I had thought I’d be lonely, but I turned out to enjoy spending the day alone. The house was so warm and cozy in spite of the pouring rain that I wound up in shorts all day, working out, writing, reading, Bible studying and playing the piano. Yesterday’s musings now have a melody—I like it, I think. At least I like it today. Would I had recording equipment.
Freckles was rather delighted to see me in the morning and we took a romp together. I will never cease to be amazed how quickly she can cover the ground. With me running full throttle, she loped at my heals, periodically springing up to nip my backside. No doubt she thought the surprised gurgles I made meant I enjoyed her performance. By pinching her mouth shut I soon set her straight and we played with less awkwardness thereafter.
If Michael Card and I were exchanging brainwaves, we couldn’t have been thinking more alike. As I listened to his newest CD, “The Hidden Face of God” (a Christmas gift from Nathaniel and Lauren) I was blown away by the similarity of his thoughts and words to my own from last night. His music weeps with the simplicity and intricacy of agonizing truth. How real is the pain of the world. How real the deceiver who delights in our suffering. How real God’s infinite love for a world at enmity with Him—though He can’t bear to even look upon our sin. How real the grief and wounds born by Jesus, our Healer. How real the redemption through His blood. How real the hope to which I now cling—fully assured that through every heart-ache, every sorrow, pain or grief, the Lord is working for good, for beauty, for His glory.
Lord, aid my sin-dimmed eyes to see
Thy plan throughout eternity
The workings of Thy majesty,
‘Tis Thou defines reality.
When truth and my perception part
Renew my mind and cleanse my heart
To put my hope and trust in Thee
In theory and reality.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Friday, March 28, 2008
I asked the Lord to search me, and see if there were any wicked ways in me. What I really wanted was a pat on the back and an A-okay sign. Every day He digs up some new weed-of-thought that I’d been walking past, imagining a flower. Nasty habits, unkind thoughts, selfish reactions, harsh words. I sit here, crying, “Lord! Why don’t You work faster? I need to be perfect now!” The Lord must shake His head. As if He delays my perfection because that is His desire. Those weeds remain in the ground because I keep replanting them or even jealously guard them when He begins to pull them up. When will I ever stop getting in the way of my own cleansing process? I say I want to be pure, undefiled and set-apart. Where is my zeal against the sin in my own life?
The specific weakness which came to my attention started as a habit formed in family discussion—that of evaluating others and their mistakes. Papa has always made an effort to teach us wisdom from observing the world around us—a good thing. But what the fathers do in moderation, the sons may do in excess. What can be discussed for the sake of learning, need not take root in my heart and become the words that spill out my mouth. How do I speak of others? Pointing out their faults, their failures? Tainting the perceptions of others? As if I have no faults or failures. How often do unkind or hurtful words proceed from my mouth—the same mouth that claims to bless the Lord? This thing ought not to be. Honestly, the world would be at least an ounce better were I to always keep my mouth shut. But my heart would be just as deceptive. How can I forever keep before my eyes the command to encourage one another and build each other up?
The trip to Kansas came up almost suddenly, when we realized how much Grandma was hoping we’d come “home” for her birthday. Good intentions of finishing Joshua in the back seat of the suburban died in their youth, as my eyes crossed themselves in a feeble attempt to concentrate on the bouncing words. Instead, Josiah added a splitter to his CD player and we enjoyed Aaron Shust. Doctor James Vernon MacGee joined us later in the afternoon, teaching from the book of Ezra—a man who set himself to understand God’s law. Ezra told the Babylonian king that Yahweh would protect His people and begged that they be allowed to return to their homeland of Israel. As he viewed the congregation of Israel, full of women and little ones, his heart tumbled to his toes, realizing how vulnerable they would be. But this man of God refused to ask the king for a company of soldiers to protect them. He’d put Yahweh on the line, insisting He could protect them. How could he disgrace Yahweh now by admitting his fear of man? Instead, he called a solemn fast to beg Yahweh Himself for divine protection—and he was heard. I trust the Lord. Don’t I? Or do I fill my mouth with big words about trust and follow through by asking protection from the world? If I will cling to the promises of Yahweh, through myself completely on His mercy before the eyes of the world and humbly beg His protection through life, I will see Him vindicate His name. As Joshua told the Israelites, God works great things “so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of Yahweh is mighty, so that you may fear Yahweh forever.”
Lord, Thou the firm foundation art,
The only anchor for my heart.
The only guarantee in life
Is that I am Thy promised wife.
Lord, teach me such a holy trust
That, for Thy own name’s sake Thou must
Protect and lead me by Thy hand
That I may take the promised land.
The specific weakness which came to my attention started as a habit formed in family discussion—that of evaluating others and their mistakes. Papa has always made an effort to teach us wisdom from observing the world around us—a good thing. But what the fathers do in moderation, the sons may do in excess. What can be discussed for the sake of learning, need not take root in my heart and become the words that spill out my mouth. How do I speak of others? Pointing out their faults, their failures? Tainting the perceptions of others? As if I have no faults or failures. How often do unkind or hurtful words proceed from my mouth—the same mouth that claims to bless the Lord? This thing ought not to be. Honestly, the world would be at least an ounce better were I to always keep my mouth shut. But my heart would be just as deceptive. How can I forever keep before my eyes the command to encourage one another and build each other up?
The trip to Kansas came up almost suddenly, when we realized how much Grandma was hoping we’d come “home” for her birthday. Good intentions of finishing Joshua in the back seat of the suburban died in their youth, as my eyes crossed themselves in a feeble attempt to concentrate on the bouncing words. Instead, Josiah added a splitter to his CD player and we enjoyed Aaron Shust. Doctor James Vernon MacGee joined us later in the afternoon, teaching from the book of Ezra—a man who set himself to understand God’s law. Ezra told the Babylonian king that Yahweh would protect His people and begged that they be allowed to return to their homeland of Israel. As he viewed the congregation of Israel, full of women and little ones, his heart tumbled to his toes, realizing how vulnerable they would be. But this man of God refused to ask the king for a company of soldiers to protect them. He’d put Yahweh on the line, insisting He could protect them. How could he disgrace Yahweh now by admitting his fear of man? Instead, he called a solemn fast to beg Yahweh Himself for divine protection—and he was heard. I trust the Lord. Don’t I? Or do I fill my mouth with big words about trust and follow through by asking protection from the world? If I will cling to the promises of Yahweh, through myself completely on His mercy before the eyes of the world and humbly beg His protection through life, I will see Him vindicate His name. As Joshua told the Israelites, God works great things “so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of Yahweh is mighty, so that you may fear Yahweh forever.”
Lord, Thou the firm foundation art,
The only anchor for my heart.
The only guarantee in life
Is that I am Thy promised wife.
Lord, teach me such a holy trust
That, for Thy own name’s sake Thou must
Protect and lead me by Thy hand
That I may take the promised land.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Back in the day, speech judges suggested I consider a career in TV or Radio broadcasting. Humorous, since I rarely pay attention to either. Nick had a brilliant idea for a new voice mail message for his cell phone—an important news flash about an escaped maniacal penguin which interrupted his usual greeting. Most entertaining were the friends who thought my voice was an actual automated recording.
I’d been attempting to play some rag-time when Sleeper arrived, guitar in tow, hoping for a jam session. It’s been too long since I’d played with a guitar. Leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the piano bench, he dragged inspiration out of me with misinformed statements like: “You know what you’re doing. Just play!” Just when Sleeper’d be getting the hang of my chord progression, I’d change it up or throw in some off chord, just to see what he’d do. “If I ever record a CD,” he said, shaking his head at one point, “You’re playing piano.” To hear some real piano, he should play with Bruce. What he doesn’t realize is that I’ve never played like that before in my life and likely never will again. Perhaps that maniacal penguin has rubbed off on me.
My brother is a good man. His e-mail reply this morning tied up one issue in a neat little package to put away in my china cabinet for later. Lauren finished the task with a phone call in the afternoon. I know I over evaluate, and wind up only wrestling myself—a losing situation, it seems. Conversely, God’s grace can turn it on end for a win-win. Lauren even tossed out the possibility of co-authoring a book, or even a blog, devoted to exploring issues for godly women from both sides of the fence: singleness and marriage.
“They” say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. “They” have never learned the secret of contentment—I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Today I am the Lord’s single woman, living under my father’s protection, headship and guidance. Today I re-evaluated my life in light of honoring him and discovered it severely lacking as wish after wish, goal after goal of his came to mind that I had left incomplete or marked unimportant. If I want to embrace the Lord’s will, I must embrace my father’s ministry and do what I can to further it by serving him. The temptation to simply “try to do better” was strong, but the conviction that I should confess my negligence to him won out. To mentally decide to surrender is not to lay down one’s sword. Embarrassing it is that my dad and I communicate best through e-mails—but we are both visual. Write it out for us and we’ll get it. I wrote out for him how the Lord had used his teaching Sunday to convict me and then listed the things I could think of that I’d not finished, asking for his direction in them. His reply was a gracious and kind acknowledgement. Details will follow shortly.
The rest of the day I tried to bring closure to several dragging tasks he’d asked me to do. Every step of the way I ran headlong into brick walls. Someone needed me for this. Could I do that? Phone calls wouldn’t go through, customer service certainly didn’t seem interested in helping the customer. How am I supposed to fulfill my great aspirations of serving my dad if the rest of the universe doesn’t share them? Sit still and the day is calm, but start running and you’ll feel the wind tugging against you. But at the end of the day, it’s the one who ran into the wind who sleeps the soundest.
Yahweh, Thou art great and kind,
Thou will not leave my soul behind
When Thou dost gather those Thou loves
To carry us to Thee, above.
Yahweh, teach me to rejoice
And lift an ever thankful voice
To Thee, for Thou hast heard my prayers
And hushed and stilled all of my cares.
I’d been attempting to play some rag-time when Sleeper arrived, guitar in tow, hoping for a jam session. It’s been too long since I’d played with a guitar. Leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the piano bench, he dragged inspiration out of me with misinformed statements like: “You know what you’re doing. Just play!” Just when Sleeper’d be getting the hang of my chord progression, I’d change it up or throw in some off chord, just to see what he’d do. “If I ever record a CD,” he said, shaking his head at one point, “You’re playing piano.” To hear some real piano, he should play with Bruce. What he doesn’t realize is that I’ve never played like that before in my life and likely never will again. Perhaps that maniacal penguin has rubbed off on me.
My brother is a good man. His e-mail reply this morning tied up one issue in a neat little package to put away in my china cabinet for later. Lauren finished the task with a phone call in the afternoon. I know I over evaluate, and wind up only wrestling myself—a losing situation, it seems. Conversely, God’s grace can turn it on end for a win-win. Lauren even tossed out the possibility of co-authoring a book, or even a blog, devoted to exploring issues for godly women from both sides of the fence: singleness and marriage.
“They” say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. “They” have never learned the secret of contentment—I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Today I am the Lord’s single woman, living under my father’s protection, headship and guidance. Today I re-evaluated my life in light of honoring him and discovered it severely lacking as wish after wish, goal after goal of his came to mind that I had left incomplete or marked unimportant. If I want to embrace the Lord’s will, I must embrace my father’s ministry and do what I can to further it by serving him. The temptation to simply “try to do better” was strong, but the conviction that I should confess my negligence to him won out. To mentally decide to surrender is not to lay down one’s sword. Embarrassing it is that my dad and I communicate best through e-mails—but we are both visual. Write it out for us and we’ll get it. I wrote out for him how the Lord had used his teaching Sunday to convict me and then listed the things I could think of that I’d not finished, asking for his direction in them. His reply was a gracious and kind acknowledgement. Details will follow shortly.
The rest of the day I tried to bring closure to several dragging tasks he’d asked me to do. Every step of the way I ran headlong into brick walls. Someone needed me for this. Could I do that? Phone calls wouldn’t go through, customer service certainly didn’t seem interested in helping the customer. How am I supposed to fulfill my great aspirations of serving my dad if the rest of the universe doesn’t share them? Sit still and the day is calm, but start running and you’ll feel the wind tugging against you. But at the end of the day, it’s the one who ran into the wind who sleeps the soundest.
Yahweh, Thou art great and kind,
Thou will not leave my soul behind
When Thou dost gather those Thou loves
To carry us to Thee, above.
Yahweh, teach me to rejoice
And lift an ever thankful voice
To Thee, for Thou hast heard my prayers
And hushed and stilled all of my cares.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
I know with a certainty that I am still in denial. When I glanced back over my journal entries from the last two days I noticed I’d written “December” and “2007” at the top. Having fixed that error, we’ll see if the truth has truly sunk in yet.
We met again without the S Family this morning, but Dathan was here, which added balance to the teaching. Papa took us on a journey through the epistle to the Galatians, sharing how we, as Christians, should not seek to be enslaved again to the Law of Moses. My pulse pounded through my brain during the entire meeting, shattering every logical thought that tried to enter, and shivering down through the rest of my body as well. It persisted on through lunch and an amazing afternoon of Frisbee and running with the addition of Zach and Josh. Warmth and sunshine continued through today, and we all turned outside in t-shirts and sports pants or shorts for some athletic activities. My throwing proved lame: wobbly, off target and just plain weak. Coaches Zach and Josiah pulled me off to work on it and finally demanded if my throwing was normally this bad. “Not quite,” I admitted. “What’s going on?” Zach asked, in typical Zach style. Slowly it came out that I hurt all over, my fingers felt a bit numb, my neck hurt a bit. “How do you sleep?” came the next question. I hesitated. On my back usually, but lately it’s been tucked up in a ball completely under the covers because my room is so cold. His diagnosis? A pinched nerve. True or not, I felt amazing by the time we all trooped in for supper—aside from the headache and a few minor aches. It never ceases to amaze me how intricate our bodies are—one tiny thing amiss and we are miserable. Somehow we survived millions of years of random change things amiss to emerge the most refined of all evolution.
Sitting down at the piano tonight, I knew my desire to play from a hymnal was zip. Dutifully, I clamored through two before giving up and giving over to the song that whispered inside me, dancing at my fingertips, pleading to be played. Again, tonight, I played myself—or somehow the essence of who I am as I stand before my Maker—in awe of Him and His beauty. Probably, like so many others before it, the music will be gone in the morning, but tonight I played for my God. Instead of being the performer, I was simply applauding.
Lord, Thou gives us songs to sing
In praise to Thee, Eternal King.
When songs of praise come from our hearts
We’ve found the truest, perfect part.
How often we, in foolish pride
Attempt to capture, or to guide
And chain the melody because
We seek a rating for applause.
We met again without the S Family this morning, but Dathan was here, which added balance to the teaching. Papa took us on a journey through the epistle to the Galatians, sharing how we, as Christians, should not seek to be enslaved again to the Law of Moses. My pulse pounded through my brain during the entire meeting, shattering every logical thought that tried to enter, and shivering down through the rest of my body as well. It persisted on through lunch and an amazing afternoon of Frisbee and running with the addition of Zach and Josh. Warmth and sunshine continued through today, and we all turned outside in t-shirts and sports pants or shorts for some athletic activities. My throwing proved lame: wobbly, off target and just plain weak. Coaches Zach and Josiah pulled me off to work on it and finally demanded if my throwing was normally this bad. “Not quite,” I admitted. “What’s going on?” Zach asked, in typical Zach style. Slowly it came out that I hurt all over, my fingers felt a bit numb, my neck hurt a bit. “How do you sleep?” came the next question. I hesitated. On my back usually, but lately it’s been tucked up in a ball completely under the covers because my room is so cold. His diagnosis? A pinched nerve. True or not, I felt amazing by the time we all trooped in for supper—aside from the headache and a few minor aches. It never ceases to amaze me how intricate our bodies are—one tiny thing amiss and we are miserable. Somehow we survived millions of years of random change things amiss to emerge the most refined of all evolution.
Sitting down at the piano tonight, I knew my desire to play from a hymnal was zip. Dutifully, I clamored through two before giving up and giving over to the song that whispered inside me, dancing at my fingertips, pleading to be played. Again, tonight, I played myself—or somehow the essence of who I am as I stand before my Maker—in awe of Him and His beauty. Probably, like so many others before it, the music will be gone in the morning, but tonight I played for my God. Instead of being the performer, I was simply applauding.
Lord, Thou gives us songs to sing
In praise to Thee, Eternal King.
When songs of praise come from our hearts
We’ve found the truest, perfect part.
How often we, in foolish pride
Attempt to capture, or to guide
And chain the melody because
We seek a rating for applause.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Imagine one of those little, bug-eyed chihuahuas. Once they start shivering, they simply can’t stop. That’s a pretty good visual of me right now. This house is pretty drafty, not to mention sprawling, and we’ve not been here long enough to accumulate a stash of seasoned firewood. This morning dawned bitterly cold, albeit sunny, and the temperature inside was no great improvement on that outside. Before he left, Papa gave me the task of calling into the faithful Dial-a-trade to see if my extraordinary radio talents could scare up any seasoned firewood. Which done, I worked at my desk, a faithful secretary, awaiting the truckloads of incoming phone calls I knew would be rolling in. The phone rang and I answered, politely. “Yeah,” came a high-pitched drawl from the other end. “I’ve got me some good, seasoned pine here, I’ll sell ya for seventy-five a rick.” “I’m sorry,” I answered, “I don’t need pine, I need a hardwood that’ll give more heat.” Across the line came gales of laughter, and a familiar voice. “This is the Papa. She fell for it, Gene!”
Our newest guest acquisition comes as a spotted salamander, discovered in a cold, little heap by Mom as she gathered an armload of firewood for her bedroom stove. The little fellow was quickly transported inside where he alternately curls into a ball in the sunshine on the floor or hides under anything handy—Josiah’s math book, my sweater and the big pillow. My mind goes back to article I once wrote on the Siberian Newt—a salamander who’s been known to freeze alongside woolly mammoths, only to scurry away again once thawed.
I dove into Sibelius after supper—a supper consisting of my first attempt at Indian food—to orchestrate my Christmas wishes. Arranging “We Three Kings” has proven challenging. I can hear so much more in my head than I can get down on paper, such is my limited knowledge of the intricate workings of music. In other words, I might be a great composer, if only I knew anything about writing music. Please take note of the obvious sarcasm before you pity my ignorance. The song itself is one which I used to think trite and childish—especially since the myth of three wise men simply springs from the three gifts. But the line, “King and God and sacrifice”, denoting the spiritual significance of the three gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh caught my attention this year and set me pondering. Interesting how I’ve heard it said that Jesus was prophet, priest and King. He was also King and God and sacrifice. The parallels are breathtaking: King of Kings. Prophet and God—speaking for Himself about Himself, because He needs no greater testimony. Most outstanding, both priest and sacrifice. The old testament speaks of the need for spotless gifts, for purified priests, for sacrifices offered to make the priest holy enough to enter the Holy of Holies. In Jesus we have a priest, the only perfect man, entering the Holy of Holies to sacrifice Himself. On the altar, before God, He laid aside all that was divine and holy, took on all that was wicked and sinful, and gave His own life, the ransom for many. When He cried out, “It is finished! Paid! Done!” the curtain covering the most Holy Place was torn in two pieces, from top to bottom, permitting access to those sprinkled by the precious blood of the Lamb of God. Today, though I may not present Him with gold and frankincense and myrrh, I can recognize Him as King and God and Sacrifice, and worship Him for His worthiness to fill all three offices.
Lord, Thou left Thy throne on high,
To shroud Thy deity and die,
The sacrifice for every sin,
That, sprinkled, we might enter in.
And by Thy sacrifice to claim
A people called by Thy own name.
Three times holy, Great I am:
Worthy God and King and Lamb.
Our newest guest acquisition comes as a spotted salamander, discovered in a cold, little heap by Mom as she gathered an armload of firewood for her bedroom stove. The little fellow was quickly transported inside where he alternately curls into a ball in the sunshine on the floor or hides under anything handy—Josiah’s math book, my sweater and the big pillow. My mind goes back to article I once wrote on the Siberian Newt—a salamander who’s been known to freeze alongside woolly mammoths, only to scurry away again once thawed.
I dove into Sibelius after supper—a supper consisting of my first attempt at Indian food—to orchestrate my Christmas wishes. Arranging “We Three Kings” has proven challenging. I can hear so much more in my head than I can get down on paper, such is my limited knowledge of the intricate workings of music. In other words, I might be a great composer, if only I knew anything about writing music. Please take note of the obvious sarcasm before you pity my ignorance. The song itself is one which I used to think trite and childish—especially since the myth of three wise men simply springs from the three gifts. But the line, “King and God and sacrifice”, denoting the spiritual significance of the three gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh caught my attention this year and set me pondering. Interesting how I’ve heard it said that Jesus was prophet, priest and King. He was also King and God and sacrifice. The parallels are breathtaking: King of Kings. Prophet and God—speaking for Himself about Himself, because He needs no greater testimony. Most outstanding, both priest and sacrifice. The old testament speaks of the need for spotless gifts, for purified priests, for sacrifices offered to make the priest holy enough to enter the Holy of Holies. In Jesus we have a priest, the only perfect man, entering the Holy of Holies to sacrifice Himself. On the altar, before God, He laid aside all that was divine and holy, took on all that was wicked and sinful, and gave His own life, the ransom for many. When He cried out, “It is finished! Paid! Done!” the curtain covering the most Holy Place was torn in two pieces, from top to bottom, permitting access to those sprinkled by the precious blood of the Lamb of God. Today, though I may not present Him with gold and frankincense and myrrh, I can recognize Him as King and God and Sacrifice, and worship Him for His worthiness to fill all three offices.
Lord, Thou left Thy throne on high,
To shroud Thy deity and die,
The sacrifice for every sin,
That, sprinkled, we might enter in.
And by Thy sacrifice to claim
A people called by Thy own name.
Three times holy, Great I am:
Worthy God and King and Lamb.
Friday, November 23, 2007
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.
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.