to wrap it up after two. I scurried into the bathroom to clean up and head into the big and bustling world of D-town for groceries. I was disappointed to discover the library closed. I’m sure I have enormous fines since my spoiled self forgot I’d have to ask to have my borrowed books renewed.

We were all cuddled in a cozy heap in Mom and Papa’s room when Zach walked in, bedecked in the stocking cap that I approve and toting the backpack that never strays far from his side. Perhaps it is something about Zach’s presence that demands a Jonathan Lindvall tape. Perhaps it is just the excitement of the new. At any rate, Papa popped in another one, this time on music, and I quaked, afraid to hear my new love—rap—go down the drain as displeasing to God. Instead, Jonathan shared scripture after scripture encouraging music, firstly and also even supporting percussion, new songs and even loud music. Scripturally it appears that the Lord wants us to exercise our creativity and talent in praising and worshipping Him! I can think of nothing I would rather do.

Lord, Thy statutes do not load us

For the ways Thy Spirit goads us

Are the very ways that give us

All the pleasure that is richest.

Why does sounding forth Thy praise,

Telling all Thy glorious ways

Make our souls and spirits sated?

‘Tis for this we were created.

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