Paper angels & a ukulele

A ukulele, a flute, a wooden recorder, and some songbooks.  My most portable, kid-friendly music stash, all stuffed into one of those pull-carts on wheels.  It’s funny that I can hardly play the ukulele, yet it still tossed into the cart.  All this simply because I was curious.  I had learned about the Strong Foundation through the church that I study with during the week.  Our group of ladies had been asked to adorn with paper angels a large wreath that would hang in the church foyer.  Each angel held the name of a child who temporarily lived at the Strong Foundation, and each was available to be adopted for Christmas gift-giving.  That was my first acquaintance with the name Strong.  At home a few days later, my husband called to me from the kitchen, “Here’s your flier from church about the Strong Foundation.”  Yet I knew the church didn’t give out fliers.  What he found was an info sheet that had come in a mailbox packet of ads mostly for lawn care and carpet cleaning.  The 3 words Strong Foundation Ministries at the top had caught my eye, so I kept the sheet to remind me to look up their website.  So twice now, on separate occasions, the name Strong had garnered my attention, and I began to wonder if the Lord might be at work.  The next Monday I dialed up the Strong Foundation to see if I could volunteer somehow.  In retrospect, I wonder now if at least subconsciously I may have doubted.  After all, what’s the likelihood the staff there would have an idea ready for some unknown lady on the phone?  But in reality the staff member who answered did in fact offer that I could come the next day to entertain the preschoolers while their moms unloaded a food truck.  Right there my heart did one of those ecstatic leaps of near-disbelief.  Tuesday came, and I wheeled in my music stash, and we sang and played and acted out songs.  The kids smiled to exaggerate the hand motions for “Deep and Wide” and somehow loved to pretend we were rowing a boat as we sang a whole bunch of tunes.  One little boy chose to stand in the center of the room in order to strum the ukulele and compose an original song about all the friendly animals painted along the walls.  Being there that day felt very much right.  I had dialed the phone because I didn't want to risk missing the Lord, just in case He had something in mind for me.  Following Him does indeed give the deepest and widest of joys, just like the song says.

Unblurred by Linus

Poor Charlie Brown.  He’s always in trouble with somebody.  People tell him he’s hopeless and dumb.  Lucy’s always calling him a blockhead.  The other kids chime in and laugh, and I feel for him.  At Christmastime, he’s on a mission to find a tree for the school play, and in frustration he throws his hands in the air and pleads, “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”  Young Linus drags his blue blanket to center stage and gives answer by reciting from the book of Luke.  Having found new inspiration, Charlie determines that despite public complaint and despite widespread commercialism, his bare little tree with the falling-off needles can serve well for the play after all.  But his attempt to add even a single red ornament causes the tip of the tree to droop over and hit the ground.  And right there is where I love Charlie Brown.  He droops, and his tree droops, and I droop at times.  I love Charlie because we row the same boat.  Charlie and I walk the same road.  We both need Jesus, and we both have a lot to thank Him for.  I thank the Lord for giving us a clean lens when our vision blurs.  I thank Him for lifting us out of the holes we dig ourselves into.  I thank Him for adorning us with unique and undeserved ornaments that reflect the brightness of His light.  I thank Him for sending us people like Linus who encourage and remind and lend love all-around.  And I thank Him for loving us first.  And for the talents of Charles M. Schulz and the purity of his cartoon message that I’d forgotten until my husband reminded me this year, I thank the Lord as well.  Sounds like good reason to celebrate.  Maybe just for fun a full-fledged round of the Snoopy dance.

Dancing at Christmas inside my shoe

As I sat in the dining hall of an assisted living center last week, two ideas came to light.  First, the Lord does give rest to the restless.  Second, we never know exactly how our connections will connect.  Last Thursday, in the midst of a Christmas dinner that hosted all ages and all makes and models of dress, hairstyle, and humor, my role was simply to play oboe.  I had been invited by some friends who play violin and guitar, and every moment of the evening proved to be blessing.  We saw a little girl in a red velvety dress and white ruffly socks and chuckled over her constant voice that wouldn’t relent on seeing Santa.  I met a resident there who retold with fondness the story of her daughter playing oboe decades ago.  We smiled to reminisce with a man who wanted to talk '70s music and Jethro Tull and all his flute-playing.  And from across the room, I fell in love with a lady who paused from some scrumptious-looking potatoes on her plate in order to gladly give the singing of “Auld Lang Syne” her full cooperation.  Indeed it was a privilege to serve.  And though many thanked us for playing, I in turn was thanking the Lord.  The blessings were especially sweet because lately I’ve been a bit puzzled regarding some issues of music.  Bunches of ideas have bounced around in my head.  Yet in the midst of playing these Christmas carols, my heart held no room for anxiety.  No room for “Why this?” or “Why that?”  No room for question or doubt or any of those negatives that creep in and tilt us off-center.  Simply it was a fullness of heart that felt pure and right and of God.  And I was reassured and blessed.  And then came that second idea.  When recounting the steps that led up to my playing that night, I was humbled.  I first met my violinist friend more than 5 years ago through our previous Sunday congregation.  I met our guitarist friend a couple of years later while playing a Christmas Eve service.  Since then, we’ve played and sung a variety of weddings, receptions, and coffeehouses.  Yet in the beginning I didn't know we would ever connect beyond church.  It’s a reminder to take great care in the way we relate to people.  Don’t overlook anyone.  Could the new person I meet at the dentist office become a wonderful friend?  Could the Wal-Mart cashier become a ministry co-worker?  What about the lady at the bus stop?  The man on the street?  This whole evening, my heart brimmed with joy for having gained a fresh glimpse of the Lord’s larger view.  To ponder how intricately He orchestrates our comings and goings, my heart was content.  And though I stayed seated to finish playing the carols, a party of streamers and confetti was showering down inside my heart, and my big toe danced one of those quiet celebrations inside my shoe.

Calico teardrops

This week I have cried to the Lord.  Our cat has gone from apparently healthy last Friday, to having a runny nose on Saturday, then proceeding through days without eating or drinking, except for whatever water or broth we managed to feed her through a syringe.  She’s little but not young, and I’ve wondered if this fourteenth year of her little calico life would be her last.  Yet mid-week brought some unusual happenings.  First, a friend called.  This is a new friend with whom I’ve studied just this semester, and this being our first phone conversation, my ears were perked especially alert.  I told my friend about our cat situation, and she offered some words of direction.  What exactly she said, I don’t remember, but a calming sensation accompanied her words.  As she talked of how people relate to animals, all the while my worry for our cat was seeming to subside a bit.  It was simple conversation that the Lord used to bring peace.  Secondly, the veterinary office that had been so wonderfully caring on Monday didn’t call me back on Tuesday.  They were helpful to afford us an appointment in their office and twice later answered our phone calls with remarkable caring.  The third call, though, they never returned.  And whereas ordinarily I might be frustrated by that, actually this time I was relieved.  I considered it an answer to prayer.  Fearing this week that we might have to decide for the vet to end the life of this little cat that had become so frail, I had asked the Lord to take that decision from me.  Now it seemed He was doing just that.  The unreturned call was uncharacteristic for this office.  No matter their reason, my husband and I had done what we could, and it was time to sit still.  I soon found the tension in my shoulders starting to melt away.  The swirl of emotions began to slow.  We sat with this little cat and hoped to soothe her troubles, and she did survive the night, though her body was fragile.  I kept praying for the Lord to save her from pain.  With each new syringe of broth, she tried to turn her head in avoidance, her innards audibly groaning the digestion.  In amazement yesterday morning, my husband awoke to find Toni actually purring.  Last night we found her lying in a favorite cardboard box that she'd gained enough energy to hop into.  This morning she takes a nap underneath the Christmas tree, finding contentment in her own silent way, just like old times.  She’s taking more and more sips of water and even some crunchy bites of catfood.  And while this has been a story about a cat, on a broader scale it's about how God comforts the cries of His children.  He knows, He sees, and He hears and touches.  And I love Him for speaking into these straits that have felt especially dire to me this week.