Sunday, December 16, 2007

Perhaps drums are my “thing” after all. The sunshine today left me full of a weird, super-energy which defied wearing out. A walk, a run, push-ups, rough-housing with Josiah all left me still feeling a violent urge to hit something. For the protection of his stomach, Josiah volunteered his drums. I’d never managed to make the sticks bounce before, or work my hands with separate beats or even simply hold the sticks correctly. Today, everything came together for me: bounces, rhythms, timing. Most of the afternoon passed loudly for my poor family and our guests, but I think I’ve found a new passion. Notice I said “passion”, not “talent”. I’ve swiped Josiah’s ancient green drumsticks, he built me a drum pad from an ice cream bucket filled with beads, and I’ll likely be making a racket for the next, oh, week or so, before the fancy fades, like most others. Including the guitar, which I picked up again today and strummed out the song I wrote on it a year ago when I was trying to learn. I would like to believe that it’s a mark of genius when the only song I can play on guitar is one I wrote, but my conscience won’t allow such fibbing. Playing guitar was something I really made a concentrated effort at, but the neck of Papa’s steel-string was simply too wide for my shrimpy-woman hands. Someday I will snag someone’s electric and learn it all. Of course, the real goal is bass. That’s right, this woman here is the dreamer who would like to master piano, harp and bass guitar. Well, and drums, cello, violin, flute and regular guitar. Musical talent would have been a convenient gift once upon a time.

I never even cracked my Bible in private today. It’s a horrible thing to have to record, but I get some sort of penance satisfaction from pointing the finger at myself. Perhaps it’s my personality that demands someone to reprimand, and when no one else is available, I pounce on myself. Honestly, though, it is pitiful that I’ve not read the Word today. I cuddled by my parent’s fire, Bible in hand this morning, and promptly drifted to sleep. Sure, I got fed during church by Papa, Don and Nick, all sharing good stuff—about the gifts we have in Christ Jesus. And sure, I played and sang praise songs with Josiah and Zach this afternoon. But I didn’t gather my Bread from Heaven first thing in the morning and I’m sure my spirit has been ill-fed today on account of it. “Tomorrow,” I promise myself, and my Bible, and the Lord. “Tonight I want to finish up my journal, climb into bed and cuddle in to sleep, sleep, sleep. After all, doesn’t the Lord give His loved one’s sleep?” Sure, He does. And He says to meditate on my bed and be still. What better way to meditate than after a hearty spiritual meal? Sadly, I don’t feel hungry. When fasting, you know, the longer you go, the less you desire food. I can’t bear for my spiritual system to go into starvation mode, no longer demanding sustenance. I can’t make up the tomorrow for not eating today. I think of the famine for God’s word—in other countries where believers stay awake all night to read as much as they can, never sure when a Bible will be again available to them. Never sure when they will have time again to sit and read the precious Word of God. Tonight before I go to sleep, I will take the time to read God’s word, in case I never have another chance.

Lord, because it seems less filling,

See my hardened heart, unwilling

To get up and gather early,

Taste Thy bread so pure and holy.

But Thy precious bread from heaven,

Free from sin’s pervading leaven,

Unlike manna in the desert

May be gathered now and ever.