Sky High Love

Taking the dogs out once more before going to bed, my eyes turned to the sky and I felt my feet come to a standstill on the driveway. Over and around me, the sky stretched out; immense and painted with color, patterns and textures that more than rivaled the master painters. Because I have the habit to sing, well – anywhere; a song came out, "His Eye is on the Sparrow.” All I could do was stand, stare and sing; and of course keep an eye on the dogs who might go wandering.   

“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him” Psalm 103:11

 

Just thinking of the space between where my toes met the ground below and the reach of the heavens above, the immensity of the love described was breathtaking. I stretched out my arms, filled up my lungs with air, and took up only a tiny fraction of that space. 

Such love can feel too large and powerful for me to comprehend; beautifully overwhelming to the touch and sight. I think this is why the thought of the sparrow is the one that first came to me.

“And not one of them is forgotten before God. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”  Luke 12:6b-7

The tiny bird that many would deem to be insignificant is not forgotten by the Creator. The knower of the large and small, is in the magnificence of the heavens and in the infinite subtlety of a tiny creature of flight. As I continue to view the sky, my heart was full to overflowing. 

Praise from the Garage Floor

I was sitting in the garage floor yesterday, painting a small window a lovely blue color, and listening to Rend Collective Experiment from my computer.  Singing along to some of the songs, I started thinking about worship and praise, and how my definitions of what that means narrows my width of worship and praise opportunities. 

Let me back up – worship and praise of what?  Worshipping and praising God, taking time for an action of gratitude, a heart of thanks for all that my God is and was and will be.  It’s an act that is uplifting, refreshing, energizing, and at times draining. 

So with that part said….

I’m sitting in the floor, paint brush in hand, and thinking about how worship is more than one style or one type of art and how my very definition limits me.  There is a painter who paints to music and creates incredible paintings as an act of worship.  The gardener who tends the plants so carefully to create a living canvas of color is acting out worship.  A dancer, with every fine tuned motor skill practiced, can move in time to worship.  A musician, a writer, a sculptor, a teacher, a child playing in the sprinkler… the list goes on and on.  Worship can take so many forms; I don’t want my definition to be so limiting – especially when we were made with so many ways to express praise. 

I’m going to start looking for new ways to praise, intentional actions to thank God for his goodness.  I wonder what forms it will take.  

By Many Titles

They may be called mom, momma, grandma, mee-maw, granny, gran, gram, auntie or various other names that can mean mentor, teacher, protector, guider, and matriarch.  Known by many titles, women can form solid bedrock of strength in our life through their efforts and energies.  Though it is not a guarantee that all women will nurture those around them, there are many that expend their energies to do so. 

Today is the recognized Mother’s Day holiday and I enjoyed recognizing my own mom and her role in my life today.  She is such a tremendous example of love and wisdom.  We have shared tears through laughter and over difficulties.  We have challenged each other to learn different skills and shared many adventures.  Girls trips, prayer times, history discussions, faith building, baking bread, singing songs, book reading, and confidence building are just a few of the things she has brought into my life.  I thank her for being a mother who has parented passionately and intentionally, wanting to be the best mother possible.

There are also other women who have instilled good things into me.  So many strong and vibrant women flash through my mind, who “mothered” me even though not my birth mother.  Beyond women in my family who have also been an example, I wanted to mention a few others.  My dear sisters who mother their own children and are a source of joy to watch, especially as I get to be an aunt!  My Ohio mom who has been a voice of comfort in times when the world was falling down, and also lets me be silly and relax in my skin.  A Kentucky Sunday School teacher provided me with a place to feel accepted when I felt so very out of my comfort zone.  My dear Ena who passed away not terribly long ago, she was my baby sitter when I was a baby and a little girl.  She kept me busy, loved, prayed over, and gave southern sweet tea as a treat.  My eighth grade science teacher helped me bridge the move to Florida while being someone who could talk about NASA and explain math.  We shared a common love of space and she is still so dear to me.  Student teaching with two lovely ladies taught me about loving students and also maintaining energetic professionalism in a classroom.  Challenged to think, laugh, explore, love, and grow – these women and so many more have been enormous influences in my life.  I thank them and wish them Happy Mother’s Day! 

You may or may not have children.  You may have experienced the loss of a mom or a child.  So many women suffer through this day instead of celebrating it, and to them I say let’s celebrate your influence in “momming” others around you!

The Choir Loft

   Sunday mornings I can be found sitting up in the choir loft of our local church.  I enjoy our slightly rambunctious, at times off key, normally enthusiastic singing.  In two rows, we divide into our parts, soprano, alto, tenor, and bass.  I am an alto and I’m used to hearing my part and the tenors behind me.  But, I know that what I hear is completely different from what our audience hears.  When we sing, the music travels out and it blends differently that if you are right there in the mix.

  A little girl joined us last Sunday, one of the choir members was helping to look after her.  Standing on the pew with her blond hair in two braids and silver bows, I saw little childish hands pull out a hymnal and flip through the pages.  We were all holding our choir books, she was simply modeling what we were doing.  But, how precious it was to see her flipping through the book and I watched her and recognized the titles of the songs that she was staring blankly at.  Then, the singing started.  The jaw in that round face dropped. “It sounds different up here?”  Big eyes looked at me and her head nodded.  She stood there turning round and round, taking it all in.

   I had two thoughts standing there, with a big grin plastered on my face.  Who could help it, she was so cute!  One thought was I wonder if that will be me one day.  Standing there, every tongue confessing that Christ is Lord, worshipping with the family of God – how it will sound when I am in the midst of the crowd!  My other thought was how quickly this little girl was modeling our behavior.  What a reminder that even without any formal lessons, we need to be cognizant of our behaviors with these children around us. 

   I hope one day to see her singing with great praise. 

Uncle Raul’s Song

I have fond memories of sitting in my Uncle Raul and Aunt Mac’s living room, listening to him play “Rank Stranger”.  Gentle strumming on the strings and the sweet music filled the room.  These songs, “Rank Stranger”, “How Tedious and Tasteless”, “Using my Bible as a Road Map,” and others were sung many times in my life.  Other songs have come from friends, “It is Well With my Soul,” “Jericho Road,” and “Heaven’s Jubilee.”  Songs like these are a wonderful resource to pull on when times are tough. 

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.”  Songs, poems, stories, they are all so important to my family culture.  Traditions are passed down in word and verse for generations, building history and common understanding.  The memories of singing in the kitchen, the living room, the car, and everywhere between, they are sweet indeed.  

Christmas – Choir

   Here in town, an annual event is held every December, the Holiday Stroll. The downtown main street is shut off from all boot foot traffic, and the town comes out to kick-off the holidays. Music, hot chocolate, window displays, and many people come out to meet, greet, and enjoy the festivities. As a kick off to the event, local choir kids sing from the second story of a local bank down into the lobby. Microphones set to project voices, they sing carefully practiced choir pieces of jazz, traditional carols, and some beautiful arrangements of acapella music.

   Listening to that music, watching with others as our faces turn up to the young people standing and singing, I was reminded of how the faces of shepherds must have been turned up on that far ago night. An angel appeared to shepherd and brought them the news that a Savior had been born. Imagine that as the sky filled with a host of angels singing and praising God, how the faces of the shepherds were tilted up. Jaws dropping down, eyes reflecting the light around them, shocked sighs escaping their mouths. Just imagine the excitement on the part of the angel choir. Perhaps they had practiced long for this moment, with joy and exhilaration they stared down at the shepherds. This was the moment they had waited for, the performance of an eternal lifetime.
   As we hear various school programs, listen to the concerts and carolers, may our music reflect the joy of that concert, heralded in a shepherd's field.

Jerusalem

   There is a song that we have sung for a few years now as a family, titled Jerusalem. It is a song about the new Jerusalem and signing it yesterday, I had the pleasure of not only singing with my family but with several friends. Standing on stage, I could hear the different voices blending together. If I could have, I would have just listened because right at that moment, it struck me how beautiful the sound must be as the voices of praise and petition all gather together.

   The very young, old, and every age between raised in song, in worship and word to God. How much Jerusalem must be simply beautiful!

She Could See

    When I was working on my bachelor’s degree, I had private voice lessons with an older woman who had gone blind. She had a beautiful large boned yellow lab that was her seeing eye dog. She was amazing. This woman played golf, traveled, went to plays and performances, and participated in the community. There was more than one time that she would state so calmly, open your mouth and smile. I would always wonder, how does she know if I am smiling or not she can’t see me!

   This woman so impressed me because she didn’t let a “handicap” stop her from living her life. I can see, but there are things I can’t do. I must choose whether or not I let my own “handicaps” stop me from living a full life.

It’s the Little Things

I like to shop. I like to find the perfect pair of jeans that fit. I took about two years to pick out a dish set that I liked. I like to travel. I like to have the technology around me that makes life a bit easier. I like these things… but they are not the real joy of my life.

It is the little things, the non-thing things that are really the joy. It’s the big things of momentous occasions. For me, the little and big things are the sound of a little boy’s feet as he runs through the house. The color of the sky after a storm passes and the sky clears up to a blue that just looks clean and makes the whiteness of clouds stand out brilliantly. The smell of a fresh green bean picked right off of the green bean bush. Watching a fawn, still new and spotted, be allowed to explore its world for the first time just slightly away from mom. It is the sound of laughter with a friend. It is a friend you are so comfortable with that make-up, hair done, clothes carefully selected, and the house picking up not only does not have to occur, but you don’t ever worry about it because it’s just not going to be an issue. The smell and taste of the steam of freshly made hot coffee, pungently black and bitter in the nose. The feel of a hand of a brand new little life wrap around a finger. Puppy kisses that can’t help but make me giggle, as my dog tries to clean my entire face. The color of the birds, and the sound of a morning dove. Visiting just to visit and enjoying the company of a friend. Singing with the radio, signing in the kitchen, signing in the driveway, singing in the grocery store, just singing in general – can you see a pattern there? It is the feel of clean sheets and warm towels right out of the dryer. It is the smell of chicken on the grill and fresh sweet corn on the plate. It is the labor of a task well done and accomplished. It is the quiet time to listen to God. It is the goose bumps when you have just a glimpse of His awesome mightiness and love. It is the sounds of honest tears as pains are shared and not hidden. It is the sound of an argument worked through and not hidden from. It is the birthdays, anniversaries, hellos, and good-byes. It is the memories which make you choke up with emotion and the memories which come back fleetingly and startle you with their sudden clarity. It is the pain that God uses for a good purpose. It is a well fitting ball cap and the cool breeze on your head when you lift it up after mowing. It is sleeping in, and being thankful to be able to get up when the alarm clock goes off and there is no sleeping in. It is small town parades with candy and bands and fire trucks. It is back porch picnics with make shift tables and sitting on rugs on the concrete floor. The smell that is unique to books along it’s spine, I stick my nose in and breathe deep. It is a family who loves, friends who are family, and being a child of God.
It’s the little and big non-thing things.

Celebrating the Differences

I know someone who is so gifted in the kitchen. She can look at a pantry full of raw ingredients, mix them together, and come up with a wonderful concoction. Another one is so talented in the area of writing. His ideas come across the page clearly and I can practically smell and taste the different things that he describes. Another can take a guitar and make it talk; he can somehow transform the wood and string of the instrument into a creation of sound.

No matter what the strength or ability is, it is so nice to be able to celebrate these differences. There are different ways to think about this. A natural tendency may be to look at someone else and think that you are not as good at that, therefore worth less. Take for example, my friend, who can make something delicious in the kitchen and then shares it with those around her. I could look at this and think that I am not as gifted in this area and resentful. But, instead I want to be in her kitchen, I do enjoy the smells and tastes that are there, though not nearly as much as the fellowship and fun we have chopping, slicing, and talking. I want to sing with the cousin and uncle who can play a guitar, making it sing and talk, dance and walk. I cannot play a guitar, but I love to sing along.
There are so many different capabilities that people have. I want to celebrate the differences.

Singing in the Kitchen

After a large party, you can feel that you are much too tired to clean. At least, I know I can be. After my graduation party last year, it was time to clean up. More than anything, I really wanted to curl up in a quiet spot and just rest. I enjoy having people around, as long as I don’t have to be the focus of everything. That gets to be really overwhelming for me. But, I digress.

One of the things that help the time go quickly when the back and feet start aching, is to have someone start a song. “Blessed Assurance” the words rang out so clearly and strong. Before I knew it, my feet and back still ached, but were eased by the sounds ringing around me. The hymns kept building, the sound in the kitchen swelling and subsiding as different people moved through the room to put away various items. Before we knew it, it was cleaned up. The food was put away, the first round of dishes were put up. “Amazing Grace” finished the night as we held the last notes of amen. Then, turning off the lights, we each found a spot in the living room.
It was a special time, but it doesn't require such a moment to sing in the kitchen. Instead, it is something common place. Reflecting the warmth of the kitchen, the welcome of the hospitality shared there. Welcome to the kitchen, come and join in the song.

Bathroom Acoustics

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, I was going to be a band director or music teacher. If you ever have the chance to spend time in a music conservatory, you will find at least one section of hallway lined with tiny little rooms. In each room you will hear different musical sounds coming out, someone banging on a piano a few doors down, a vocalist trying out a new aria, a cellist or flautist running through scales. These little practice rooms do a fairly decent job of keeping the majority of the volume within their walls, though it does leak out in tiny tides of sound into the hallway and the neighboring areas.

The thing about the tiny little practice rooms, is that the acoustics are often really interesting. With so much very close wall space, the sounds will bounce around. So, materials may be added to the wall to flatten the sound back out. What fun is that? If you really want to have a great spot to sing and hear what it sounds like, go find a bathroom.
A cement block bathroom is the best, all that sound and it just is like a ping pong ball from side to side. A timid voice will sound full, a full voice will sound orchestrated. I tend to sing quietly most places, not even thinking about it. But, when I walk into a bathroom that has great acoustics, it’s hard not to just let go and sing loudly. If you ever walk into a bathroom and hear someone singing, don’t be alarmed – they may just be trying out the acoustics.

Migration

World War II brought heart ache for many, brought the United States really out of the Great Depression, and brought many from the hills of Appalachia to the cities of Dayton, Detroit, Columbus, Cincinnati, and other large cities where there were jobs and the promise of a future. Leaving the beautiful hills, they also found themselves torn between the chance at financial security and terrible homesickness. The hills of Kentucky are beautiful, lush and green, thick with woods and delicate undergrowth. The twisty turny roads are fun to drive, but make transportation very difficult for industry.

Yesterday I left suburban Ohio, where the melting pot of commerce has created such diversities as multi-story malls (wondrous things), every kind of restaurant you can imagine and some you can’t, as well as businesses that bring people together from all over the world. I left this and drove to a beautiful part of eastern Kentucky. Yes, the Appalachian mountains. Yes, the foothills, a green swath of pastures and fields, children’s play places, and family cemeteries. Yes, the place where too many are ridiculed by ignorant individuals as being “hillbilly”, “hicks”, “rednecks”, “backwards”, and “stupid”. The people left the mountains, but they didn’t leave their customs behind. They came with them, tucked into the car just as much as the Sunday suit and guitar were. These people have settled all over, for heaven’s sake – I live in Iowa. But, those who lived close enough would travel back as often as they could. They would return to visit family, take care of the younger and older, help in the gardens and around the farm. They would go to hear the sweet familiarity of it all.
When I go back now, I often feel as if I have a stand which is straddling both worlds. One is quite comfortable with working in a corporate office, making small talk, dressing for the job, and networking. The other breathes in the smell of honeysuckle, vetch, and wild spring roses with deep breaths as if I can breathe in enough to last me till my next visit. There have been times that that has been a stance which has felt wobbly, with one side or the other pulling me too far in one certain direction and then the other. But, last night I had a moment when it all came together. I put aside the perception of the outside, aside the perception of pre-conceived notions, and just let the moment occur. It was a family get-together and cook out at a cousin’s house. The food was great, the company was wonderful. To see the children take up with each other, cousins, was beautiful. They were teaching each other songs before the night was out. Then, the cream on the top, the priceless moment occurred, as one, two, and then three guitars came out. Then, a mandolin and then a fiddle. Voices blended in song, praise and lament, remembrance and hope. The ideas were never named so expressly in the music, but this was their purpose. With skill of fingers at making strings on an instrument strike a certain chord, the voices blended on top. “There will be peace, in the valley for me some day. There will be peace in the valley, for me O Lord I pray. There’ll be no sadness, no sorrow, no troubles I see. There will be peace in the valley for me.” That is only one that was played and sung while sitting around in a front yard, under a large walnut tree, swatting gnats, and indeed we were in a valley. The fireflies started coming out and the children were gathered up to take back, clean up, and put to bed. I wondered how many could look past the differences, the differences we allow to separate us, the perceptions we allow to close us off to these beautiful things. I feel as if I am on a migration route as well, like a bird come home to gather nourishment.

Joyful Noise

Make a joyful noise! I love to sing and may be found humming around just about anywhere. I have heard many people state that that just can’t sing. But, if you check out the psalm, when there is discussion of praise – it is not to make a beautiful noise, but to make a joyful noise. So, you can’t sing? Don’t like to sing? Okay – what kind of joyful noise can you make? A baby’s first cry to a new parent is a joyful noise. A honking horn to a kid who just got sight of their first car is a joyful noise. Pots and pans banging along with some internal tune is a joyful noise to the toddler. The joyful noise may sound different to different people. Words of affirmation, encouragement, coaching, teaching – joyful noises!

No matter what kind of “instrument” you use, make a joyful noise today.