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.

As the Video Turns

Is it dangerous to tell a story without having finished the book?  Yes, maybe. Could the plot change toward the end? Certainly yes. Yet today I attest to the thrill of knowing the Lord in the moment. However the story pans out, I account here for the joy He gives along the way. Last week, a couple of things happened that caught my attention. First, I sensed the Lord shedding some light on a video idea. On Tuesday it seemed the video text was starting to take form, at least enough to begin a Windows Movie Maker file. On Wednesday, as I played a new tune on the piano, I realized with a giddy glee that this tune would fit nicely as background for the video.  These were two occasions I considered answers to prayer, for as this video idea had recurred for months, I had wondered and prayed about the particulars of it.  All the more intriguing is the fact that I had found this tune called “Hungarian Song” at a library book sale just last month.  The tune sits on page 26 of a little book by John W. Schaum, which was probably unsuspecting to many, given an absence of bright colors on the cover that dons a mere 25-cent price sticker from Half Price Books.  Still this plain little book held such immense thrill for me.  Put together the developing video text and the fun piano piece, add the family Christmas video I’d made the previous day that set me in the mode for producing videos again, add my husband into the picture for the Lord nudging him to delve into the software for recording the piano part, and suddenly this video that had been nondescript for months was now taking shape.  And I don’t pretend to know how the video will finish, yet I hereby testify with great excitement as to how the Lord leads us along a path and fills in the blanks for what He calls into being.  Really the lineage of all this reaches even further back into the summer when the Lord connected me with a young friend whose love for classical music was my reason for looking for music books at the library sale in the first place.  Also the Lord used my family to suggest we drive to the book sale, and He used an occasion with church one year ago to prompt me into teaching piano at home, which thereby caused me to realize my lack of classical piano music, as most of my classical pieces had been for oboe.  On an even larger scale, actually our whole lives the Lord is connecting people and events all around us.  And I pray we always find thrill in knowing His presence.  

            

A trio of piano questions

Question #1:  A friend asked me, “Do you want to play piano accompaniments for some band students?”  Answer:  “Yes.”  And in fact, playing piano that first year led to playing multiple years.  In the process, I was blessed to find friendship with the band director and have fun interacting with the students and encouraging them.  Question #2:  Years later, this same band director asked me, “Do you want to substitute for my piano classes at the college?”  Answer:  “Yes.”  This was my first occasion to teach group piano, and it acquainted me with the community college’s children’s program that I hadn’t known existed.  Question #3:  One year later, this same band director asked, “Would you be interested in teaching the piano classes permanently?”  Answer:  “Wow.”  A flash of amazement led me to pause.  I retraced how one set of piano accompaniments had put this whole scenario in motion.  I remember praying with each step for the Lord to show whether I should accept or decline.  What I knew as joy for single events in single years had now multiplied for seeing how He had been orchestrating the larger picture all along.  Jeremiah 10:23 says, “…a man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps.”  And now having finished the quite lengthy application process and formal interview, I look forward to January and the families I'll meet and the next step the Lord will direct for me.

A dragon of gruesome proportions

Revelation 12 reads differently now.  Last week I asked the Lord to prepare me to teach on Sunday, and soon He set my eyes on this chapter.  The verses describe some signs appearing in heaven, speaking of a child, a woman wearing a crown, and an enormous red dragon.  My best understanding is that the woman represents Israel, the child represents Jesus, and verse 9 tells plainly that the dragon is Satan.  It’s a fierce and bloody fight, with Satan waiting in front of the woman in order to devour her child upon the very moment of his birth.  The task I’d been given for Sunday was to update on pro-life issues, and as I stared at verse 4 particularly, my heart sank upon realizing a direct parallel with a gruesome current-day scenario.  Today’s abortion centers employ abortionists who wait in front of women to destroy their children, in the same way Satan waits in front of the woman in Revelation.  It’s as if Satan has been sitting at the end of generations of examination tables.  And in fact the detailed picture has been in the Bible the whole time!  The good part is that the Lord ultimately wins, as in Revelation we see God’s angels fighting and casting the dragon out of heaven.  God nourishes Israel, having carefully prepared a place for her, and in loud voice the power of Christ prevails.  We have suffered deep wounds in the fight, yet a battleground covered by the blood of the Lamb yields forgiveness and fresh soil to sustain a proliferating hope.

Weighing in

I knew not one soul.  I came this day because I hadn’t handled the issue on my own.  All these 20 other people have my same problem, and therein lies a comforting thought.  I'm not alone. I need help, and so do they.  Embarrassment wasn’t necessary, for I would find encouragement here.  And upon that point, I pondered.  Not only to WeightWatchers have I gone when I need help.  I go to the Lord.  In the house, on the bus, at work, on the street—we can find Him anywhere.  Many times He has spoken to me from within the church.  In fact, church is really just one big WeightWatchers meeting.  We’re there because when we’re honest, we all need help.  At some point, we’ve felt like we’re drowning, and we’re exhausted and without the capacity to save ourselves.  And actually anytime it seems we’ve saved ourselves, really it’s only a temporary fix.  I haven’t yet seen a WeightWatchers scale in the church building, but in reality we do all weigh in.  Some sort of weighty issue lands in our lap, and we're checking our pride at the door once again.  So glad the Lord welcomes us to His table.

Asian Mission

I opened the door cautiously, as it was a few minutes past 10:45.  On the right-hand side was a row of open seats, and I ambled across quietly.  To my surprise, I soon heard a young voice speaking in English.  “Welcome,” she said, and her smile addressed the whole congregation.  I had realized years ago that our church building hosted congregations in 3 different languages, among which only the English and the Spanish I was familiar.  The Laotian-Thai congregation was the one with which I’d never attended, and in recent months, my interest had renewed.  The previous Sunday, in fact, upon visiting the women’s restroom on the far side of our building, my ears perked up to the sound of a new language.  Quite possibly my heart leaped into a cartwheel, and being curious as to whether the Lord was orchestrating once again, I asked the girls there, “What congregation do you attend?”  And there we stood . . . with my heart all aflutter and my eyes probably bouncing up and down in excitement . . . in the women’s restroom, of all possible places!  I talked with one of the girls a little more at length, and it clearly seemed the Lord had provided me a personal escort for next Sunday’s Laotian-Thai worship service.  Next week came, and happy I was to see my new friend again.  More English was spoken than I expected, and I learned that Amen and Hallelujah translate straight across.  They sang “Just As I Am” in their language, and I sang it in mine, and we worshiped the same Jesus.  They opened to Deuteronomy, and so did I.  When they read from Proverbs, I was right there with them.  To hear the different voice sounds and to encounter a new taste of how Jesus' love reaches around the world was wonderfully enlightening and invigorating altogether.  What does the Lord have in store here?  I don’t know, but I love when He walks and when He turns left and turns right and takes me with Him. 

Tachikawa

The smallest of details, even possibly the least remembered ones, He knows how to use.  One such occasion came recently when I met a man in the hospital.  Dealing with bad news from his doctor, this man couldn’t help but spill his guts.  He paused a moment to gather his words, and then his voice shook to tell of his hospital stay being lengthened.  His eyes brimming with teardrops, he began to recount yesterday’s agony.  It was heartbreaking, and I soon realized a layer of anger buried inside his agony and underneath.  Our conversation resisted veering too far from his subject of health.  But then suddenly his eyes lifted, as hope seemed to have spoken.  I had mentioned being born at Tachikawa Air Force Base, and upon that comment, a new-found energy almost leaped him out of the wheelchair.  Practically in disbelief, he double-checked my words, “You were at Tachi?”  I smiled, “Yes.”  He added with vigor, “I used to play ball there!  I was a photographer most of my days, but then we played ball!”  From there, his countenance moved only forward, as he was entirely elated to revisit these fond memories.  I spoke simply some facts, particularly a detail of my life that doesn't even make conversation regularly, yet the Lord blessed the words that their purpose would soar far higher than fact.  With His touch, they lifted a man’s spirit, and we did acknowledge the Lord’s presence before parting ways.  I look now with different eyes at the childhood kimono hanging in my closet, considering how we pray for the Lord to guide our steps and our words, and indeed He does.

The blue car & the idle one

On Tuesday, I asked the Lord to bring people.  That afternoon, a blue car drove into the parking lot and pulled up near the sidewalk.  The driver asked if I worked in the building there.  No, I was simply ambling the public sidewalk in front.  She was in the area to visit doctors’ offices regarding home healthcare and, upon seeing me, was curious.  I explained that I was praying.  I posed, “Are you aware of what happens inside this building?”  She answered, “Yes . . . and I agree with you.”  We talked for a few minutes, and I wondered if the whole scenario was intriguing to her as well, seeming almost that she found herself in the parking lot without having planned to be there.  After she left, a car that had been sitting idle for maybe a half-hour pulled out of its parking space.  First I thought the driver was leaving the premises, but actually he moved closer to the sidewalk to wait, apparently for someone still inside the building.  As he was now within earshot, my sidewalk companion called, “We’re here for you, Sir, if you’d like to talk.”  She waved a brochure in the air, and he inched his car still closer, eventually stepping out to receive her brochure.  I floated high on excitement because I’d been praying for this young man, and I had prayed earlier too for the Lord to bring people to the sidewalk to talk.  Though I’d envisioned bringing people who walked in and out of the abortion center, the Lord brought people in their cars.  Right then and there, I loved the Lord's creativity!  He brought people beyond my scope, beyond my thinking.  I loved the fact that He is bigger than me and that He works many things together at once.  Hey, everybody, put on your pointy party hats!

Up by the bootstraps

On Friday I worked an estate sale.  People came, and they browsed and bought, and I loved being available to help my friend.  Yet something else was happening at the sale.  As customers came and went, there was opportunity to speak Spanish.  I hadn’t anticipated it, yet I found a few Spanish words rolling off my tongue.  Then a few more here and there, and the spontaneity of it was great fun.  It’s not as if I spoke for hours or told long stories or anything, but my friend had never heard me speak Spanish, and she got a kick out of it, and we laughed for a good while.  Some of the customers seemed quite surprised too at my joining in their conversations.  The wonderful blessing overall was that the laughter eased my shoulders, which had been aching with anxiety over an ever-changing list of things, both good and bad, including issues carrying over from weeks before.  Psalm 40 talks about the Lord lifting us up out of the mud and mire, and certainly I sensed the Lord lifting me.  Upon returning home that night, I mowed grass and worked outside with the radio on, soon realizing the Lord was still at work.  Air 1 Radio played “Lift Me Up” by the Afters.  Then came NeedToBreathe’s “Keep Your Eyes Open,” followed by the lyrics of Jamie Grace, saying “Lord, I love the way You hold me.”  Such common things the Lord was using to lift me, as if re-dressing me with new boots that would reset my stance and provide cushion all the way up to my shoulders.  The anxiety seemed to extract from my bones, pulling away from my shoulders and massaging at the same time.  So readily He entered my circumstances, weaving ordinary things to become extraordinary blessing.

A glimpse of Hinds' Feet on High Places

My bones hurt.  I consider it a blessed anxiety, actually.  The pain puts me on edge, but it’s a trembling built upon rightful things.  The gamut of emotions kicked in on Sunday when my husband and I decided to discontinue a particular music role with church.  While I feel quite certain it’s the right thing to do, the decision to depart was arduous and sentimental.  On Monday, we felt accomplished in another way to finally enroll at a nearby gym, but the first day’s leg lunges put my thighs in knots.  At first I thought the excruciating pain made me sad, but later I realized more accurately the pain made me mad because I’d finally been gung-ho with the gym idea, and in one day’s time I was nearly paralyzed in pain.  On Tuesday, a new music rehearsal brought some internal fidgeting, testing my composure to wait and observe when ordinarily I would’ve already dived in.  On Wednesday, I determined that a portion of my strain was due to an added role associated with prayer near a local abortion center, yet a deep breath and a skyward glance did refresh me for the task.  As each event fell into the week, I prayed.  My physical pain intensified, as also heaping into the mix was the immense joy of seeing a friend translate a first chapter of my bus book into Spanish.  And that idea of translation, coupled with a wonderful event associated with this blog, opened some new and exciting doors of conversation with family and friends.  Joy wanted to explode through my bones, yet my body ached to know how that could happen.  I awoke yesterday to the thought of Hinds’ Feet on High Places.  It’s a story based on Habakkuk 3, illustrating how the Lord takes us across the thresholds of fear and anxiety and frees us to climb the slopes toward an almost intoxicatingly joyful view of life.  It’s like Malachi 3, where the Lord throws open the floodgates of heaven to pour blessing so huge that we can't contain it.  Indeed my frail frame this week has felt the weight of merely a glimpse of that enormous blessing He offers through His son Jesus Christ.

A plea from within HEB

Money was tight.  Chemo and radiation had cost thousands upon thousands already.  She’d endured all shapes and sizes of medical procedures.  Now that she was somewhat recuperated, my friend had been applying for jobs, but to no avail.  This particular day called for a trip to the local HEB grocery store.  Whether contemplating chicken or hamburger, or choosing between sliced bread and tortillas, my friend debated the purchase of each item.  Pressure mounted, as she knew her shopping list usually tallied $200, though her purse held $40 less this time.  It was the culmination of all kinds of anxiety.  Finally she pleaded, “Lord, You know how much money I have.  I’ll grab what I think I need, and if it’s too much at the cash register, I’ll just return some.”  So she pushed her basket up and down the aisles, pulling from the shelves what she thought best and looking for the Lord’s peace in the process.  The cashier’s conveyor belt fed each item toward the scanner.  Total = $160 exactly!  I can still see the thrill in her eyes from when she retold the story last weekend.  In her weariness, she had called upon the Lord.  He’d been with her through all the physical agony, and He was with her still now.  For this child whom He loves dearly, and for her husband, her daughters, and her mom, His light shined brightly. 

La Taza

Our last hope had been the coffeehouse on McCullough, and now it’s closed.  We had the proverbial Y in the road—musically, that is.  I wanted to veer right, my husband wanted to go left, and the McCullough coffeehouse had been our single remaining common ground, ever since the guy at the guitar shop mentioned it.  And now that it’s closed, what to do?  Proverbs 3 says to lean not on my own understanding.  Though I had specifically prayed this last year, I didn’t fret now about the why of it all, nor did I feel hurried to fill a void.  Interestingly last Saturday, a new thought came to mind.  What about La Taza?  A friend mentioned their coffee, and in turn I wondered if they hosted music.  One phone call and one short drive later, we stepped foot into the fun La Taza world of mocha, jigsaw puzzles, Scrabble, and conversation.  Music was our connector.  Actually I could see how our year-long wait on the coffeehouse idea had built an eagerness in me to set the phone call in motion and pull some song charts together quickly.  No second-guessing at this point.  La Taza was quaint and laid-back, and we loved it.  It’s easy to start wondering now about what the Lord might have in store for this new venue, but then again, I don’t want to jump too far ahead.  I stayed up late last weekend reliving the blessings at La Taza.

God, my banker

Have you ever sensed God speaking to you through someone else?  This week I was inspired through the voice of a particular man.  From the moment I met him, I felt blessed.  We had talked probably 5 minutes, and suddenly he threw in a zinger.  “Let God be your banker,” he uttered.  I had mentioned nothing to him about the dollar signs dancing in my head.  Ideas about books, and music, and coffeehouses, and questions of how financially they could all work together had felt cluttered in my brain.  This man’s words zeroed right in to quell any worry.  In a sort of teaching mode while he spoke, his forefinger pointed in the air and then at me, so I was sure to hear.  And what set the whole stage for me to keenly listen was his earlier comment on planting seeds and watering them and scattering stones.  At first I thought of 1 Corinthians 3, but the part about scattering stones I had recently read in Ecclesiastes.  Interestingly I had taught on those exact verses a couple of Sundays ago, so my attention was certainly drawn, as if looking up to find myself sitting in the Lord’s classroom with Him personally teaching me in the moment.  Simply I had entered the doors of the hospital that day, unaware of how the Lord would connect me in conversation.  Forever He is weaving His goodness amongst and within.

Boldly from a wheelchair

“Does anybody have praises to tell about?”  The lady at my table smiled to tell the whole room, “It’s Wednesday, and I’m happy to come to church!”  Refreshingly, and very simply, she was right.  Her gentle voice matched a unique contentment in her eyes, both seeming to reach far beyond the circumstances of her wheelchair.  And her words had given me reason to pause.  This week has been different.  Kind of quiet, in fact.  A phone call to a friend with Crohn’s disease set me in a pensive mode.  A phone call to a friend dealing with dialysis set me pensive again.  Prior to those calls, I had sat with a friend at an infusion center downtown, my eyes being opened for a closer look at the processes of blood replacement and liver transplantation.  Each moment held its own reason to ponder and be thankful, and I loved the availability the Lord had given me to serve—waiting for my friend and being so glad for her to regain some energy, entertaining the little boy at the clinic who loved to eat Skittles while waiting for his grandpa, talking with the lady making a cross-stitch bib while waiting for her son, and overall being thankful for the many who donate blood in order for all these to receive.  All in all, life has appeared more fragile lately.  I look forward to some friends coming for dinner on Saturday, realizing they too have dealt with fragility in the form of cancer.  It’s a Psalm 46:10 week.  I can sit still and know God.  As my table-mate reminded me last night . . . it’s Thursday, and I’m happy to have come to know the Lord!

The book of Job + $1.10

In San Antonio, $1.10 buys a seat on the bus.  Yesterday I wanted to meet my husband close to where he works across town, and then we’d drive together to church.  I paid my $1.10 on the 648, chose a seat near the front, and began reading the book of Job.  Poor Job is having a hard time, and actually that’s a huge understatement because Satan is afflicting him intensely.  I’m reading where Job is losing his livestock, his servants, and his family, and suddenly I hear a man’s voice and look up to acknowledge him taking the seat behind me.  He had recognized my Bible’s columnar pages and smiled to say he enjoyed reading too.  Genesis was the book that really made him think, he said.  He elaborated a bit, and all the while he spoke, my heart was leaping to realize this was no ordinary bus ride.  I was sitting in the midst of the Lord at work.  He was transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary.  As an orchestra conductor might cue the clarinets alongside the violas, the Lord had cued my new neighbor and me to meet on the bus that afternoon.  Only the Lord’s orchestra is exponentially more vast.  He brought joy into the hearts of 2 people who until recently had lived in distant parts of the world.  Yet never is the Lord far from His children, nor is a day with Him ever humdrum.  Especially in those occasions like Job’s when the afflictions of Satan excruciate, we find peace in knowing the Lord is near.

Rubbing elbows in the trenches

“You’re Everywhere”—it’s one of my favorite songs.  YouTube hosts several Third Day renditions, in case you’d like to listen. The lyrics correlate with what happened this past weekend.  We sat in our living room with friends, taking turns telling stories of God.  Conversation ran deep from the start, as our friends had been enduring the throes of death and how it can change the landscape of a family's personality.  It was tearful and gut-wrenching, yet joyous at the same time.  It seemed the deeper the pit, the sweeter was the Lord’s deliverance.  My husband told the story of how the Lord one morning washed away his deep, deep anger.  I told of the multitude of blessings the Lord bestowed when I lost a job.  In the midst of physical ailment that sent me to the doctor and a wounded pride that didn’t let me sleep at night, the Lord let me know His presence, even blessing me all the way through to my daughter, whose college scholarships we saw Him increase to compensate for my lack of a job.  Little did we know that our stories in the living room on Saturday would become part of our friend’s sermon on Sunday.  Midway on his drive to San Antonio, he had realized he’d forgotten his preaching notes.  Now the Lord was using our stories to fill some gaps for his sermon.  It was two for one—a two-fer, you might say.  Storytelling wasn’t simply storytelling.  The song lyrics say, “My God, You are everywhere from the lowest depths to the heavens.”  According to 1 Corinthians 3:9, we are God’s fellow workers.  When He’s not carrying us, He's working alongside, rubbing elbows with us in the trenches. 

Guitar crossover

I’ve been resisting it.  Learning guitar hasn’t been my idea of fun lately.  I am fully aware that enormous blessings have come my way through things I didn’t choose myself, yet somehow I’ve resisted.  Yesterday was good, though.  I dived in with chords G, C, and D.  Thought I’d try them on “Lord, I Lift Your Name on High,” thinking maybe a familiar tune with lots of voices would prevail over my inexperienced hands straining across the strings.  And actually it was fun.  A refreshing memory came to mind as well.  My husband and I used to study with a friend who would bring his guitar to start our Friday evenings with a few songs.  Each Friday, he invariably fumbled some chords, and I loved it.  His fingers hit crosswise, and I always smiled in my heart and maybe on my face too.  The fumbled chords brought a reality to our worship.  Real life has fumbled chords, so to say.  We hit rough spots and need to bounce back.  Just as our friend double-checked his chord chart to replay, we regain our footing with the Lord and step back on track.  Yesterday, sitting on the couch with the guitar on my knee, this memory did lighten the task and bring joy to this new endeavor.  My crossovers from oboe to piano and then piano to voice have stretched me indeed, and sometimes I haven’t understood how it would all work together, but it did.  May the Lord continue to overpower my selfish heart and give joy for the new road. 

An earful of blessing

Listening can be good.  Listening, rather than always talking, that is.  It takes me out of the driver’s seat, presenting opportunity to see into the life of another, offering the reminder that little ol’ me isn’t really at the center of things.  This week I visited 2 friends in the hospital—one who awaits a liver transplant, and another who’s enduring kidney transplant complications.  They’ve both dealt with all kinds of hardships and excruciating pain, yet to hear them talk, it’s their love of the Lord at the forefront.  Seeing Him in their gentle, gracious ways inspires me and has caused me to sit and ponder a number of things.  Not too long ago, I was inspired through another friend as well.  I’d been praying for him to find a job, but somehow we had never talked about houses or apartments or anything.  I had no idea he lived at the Salvation Army shelter.  I’d never heard him complain about living arrangements, and indeed how I admired his mindset to press on and look forward.  In my neighborhood, I've found a wonderful joy in the form of a German shepherd down the street.  Hearing him bark and seeing him wag his tail to greet his master sets my heart afloat.  It takes a few seconds to slow down, listen, and watch this dog, but his utter joy is contagious.  James 1 says we should all be quick to listen and slow to speak.  Some say that’s why the Lord gave us 2 ears and only 1 mouth.  May we seek Him for how to listen today—with the neighbor who's lonely, perhaps with the aunt who so readily criticizes or the guy in the office with the insanely crazy clothes, yet certainly still affording ourselves time to listen for the voice of the Lord himself.  Whether two minutes or twenty or more, blessing lies within.

The wandering man at the festival

` I saw a man from within the crowd.  He walked alone.  He walked in circles sometimes.  Both days, he frequented our corner of the Hills Alive festival, which was held in Rapid City’s downtown park.  He looked at the ground mostly, not connecting verbally with anyone, though he did pause occasionally to watch children.  Given the 90-degree heat, I wanted to offer him a drink of cold water, yet an occasion with a photographer caused me to wait.  In pursuit of photographing a girl, the photographer crossed paths with the man, who seemed to not understand the camera.  He peered up into the lens, almost touching it with his nose.  Something about his reaction to the photographer made me hesitate to approach him with any water.  Perhaps my approach would confuse or scare him.  Later the crowd grew denser, and where the man went I don’t know, but I thought about him many times.  The whole festival was a wonderful time of music and testimony.  For the organizers to offer free admission is quite remarkable, realizing other festivals charge $100+.  It was entirely fun to see a friend from San Antonio hosting a booth there.  And I smile to remember a lady at a different booth who noted my use of the word “y’all,” reminding me all over again that Toto and I weren’t in Texas anymore.  Yet still today, I think of the wandering man.  The Lord connected me with him for a reason.  Praying for him was another highlight of the festival.  Without knowing his name or any details of his life, I am privileged still now to ask the Lord to protect him and provide for his needs.  May he know Jesus as his Savior.

Not a Sunday stage

The big stage doesn’t always attract.  People exit the building dissatisfied.  Some wonder why life feels flat.  They become angry and critical, and soon the whole subject of church has grown sour.  So we ask, “What are we looking for on Sundays?”  Perhaps consider blessings of a different size and shape.  Not all God's gifts are wrapped tall and pretty in the main sanctuary.  Consider the parking lot.  For me it’s been a wonderful place of prayer.  Last Sunday someone new inquired about piano lessons, and the inquiry sent me back to that hot, sweaty day in the parking lot a year ago when multiple people offered prayers on my behalf for this issue of piano lessons.  How I've been blessed to relive those initial prayers.  I stand in amazement to look upon the Lord’s blessings since then.  The parking lot has been a place I’ve found people needing physical help, such as the lady who fell between the street curb and the concrete steps.  Sometimes it’s opportunity to offer someone a ride to the bus stop or invite them to lunch.  Also reconsider maybe an unlikely place—the women’s restroom.  Sometimes the restroom serves as its name implies, as actually a place of rest.  Girls go there to find a tissue when they’re crying.  They go there to see if the crying made their mascara run.  Women go there to regain composure when the antics of their children have tested their last nerve.  Sometimes they’re there because the music is too loud or the seating is too crowded.  Basically there’s something uncomfortable for them, and they’re seeking respite.  It’s opportunity to offer help.  It's opportunity to listen, maybe talk, and see the Lord at work.  The point being that church is more than any single event in a single room on any given day.  The platform at the front of the room is not a stage.  It's not a concert.  Church is people.  We love as the Lord first loved us, and we look to know Him in whatever circumstances He brings.  May He give us joy for opening those packages that deliver to side doors and parking lots.

The openness of the 119th

I ask for many things.  The other day, it was for help while phone shopping among too many bundle choices.  A few minutes ago, it was for wasp-killing in the kitchen.  Somehow every time I wanted to swat the wasp, the cat was in the way, and we provided each other frustration and comic relief both.  The point being that I’m often asking the Lord for something specific, whether help with a phone purchase or a job or health or something else.  Yet I read Psalm 119 and see something different.  The psalmist speaks of praise and rejoicing and meditating on precepts, of delighting in the Lord and guarding against deceit.  Lots of whole-being things rather than specifics.  Lots of declaring His righteousness, obeying His statutes, and finding good in affliction, which are much bigger aspects of living than any single pesky wasp in the kitchen.  This psalm models for us a wonderfully open time with the Lord.  Enjoy letting Him mold our thought patterns overall.  Savor the openness of not knowing how exactly He will enter our lives each day.  Leave the ball in His park, so to say, to amaze us and grow us, without our always dictating a laundry list of “Help me with this” and “May I have that?”  Even my encounter with this psalm was by His orchestration. 

Fragmented, useful, & in perfect time

The timing was impeccable. All the postponements held their own human reasons, but now each was revealing the larger purpose of God. Only on this particular Sunday would the missionaries to Nicaragua be sitting with us on our back 2 rows. Exciting already was seeing the Lord’s message given through our pastor align with the message given to me, but then my heart leaped higher still to hear the guys going to Nicaragua explain how the Lord gave them the same message. At the end of the service when the one young man mentioned not understanding Spanish, my ears perked up. Evidently the only part he understood in our Spanish congregation that morning was my English portion. My fragmented Spanish usually fizzles out midway, and I start inserting some English. As much as I’ve wanted to know the whole Spanish vocabulary, here today I was amazed to see my fragments being actually useful. This young man echoed and expounded: “If God calls you to do something, go do it. Even if we don’t understand everything, we’re still supposed to go. The Lord’s grace will be sufficient.” Some of the other guys heading to the airport that afternoon didn’t know Spanish either, yet they felt called by the Lord and were pressing forward to go. I had testified about the Lord leading my husband and me to our Spanish congregation a year and a half ago, though I knew even less of the language then. In the beginning, I didn’t see how the Lord would grow my Spanish for use in the hospital and on the streets. Interestingly, earlier this Sunday morning, I attempted to rehearse my testimony but to no avail. My stomach felt strangely sick when I tried to rehearse, as if the Lord was diverting me from trying to memorize anything. I sensed the testimony was to be a casual conveyance of how the Lord is at work in the midst of our everyday living, always cuing people and places in perfect time. Because the testimony was unrehearsed, my Spanish was certainly fragmented, and the message was accentuated and dispersed for all involved. It was a fresh glimpse of the Lord's orchestration. All the more, I am encouraged to follow Him beyond what I can see. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding,” says Proverbs 3:5.

Children of the NICU

Think hospital.  Think needles and probes.  Think what it’s like for the youngest.  They’ve hardly entered this world, and already their bodies struggle.  Yet there’s a song that comforts them.  My friend sings, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world.”  She sings of how precious they are to Him, and she sees a little crease forming at the side of their small mouths, lifting into a smile.  She cuddles these young ones who often haven’t known life outside their hospital incubator.  No puffy white clouds in a blue sky.  No sunshine or fresh outside air.  They live among beeps and blinking lights and sterilized equipment.  My friend initiates some of their first conversations, introducing them to the scenery of their future walks in the park.  Some endure the loss of their twin who is healthy and already at home.  Many love the quiet, exhibiting a cringe at any loud clanking.  They enjoy the comfort of the Cuddler’s heartbeat that follows the rocking motion of her chair.  The sense of touch is a wonderful blessing.  My friend sees their tensions soften, and their reaction compares to the gentle release of air from a balloon, in that their little arms and legs finally realize a way to relax.  She often rests a baby on her shoulder or nestles one in her forearm, blessed also to meet many moms and dads who talk of their own side of the trauma.  It’s an opportunity to lessen the burden of a scenario that's difficult for many.  I think of her soft voice singing the name of Jesus to each little ear, resting in each little bed, being blessed by the only perfect Love that knows the intricacies of their medical situations.  Inside the walls of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, the Lord is present, bringing us to the aid of each other.

Teacher vs. teacher

In Matthew 23:10, Jesus cautions the crowds.  The hypocritical ways of the Pharisees are not to be followed.  The teachers of the law had been seeking the attention of men, and Jesus stepped in to encourage everyone to do the opposite.  Respect this role of teacher, He said, but don’t imitate their self-serving ways.  He instructs, “Nor are you to be called ‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Christ.”  And upon reading that sentence, I suddenly paused.  How do we view this role of teacher?  I have known the role of schoolteacher to be humbling, for I have seen students pose questions for which I had no immediate answer.  I have known the role of parental teacher to be humbling, for when needing to teach my daughters to share their toys, I quickly remembered one time not wanting to share my Hershey's chocolate.  Never do I want to approach a teaching role on the assumption I have a final understanding of any particular subject, for there's always a new perspective to come.  Yet with another kind of humility, I’ve learned also not to automatically decline a teaching role because I lack qualifications on paper.  The Lord may want to teach someone through me, even without formal schooling on my part.  Years ago, some fellow piano players offered me their overflow of piano students, yet I rather quickly declined.  More recently, some friends asked me to teach piano, and I dismissed the notion again.  Yet these friends persisted, and I finally asked the Lord what to do.  I don’t hold a music degree.  Neither did I study at a music conservatory.  The Lord has been my music teacher primarily, and on the occasions I did study through a formal school or private instructor, it was mostly oboe.  Turns out I’ve now been immensely blessed to teach piano, sharing openly about the Lord as our ultimate Teacher.  He guides both me and my dear friends who are students.  And with church, when asked to teach about the Bible and the Lord, I rely on the Lord’s qualifications.  On formal paper, I have only CEUs.  No Bible college degree.  Yet what a joy to share with others my experiences with the Lord.  He is the only One for whom I spell teacher with a capital T.

Leaping with Daniel

I awoke early, early, early.  Too early for my choosing.  The idea in my head was to host Bible study on Daniel 5.  King Belshazzar has a banquet that leads to trouble, and suddenly the fingers of a human hand write a message on a wall of the royal palace.  People use the phrase “the writing’s on the wall” without referencing the Bible, and that would be the point of the study:  to read the actual stories from which these indirect usages have come.  I emailed friends to see if anyone was available to study at the house, and lo and behold, here they come, and I’m so happy for a new friend to join us too.  Midway through our time together, I hear this new friend say how perfectly this study fits her personal circumstances.  And as she started explaining, my heart began to melt.  Here the Lord had awakened me days ahead about a certain topic for the sake of someone who would attend our study, yet whose email address I didn’t even have.  He would make certain she received an invitation, in whatever way He deemed best, which I later learned was through one of our ladies who is her dear friend.  Indeed the Lord loves us that much—that He brings together many for the sake of one, setting our feet on paths that lead to things we’re unaware of, bestowing blessings in all kinds of directions.  Earlier in the week, I had been frustrated at not finding some notes I’d written last year that would relate to our study this week.  Yet when my new friend commented on the perfect match within these verses of Daniel, I realized it was good for me not to find those notes because they contained other references that could’ve distracted me.  The Lord had let my eyes see only what He intended.  His orchestrations do amaze me.  I’m like the one on the street who stands motionless in the midst of loud honks and heavy traffic, with my mouth agape, wondering afterward if my jaw really did hit the ground.  I'm not really unaware of the surrounding traffic, but I'm spellbound at times to witness the Lord at work.  Motionless on the outside, yet giant leaps of joy within. 

To repair William Tell's overture

No time to lament.  Our initial shock came backstage, and we scrambled to consider options.  It was time for the chase scene, and should we attempt it without our usual William Tell overture?  Our sound system had crashed.  And what about our individual microphones and the rest of the music?  It was only Monday, and we had 6 more performances that week.  What to do for a trio of actors from out of town?  Imagine gyms full of kids, and would anybody be able to hear anything without the sound system?  That afternoon ushered us through a host of phone calls, some in search of a repairperson, some to touch base with the rest of our schools, and one to call in a lunch order for fast pick-up.  All the while, we asked the Lord to guide our path.  A trip to Guitar Center introduced us to a very kind staff who sympathized and quite generously offered their time.  A recommendation to Guitar and Banjo Studio connected us with an electrician who diagnosed our transistor problem.  Even reaching that point was mentally taxing, given our narrow timeframes and the miles that separated the stores.  Through all our phone calls and jaunts on the road, and amidst our regular loading and unloading of stage equipment and even the basics of locating the different schools and driving to each one, the Lord's timing did prove impeccable.  At each school, He brought together an in-house sound system, whether using clip-on mics or hand-held or stand-alone ones, each occasion being accompanied by a new amazement for the sufficiency of His provision.  From the children came wonderful levels of attentiveness as well as lively participation and hearty laughter, lending us to realize the Lord's blessing upon them as well.  And we did pick up our sound system from the electrician in perfect time for our last performance of the week.  All along the way, the Lord tossed in reminders of His presence.  One afternoon, having collected our to-go lunchboxes from McAlister’s Deli, I opened my horseradish roast beef and did munch to my heart’s delight, just so thankful for some nourishment in the quick recess between venues.  But then I saw a sheet tucked behind the sandwich, and in it was a pickle.  Something so simple brought an escape for me.  It seemed each bite of that pickle was flavorful enough to lift me out of our hectic pace.  As long as I ate that pickle, my backache disappeared, my heart quit racing, and my mind was quiet, except to tell my fellow actors how freshly I was blessed by that pickle.  I remember our director telling us ahead of time, “Oh, Monday afternoon should be leisurely.  Maybe we can go to the hotel pool.”  The closest we came to the pool was to peer at it through a window on our way to collapsing on our beds at night.  But we left town having seen the Lord at work.  And that's exciting indeed.