I once had a percussion instructor who believed that just about everything in our planet, and our lives had a rhythm. The speed of the wind blowing….
I started writing this a few days ago, and since then the rhythm that has picked up in our lives hit an unexpected and new fast paced rhythm. It hardly seems possible that just over a week ago; I was standing in a field with prairie dogs all around, barking and chirping to each other. Then, we received a phone call that caused heart rates to pick up, and the relaxed rhythm of a vacation to swing into a staccato roll of forward movement.
Hospital… Stroke… Stable… Doctor…
My grandfather had suffered from a stroke and was on his way to the large regional hospital for care. Plans changed, we packed our bags, and headed home immediately.
The week to follow has been a blur, fast moving combinations have accompanied us. Hospital, the tat-a-tat fast paced rhythm has moved to a steady and sweet pulse of caregivers who are seeking to bring healing and renewed strength to my grandfather. Encouragement has changed the staccato to a steady heart beat, familiar and encouraging.
Stroke, a new rhythm that is unfamiliar and moves at a speed that is hard to keep up with. New vocabulary, new tests to understand, research; adrenaline rushed rhythms move into ones that are lagging with tired steps. Yet, slowly a normalcy of pace resumes, with a few helpful naps allowed for. The information comes, dropping in place slowly and filling in the syncopated feeling into more of a swing beat.
So many rhythms and changes in tempo have occurred. In the midst of this, with rhythms that have felt more impacting than ones to be walked along with, I have been having a different rhythm in my head. It is from a song that I love, “Never Going to Steal My Joy” by Mandisa. If you aren’t familiar with it, I would highly suggest a quick Google look-up. It is the strength in the words that I love, the staunch stance that though the rhythms may change or be those which crash in on us quickly and seem overpowering. And while I think of those songs, I remember standing on the mountain, at a beautiful and quiet peaceful lake, with gentle sweet rhythms.
In the peaceful movement of God’s rhythm of the crashing waves of life, I am reminded of someone who experienced crashing rhythms of his own. David, as he penned what we call Psalm 121, was making his own declaration that amidst the rhythms that come at us syncopated, staccato, rushing, and tumbling, that there is Someone who is not thrown by the tympanic changes.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand.
The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.
The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for