A mesmerizing tune on the piano

Suddenly I’m in the piano mode.  Hadn’t been playing too much, yet I’d been asked to play the next Sunday.  “Lord, what do I play?”  Could be out of a book.  Could be something loosely in my head.  I sorted through handwritten notes and a stash of books and came upon a Jim Brickman piece called “Winter Waltz.”  The minor key grabbed me, and I liked that the phrases gave option for slowing and quickening.  Soon certain parts of the music became almost mesmerizing.  Each time I turned to the third page, three particular measures drew me in.  They became far more than blots of ink on a page.  I must have played those notes at least 20 times over the week, and they left me almost numb, as if unyielding to any threats to disrupt the aura.  It was just me, in my little house, given nothing the rest of the world knew about.  Yet this “nothing” was wonderful.  The Lord had put a mountain in my front room and led me to its highest point to experience His answer to my prayer.  He had shown me the piano piece to play on Sunday.

Being – with the little church

It’s my one-month anniversary for attending a weekday group with a nearby church.  My schedule is different right now.  I’ve been asking the Lord where I should be, and turns out I’ve been spending one morning each week with some women of this little church.  It’s a situation of being rather than doing.  I don’t know ahead what our weekly sessions will bring.  Maybe prayer, maybe journaling, maybe Bible study.  Maybe reflecting on the Lord’s provision.  Without a prescribed list of what to do, our little group is simply available to each other.  It’s quite refreshing.  We sit in the foyer of the building, and I often have a picturesque view.  Big windows that let me touch inside and outside together.  Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God . . .”  Here serenity is held in a soft blue sky, a slight breeze, and the sound of the Lord’s name. 

Beyond the anxiety

It’s too much.  Suddenly we feel crazy, having been unaware of how high the anxiety was mounting.  Neither a resounding scream nor a prolonged cry resolves anything anymore.  I watched a movie about a girl who bore the brunt of her mother’s anxieties.  From 10 years old, this girl with a sweet little freckled face endured criticisms that slowly crushed her.  Because the mom regretted her own childhood obesity, she criticized her daughter’s slight chubbiness and continued to hound her through high school and college.  Along the way, the daughter became anorexic, eventually committing suicide.  In real life, I think of one friend who has dealt with an eating disorder.  I think of friends who struggle with depression that has led them to attempt suicide.  God has connected me with these friends as blessings, as I have studied the Bible with each one.  At times they’ve wanted to crawl off the planet.  Yet in the midst of their pain, they have come to know Jesus, who lifts and replenishes them over and over.  There is hope in the name of Jesus Christ, who knows the depth of our every hurt.  When we feel swallowed by the world, we can call out to Him for help.

From "Yes, Dear" to theater

Just 5 words.  And they’re really so simple.  It was the way she posed the question.  The tension in her jaw and the low voice and the steady pace.  Something hadn’t felt right when I’d been saying my lines in the play, and here I heard Kim on TV asking, "What did you just say?"  It was one of my lines almost exactly.  Her voice inflection was convincing, and I knew the Lord was giving me her example.  He was answering my plea for help in this world of theater that’s new for me.  I didn’t plan to watch “Yes, Dear,” though He stepped my feet toward the television for a blessing.

Popeye & the real battleground

Have you seen the old Popeye cartoons?  Wimpy was a guy who loved hamburgers.  One time Popeye and Bluto had diner wars and hurled burger condiments at each other.  Wimpy conveniently sat below the line of fire and reached up into the blurry exchange to pull down ketchup and mustard and whatever else he wanted.  At times, I’ve felt like Wimpy.  I’ve been in the midst of battles, though mine have felt quite gut-wrenching, leaving me beat up and bruised.  One semester I was given a music class that tested my every nerve.  Because of scheduling problems, this class became a dumping ground for students with nowhere to go.  We had a wide disparity of interest, including a majority who wanted only to disrupt.  Over a period of weeks, I became discouraged.  I did pray for the Lord’s guidance, and I knew He was with me, but the tensions of battle kept me gasping for air.  Then came a conversation one evening.  A boy’s mom approached me to say how thankful she was for my encouragement of her son in music.  I could hardly believe my ears.  With all the times I’d stopped class to reprimand, I assumed they all hated my voice and everything associated.  On another occasion, a mom told me how much her daughter enjoyed singing and learning about music with me.  Somehow in the whirlwind, the Lord had been at work, bringing good out of what I perceived to be a mess.  When I open the Bible to read 1 Peter 5:8, I learn that the devil is real and he prowls with intent to devour us.  But then I read 2 Chronicles 16:9 to realize the eyes of the Lord roam the earth in support of us and to strengthen us.  There’s the real battle right there.  Devil versus God.  And the good news is that God ultimately wins, which means His children win too.  I reach into the line of fire to bring down a bottle of ketchup, or in this case to find God’s direction, and maybe in that moment what I pull down doesn’t look like what I think I want, yet we keep looking to the Lord.  He is in the mix.  He fights for us all the while on the front lines, and we can find comfort in that.

Reminiscent of the church

I remember a lady who was my prayerful roommate at a women’s retreat.  I still think of guys and girls with whom I stayed up all hours and bopped around singing in the back of a van on a mission trip in Mexico.  I think of girls with whom I studied the Bible for years.  I think of a man who asked me to pray for the Lord to free him from homosexuality.  I think of a boy who still makes me smile because he thought he so urgently needed to speak out each week in our kindergarten class, and I miss conversations with his mom.  Sometimes the Lord calls us to change congregations, and why don’t I see my former church-mates?  How does the ball drop?  And how so quickly sometimes?  We serve the people of the church, but ultimately we serve the Lord.  If we serve His purposes with a congregation, even if we depart without a single continuing friendship, we can be joyful for having known the Lord in those moments.  We call, we email, yet somehow the same people don’t come together again.  Is it like wanting a church souvenir?  Sometimes I’m not ready to relinquish the experience.  I love these people and consider our time precious for having sought the Lord together.  I want to reconnect, though the fact that I don’t see many of them again doesn’t nullify the genuineness of the time we shared.  Did I go to church to make friends?  What was my purpose? The Lord has used the people of the church to bless me many times, and He has so tenderly sent their feet walking up to me on occasions when I’ve needed a friend.  Yet ultimately I’m looking to know and worship the Lord and serve as He would lead.  From there, the blessings pour.  Because I love the moments He gives, I love the people who are part of those moments.

Jesus, my theater director

It’s happening again.  Another new thing.  This summer, notions of theater floated through my head.  I asked, “Lord, is that You?”  I searched local auditions, in case I was supposed to show up somewhere.  Kept praying for the Lord to put my steps in place and found one audition that left me curious.  Wrote it on the calendar weeks ahead and thought I’d see if on the actual day I still felt inclined to go.  On that day, 3:00 would be decision time.  Twenty minutes down the road and I was at the theater, without too many thoughts of turning around the car to cancel the whole thing.  The auditions finished, our orientation meeting ensued, and here I am playing an adoption worker, an annoying nurse, and an attorney.  In 2 short weeks, I’ve gone from elated to anxious and all in between.  Yet the Lord has blessed me.  This week, He has calmed the anxieties that nagged my brain.  I still have lines to learn and movements to coordinate, but He’s eased my heart one day at a time.  All along I’ve wondered if this was less about acting and more about meeting a certain someone.  I love to see how God connects people.  I could do without the nervousness that comes with new situations, but even first glimpse of witnessing Him at work makes my heart leap.  Forward march.

Blood & hugs

“Church is too huggy.  They’re too happy.  It’s just not real.”  For someone entering a church for the first time, the atmosphere could seem quite different from the rest of the world.   “They talk about blood, and that’s just gross.  And altars and sacrifices are too weird.”  Critics of the church have some valid points.  Yes, the church is different.  We seek and follow One who was different from the beginning.  His ideas of servanthood and forgiveness went against the norm.  Many of those church hugs acknowledge a deep friendship that grew when people stood with each other through painful circumstances.  Many of those hugs are the kind that squeeze you and lift you off the ground because the degree of thankfulness is so immense.  It’s a different version of war actually, and when the essence of life is at stake, a deep connection takes place for having persevered together.  People might not understand.  Visitors could wonder.  And indeed we hope they will keep wondering about Jesus ... and visit the church again ... and seek Him at home ... and on the streets ... and with their every breath.  The love of Jesus Christ is wonderfully different.  If you’re a visitor, W E L C O M E !

Humility & blessing

You’re talking with a co-worker.  The conversation becomes delicate as she mentions a guy who makes her uncomfortable.  This leads to discussion of boyfriends and husbands and how guys and girls interact, and suddenly the subject of divorce is on the table.  When the subject approaches, my heart starts to race, and I imagine nervous red splotches covering my light skin.  Divorce is not my favorite topic, except for the fact that it can combine with the subject of forgiveness.  I shared with my co-worker, “Divorce does not please God, yet I took part in a divorce.  And as my sorrow deepened for what I’d done, my love for the Lord and His forgiveness grew.”  The teacher’s lounge that moment offered not the slightest peep.  Yet soon I heard a story about pregnancy during high school.  Then a separate story about a daughter diagnosed with autism.  All kinds of difficulty and heartache that needed a place to release.  I’m not saying we spill our guts with everyone we meet, yet if God prompts us to share, we can be glad for our testimonies to encourage someone else.  In this case, the humbling topic of divorce served as invitation for others to honestly release their pain.  Not everyone has a home or a friend who listens.  We may be someone’s first awareness of how Jesus saves and forgives and walks with us through pain. 

The paper mountain

Certain words are just funny.  Like when I say, “I cleaned house.”  I chuckle en route to my lips even beginning to form the words.  Really our family isn’t sloppy, and other than cat fur accumulating, we pick up as we go.  Yet when a rare cleaning mood hits, especially one that has potential to tackle the mountain of papers in the kitchen, we better let it play out.  Don’t squelch an all-nighter.  A few weeks ago, I finally tackled the mountain.  It was an ominous, above-ground black hole that threatened to swallow anyone attempting to sort its contents.  Yet now was the time to topple this pile whose balance had been carefully guarded for years.  And what I had dreaded all this time did prove to bless my soul.  I was pleasured to reread articles and realize my attraction to them in the first place was not in vain.  What was an inkling years ago, such as one list of Bible study ideas, had now come to fruition with great blessing.  I’d kept a bookstore clipping years ahead of the time it would be useful.  Because I found it now and my book is now published, making a phone call to the store about my book now fit.  I found photos of my husband playing guitar when we served with a homeless ministry under a downtown bridge.  How sweet to recall that cold December morning, all bundled for warmth and singing freely on the streets.  A blessing for the Lord to show me that photo from deep within the paper mountain I had seen as treacherous.  God can bring life to what we bemoan and consider mundane.  His unexpected blessings I love.