Musically bridged for Valentine's Day

My violinist friend called a couple of weeks ago.  Hearing her voice always makes me happy, and on this particular morning she inquired, “Can you play oboe at an assisted living center on Valentine’s Day?”  The timing of her request was quite curious to me, and my brain instantly retraced some recent steps.  The prior week, I had opened my oboe case for the first time in 2 months.  It took me several days to act on the idea, probably because reacquainting after an absence usually involves some pain.  The mouth muscles need time to regain their groove and find rhythm with the breathing and the fingers.  Really I don’t dissect the problem each time, but suffice it to say that playing after an absence can easily find something feeling out of sync.  Yet interestingly this occasion was different.  My embouchure didn’t experience the expected muscle strains.  The breathing felt comfortable, and there was a fluidity of motion seemingly already reset.  Even my somewhat careless choice of reed didn’t inhibit, as I rather randomly pulled from the pile.  Playing brought fun and pleasure to the afternoon, and I was amazed at how the Lord had bridged the gap on my account.  And when answering my friend’s call, ordinarily I might have doubted that my embouchure would be strong enough to play for a 2-hour event, but the Lord had already shown that my chops would be ready.  He had guided the whole process, so that I could respond to my friend with a resounding “Yes!”  And on that Valentine’s Day, as we played our event, I loved every minute of meeting new people and recognizing some familiar smiles.  It was a wonderful ceremony that celebrated more than 700 years of marriage in total.  It was a display of wedding photos and even a bridal gown from many decades back.  Indeed it was a blessing of the Lord that just happened to include oboe, for which He so carefully prepared me, even while I sat unaware.

Narrowly & theatrically timed

Last week I witnessed an amazing feat.  Still today I shake my head to recount how close I came to performing a new theater script without any semblance of rehearsal.  Our group had met all kinds of complications.  We encountered a medical emergency, a legal emergency, and somehow a variety of non-emergencies that kept disallowing all 3 of us to meet.  The circumstances didn’t even make sense sometimes, yet they kept happening.  Put it all together, and we were in a tight spot.  Actually I was in a tight spot.  My fellow actresses had been performing this script for lots of years, and they knew every inch of it very well.  I was the only newbie.  I felt certain all along that the Lord would provide, but anxiety crept in as I didn’t know how He would provide.  If all my lines fell perfectly in place, it would be by His provision.  If I fell on my face and loused up everything, I felt the Lord would somehow use that for His glory as well.  Still I read the Bible because I wanted to hear the Lord's voice and sit in His company.  Certain emails seemed so wonderfully comforting and perfectly tailored for my situation.  And I kept hearing encouraging songs on KLOVE that spoke into my circumstances.  Each time my heart raced in panic, the Lord gave me new calm, and I loved many family and friends for praying.  Finally our days were running out.  Weeks of interferences had left us with only a narrow window of possibility.  It was less than 24 hours before our performances, and amazingly all 3 of us could rehearse.  Such timeframe could appear last-minute to us humans, but if God put our rehearsal on His calendar for that Thursday afternoon, then it wasn’t last-minute at all.  And when our director told me we could finally rehearse, I sat motionless for a while.  I held utmost amazement for the Lord because only He had known the depth of my anxiety, and only He could make possible what had been impossible for weeks.  To say I was immensely thankful would be an understatement.  Actually I need to underscore the word immensely and draw it in bright colors with curlicues and stars and add the shiniest glitter on top.  The message in our play had touched on character traits and obedience, and here I was in the middle of living out my obedience to the Lord.  Just because the winds blow strong in life doesn’t mean I automatically abandon ship.  Right there in my anguish, the Lord swooped in for the rescue.  As He says in Matthew 28:20, He is with us always.  And that notion of falling on my face did come true, for in my desperation, He led me wonderfully to fall into prayer.

A misfit Pebbles

This old Pebbles doll.  She has a mysterious spot of white paint on her forehead.  Her whole face really could use a good washing.  She’s missing many tufts of her original red hair from having been picked up by that straight-up ponytail she always wore, and the bit of hair she still has would certainly benefit from some patient combing.  Her shirt sleeves are too big.  Her pant legs almost fall off.  You can see she landed in some clothes from another doll who's only vaguely near her same size.  This Pebbles has seen some years and some decades, and she looks a bit disheveled.  Maybe even misfit.  And that’s actually why I love her.  When the Lord first led me to teach high school choir, my music experience had been primarily band and orchestra, and the choir idea didn't seem to be a perfect fit.  When the Lord called me to ride the city buses, I didn’t know how the bus system worked.  When the Lord led my husband and me to study the Bible on Sundays, we were one of the few married couples in a much larger class called Singles.  When the Lord led us to our Spanish congregation, I didn’t speak too much Spanish.  When He called me to write a book, I was not a confident writer.  Somewhere along the way in all these situations, I felt like I didn't fit.  And when He called me to theater a year and a half ago, I arrived at the audition entirely inexperienced, braced for the worst, hopeful for the best, altogether really uncertain of what would happen.  A few hours later, I returned home with two small acting parts and a look of complete shock when giving report to my husband.  But it was actually a good shock.  It was a case of “Oh, wow, this ride is crazy, and actually it’s fun, but I honestly don’t know where this theater thing is going!”  According to Hebrews 2:10, God saw fit to make Jesus perfect through suffering.  Verse 2:14 talks about Jesus sharing in our humanity.  So if Jesus suffered in stepping out to share in people’s lives, and if I aim to follow Jesus, then I too can expect to encounter some suffering.  Whether nervous stomach or mental pressure, it's uncomfortable, and it's suffering nonetheless.  It's circumstances we wouldn't have chosen on our own, all for the greater purposes the Lord lays out.  And so I want to be willing to be uncomfortable.  I want to be willing to feel misfit, for He will at some point supply a joy that leaps the highest hurdle, and therein lies my peace.  He reveals the perfect fit for all us misfits.  Even a painted smile on an old Pebbles doll can remind of the joy the Lord gives.

Jesus in the kitchen

Think fishing.  Imagine water and people and boats and nets.  I’ve fished from a boat in a lake and a boat in the ocean.  I’ve fished off a pier and also from the shore.  And there are some constants among the people in all the places.  They ask, “You catchin’ anything?”  Almost invariably, “Where’d you catch ’em?” and “What are you using for bait?”  Interestingly there’s a story of Jesus that just last week struck me differently in its setting by the sea.  Jesus stands at the shore and calls to the disciples in the boat about a hundred yards out.  He asks essentially, “You catchin’ anything?”  He tells them the best place to fish, and sure enough, they catch 153 without one tear in their net.  They come to shore and see that Jesus has a fire ready, and He’s offering up fish and bread for breakfast.  And man, what a deal!  The times I’ve been fishing, I come home windblown and hungry, and I would love for a hot meal to be ready!  And that’s what struck me so refreshingly last week when I heard someone refer to this story.  Jesus was such a regular guy here.  He walked this earth and looked after His buddies who’d been out all night and had not even one fish to their name.  Certainly a huge catch and a hot plate of food would encourage them, as it would me.  Now I'm not sure He donned a floppy chef’s hat and a gingham apron, but why not imagine Him with a big spatula or a long-handled fork?  He can create all kinds of tools and all kinds of circumstances, and He swoops in to our aid with whatever we need.  He’s an engineer, He’s a navigator, He’s whatever, and that includes operating the bait shop at the shore that provides the perfect morsel for our next hook.  Grilling at the riverside or at the stove in my kitchen, He enters our everyday situations and serves up what nourishes.  If Jesus is cooking, I don’t want to be late.  I hope you'll read John 21 as well to see what insights the Lord gives uniquely to you.

Into heaven, my gracious friend

Today I celebrate.  Today I love the life of my friend who battled an ailing liver.  Again and again I look at her photo in my kitchen and replay her video on the computer, and I catch myself standing motionless for long moments, relishing all the memories.  I remember days of studying the Bible in our houses, and I still have handwritten notes from the day we studied at Chick-fil-A.  I remember the time she read over the mic at the coffeehouse a story she wrote, and I remember she loved the tortilla soup at the Mexican restaurant down the street.  I remember driving her to the infusion clinic and sitting with her and being so happy that she could enjoy Cracker Barrel on the way home.  When she needed the coziness of her favorite blankets, we prayed at her house.  Among her many rooms in the hospital, we prayed too, though sometimes her medications caused her to fade, but I still held her hand.  She traveled the hospital from the regular rooms to the wound care area, to the telemetry section, and to the many different floors that I don’t remember exactly.  So outwardly grateful she was for her doctors and nurses, and she entertained the thought of gathering her hospital friends for a cookout and a time of music and worship one day, once they would all be home.  After enduring a terribly persistent infection one time, she told me how the Lord gave an amazing peace that led her through, and so I took some pointy party hats to her room for us to celebrate.  More recently, her faint voice could hardly convey over the phone.  My last hospital visit, she was not in her room, so on her bed tray I left a card with a picture of a cat that looked like her black-and-white Ziggy.  Since she passed on Sunday morning, I have cried in joy for having known such a wonderful witness for the Lord.  She had hoped for a liver transplant that never happened.  Yet now she is free from pain.  The Lord has wiped all the tears from her eyes, and she dwells with Him now in a new way.  Revelation 21 speaks of heaven and the Holy City of gold, where there will be no darkness because the Lord’s glory will shine always.  All will be new.  My sweet friend now experiences eternally the grandest party of all, and I thank the Lord for sharing His sweet child and inspiring me through her.

Overrun by cedar

In South Texas, in December and January, cedar is a bad word.  When people hear cedar and allergy in the same sentence, an instant friendship of sympathy takes hold.  I know of no other words that conjure quite the same horrifying tales of human misery.  The itchiness and the sneezing seem endless, and your eyes can hardly see straight.  And a week ago, I fell victim to it all.  In the prime of this year’s cedar crop, my brain could hardly function.  I wished my sore throat could have screamed.  Yet the misery did lessen and finally disappear, and along the way, the question arose, “What was the point?”  Do we simply say sickness is part of being human?  Or rather, if God can bring good out of anything, can He use sickness for somebody’s good?  In this case, the Lord reminded me to pray.  And He wasn’t meaning just cursory prayer when I have some empty moments.  I think of one friend who awaits a liver transplant.  I think of another friend who endures fibromyalgia.  My friend who lives with Crohn’s disease, and another friend who undergoes dialysis 3 times weekly—they both have days and months that are majorly painful.  And still there are friends who live amidst all the treatments and procedures of cancer, and I have cried over them and for what they withstand.  There will be a day when all the nations gather at Jesus’ throne, and He will separate us one by one, parting some to the right and some to the left.  According to Matthew 25, among those on His right will be the ones who looked after the sick.  They will inherit eternal life and will have been blessed in their earthly living to have loved and served amidst sickness.   One day last week, I caught a squinted glimpse in the bathroom mirror of my uncombed hair, my red nose and dry skin, and my same gray sweatpants I’d been wearing all week.  I saw the sea of Kleenex surrounding the recliner where I’d camped for all the days.  I realized in retrospect how sickness had swallowed me whole.  I had become lost in it, and I easily envisioned how those with long-term sicknesses could become angry and depressed.  Yet right there in that very difficult mix of emotions, may the Lord lead us to love.  May we not simply know that someone is sick, but may we actually look after them.  May we call them on the phone.  May we drive them to the doctor.  May we visit them in the hospitals.  May we sit next to their bed that they would not feel lonely.  And certainly may we pray.  With full intent, in high priority, extending from our love of the Lord and a love of people, may we look after those who are sick.  Out of some crazy cedar allergies, the Lord gave me fresh perspective that was good.

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.