I didn’t realize how much I liked violin music until
earlier this week. Literally…three days ago when the vibrant chords of Hallelujah awoke a quiet, slumbering place in my soul.
Fiddle…that’s what I had always called it; and my limited experience with the funny looking instrument had primarily consisted of the roar and excitement associated with group renditions of Rocky Top and the familiar southern twang of The Devil Went Down to Georgia. But I found the gentle, rhythmic chords stroked with precision by the gifted artist, the violinist, to be both inspirational and soothing.
1 Samuel records the story of how young David skillfully played the stringed instrument and describes the soothing effects the music had on King Saul’s troubled mind. Was it merely the skillful plucking and strumming of the strings or was it a deeper work, resonating from the heart of God to the fingers of David to the heart, soul, and ears of Saul?
And whenever the harmful spirit from God was upon Saul, David took the lyre and played it with his hand. So Saul was refreshed and was well, and the harmful spirit departed from him. 1 Sam 16:23
Refreshed and well. That’s a good description of how I felt as I found more and more hymns played masterfully by various violinists. My son might even report that I danced around the kitchen. Just a little. The formerly deaf place inside hungered for the audible art that fed the precisely shaped hole that the music seemed to fill so completely. I was amazed at the number of hymns I found that were predominantly accompanied by the violin: Amazing Grace, Come Thou Fount, It Is Well With My Soul, Blessed Assurance… All my favorites! All were beautiful. All were soothing. The more I basked in the stringed harmony, the more I realized that the instrumental versions were like a timely gift of medicine for my soul. The violin played center stage and I simply let my spirit voice the words.
I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Psalm 119:11
Okay, so hymns aren’t scripture, but as the words of the old hymns flowed so freely from my mind and heart, it reminded me of the importance of knowing: Knowing encouraging, soul-edifying words. Knowing the Word. Knowing the Truth. Knowing ways to nourish and uplift your spirit. Knowing how to soothe a troubled mind or weary heart.
God uses scripture, music, people, nature, circumstances, dreams, visions, and countless other ways to get our attention,to speak to us, to encourage us, to transform us, to heal us, and to equip us. This week He used a violin.
I probably won’t be attending the symphony any time soon. My kitchen will be my dance floor, my phone speakers my instrument, my heart my voice. But Hallelujah is still playing in the background, I am a captive audience, and I will choose to hear each beautiful strum as preparation for a deeper work in the deepest places. And I will sing.
He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the LORD. Psalm 40:3 NLT
The children squirmed, smiled, and waved at their watching family and friends as they filed onto the stage and found their places. Excitement was in the air, eyes were wide, and ears were tuned to every sound, sign, and motion from their instructor as they awaited the first notes signaling the grand production. While two little girls alternated singing the first lines of Silent Night, my attention was drawn to a little girl on the front row, maybe six or seven, long brown hair, snaggle toothed, swaying on tippy toes, and eager for just the right moment: her moment. Her smile was exaggerated and frozen, plastered on, probably coached and rehearsed ahead of time by an excited, expectant parent. She was a cute little brown-haired, brown-eyed girl but I had the impression that she would someday be a beautiful young woman…with a big, beautiful smile. I watched her waiting, anticipating. As the older girls finished their solo lines, the music crescendoed and the entire children’s choir erupted in glorious song. It was beautiful. She was perfect, the little brown-haired girl. She was practiced, prepared, and recognized all the sounds and cues.
For hundreds of years, God’s people had heard the prophecies concerning the coming Messiah. They had years to practice, to watch, to tune their ears, to stand on tippy toes, swaying and waiting to sing and celebrate.
many lives. The New York Times recently reported that the suicide rate is at a thirty year high. The primary cause? Hopelessness. When we light the first candle of Advent, it is not to say that we have all the answers, that we have no problems, or that we have it all figured out. It is to say that we have hope. A light in the darkness. A flame burning bright. Warmth in the cold.
beautiful sunsets, rugged hiking trails, beautiful waterfalls, and countless other places. While I enjoy spending time and seeking relaxation in all these places, I sometimes find myself distracted by sights, sounds, people, activities and various plans of the day. Too often I let busyness steal my peace and drown out quiet time, inspiration, and God’s voice.
walking down the street, the vacuum, a sudden movement…Just about anything can start her barking, grumbling, and complaining. Not really sure why my mind chased that thought, but I heard myself asking “Mitzi, why do you bark so much?” She didn’t respond audibly, but immediately and clearly I heard “I just want to be heard.” No, I didn’t hallucinate and my dog isn’t particularly gifted, but at that moment, the phrase was as clear to me as the numbers on my bedside clock contrasted against the darkness of the night. “I just want to be heard.” The meaning of that simple phrase immediately unfolded like a Sunday school lesson right there in the middle of the night. God used that silly little encounter to bring to mind three distinct scriptures.
people’s lives, experiences, mistakes, and victories, it reminded me of a necklace I bought a few years ago. When I saw and ordered the pendant, I had no idea how the chain looked. It’s bold and looks like it should be in a bad music video or cheap jewelry commercial. It’s rather ugly. It’s big, it’s heavy, it’s pretty complicated. But I love the pendant. It has a classic, vintage feel, an old fashion typewriter, and the words “tell your story.” Rather ironic the more I’ve thought about it: big, ugly, heavy, complicated. Sound familiar? We all have bits of our story that fit that description: big, ugly, heavy, complicated. But the pendant is beautiful and fits just right. So are our stories: beautiful and just the right fit for just the right person.
first tiny movements inside. How much more apparent it becomes with midnight feedings, a hundred loads of laundry, and a thousand diaper changes. It’s even more evident when big brown eyes look into yours and tiny fingers hold your heart.
present, you are better able to really see, hear, learn, and know your children. You’re not only their greatest cheerleader; you also become a shepherd of their heart.
They can’t escape. The greatest lessons don’t happen in the classroom, but in the day to day moments of life when you can teach, share, and create real life and relationship. Believe it or not, they are listening.
time have proven to be never enough, but still offer glimpses into life and love and living.
Is that what I was really hearing? With every roar and crash of the tumultuous tide, my mind felt the same turbulence. It felt as if the waves were talking to me, calling me out…and in. Why are you running? Was that question for me or for the nervous little sandpiper that darted and dashed both toward and then away from the searching waves? Did it doubt its ability to fly? To swim? To navigate the rushing, unpredictable waters? I am that sandpiper, I thought. I get excited, I rush in, I get overwhelmed or consider the cost, I pull back or run away. I doubt my strength, my identity, my ability to navigate the deep unknown. Was I afraid? Was I running?
many who had walked before, near, or over my own prints in the sand. As the waves gently washed over the prints, many disappeared, leaving fresh, untouched sand. A clean slate. Yet others remained visible until they were washed again, and again, and again. Like the sometimes long journey to forgiveness. The waves were rough, it was hard, but it was cleansing. The remaining beautiful sand shone and sparkled with the radiance of the sun and the power of the cleansing waves. Still others remained long after our paths had crossed and I had moved far along the shore, not looking back. People leave footprints in our lives…tracks that are often deeply imprinted on our hearts and souls. Some are good and encourage us to follow. 
Some tread heavily with no regard to damage caused and deep tracks left behind. Are there imprints that I still guard with regret and defense? What tracks have I left behind?
Dr. Seuss also said it with simple eloquence. As thunderstorms rumbled in over the beach, I settled in for a simple teaching video, Becoming Myself. That’s where I was reminded of the wisdom of Dr. Seuss. Childlike and simple, not tangled in the lies, deceit, and false facades the world offers and encourages. What does it mean to become myself? How does it happen and when will I know it is complete? Is it ever complete? And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. 2 Cor 3:18
abstract or new. There are some who search and commit to healing at any cost: the best specialists, the most rigorous testing, intentional planning, and conscientious living. Others ignore warning signs, isolate, deny their needs and symptoms, and continue to experience a slow steady decline and loss of vitality. But there is so much more to balanced health and wellness than stable vital signs, a good report on an annual exam, and routine scheduled procedures. Obtaining and maintaining good physical health involves a day by day, one foot in front of the other journey. What about good emotional, mental, and spiritual health? Are they any less important or demand less intentional thought and attention? Are there short cuts, quick fixes, and magic elixirs and oils to soothe a troubled mind, bind a broken heart, or set a spirit free?
The Shack, by William Paul Young, was released to both raving accolades and scalding controversy. Different, edgy, imaginative.Yes, it’s fiction, but as God, yes God, met with and spoke those tender words to the struggling, hurting soul in the story, I was reminded of a phrase that my pastors frequently quote: Together is better. I attend a contemporary church that emphasizes the importance of small group ministry. I suppose it’s a phrase that I’ve heard at least a thousand times: a catch phrase, a cliche, a buzzword, good advice? More than that, it’s a direction, a building block, and a ministry. People matter. Words matter.They have meaning and consequence. Sometimes a few black and white words on a page can breathe the hope, healing, and breath of God to a hungry, hurting, searching people.
People are imperfect. They fail. They’re messy, inconvenient, and burdensome. Sometimes they unintentionally neglect, wound, scar. Other times it’s not so unintentional. Sometimes it’s deliberate, calculated, evil, and unrepentant. There is no sorry, forgive me, or I was wrong. In the book, Mack experiences a Great Sadness that is totally out of his control. He did nothing to put himself in the position of helplessness and wounding. Someone else’s hurtful thoughts, ruthless actions, and destructive sin choices thrust him into the depths of unrelenting pain and anguish. Loss and life change. In the pain, he recoiled reflexively, as if scorched by a searing flame and, in time, his scars grew thicker and colder. They created a solid exterior, tough and protective . At the same time forming a seemingly insurmountable obstacle dividing him from God and, in some ways, others. Then he had a choice. We have a choice.
Together is better. Yes, people can be messy; but people can also be the hands, feet, eyes, and words of Jesus to extend hope and healing in the valley of our Great Sadness, our daily struggles, or just our steady trodden paths. The term, the Great Sadness resonates to something deep within me. That’s a whole separate post, or ten. It doesn’t have to matter what The Great Sadness is in someone’s life: an event, a loss, a lack. The goal is healing: recognition, reconciliation, and restoration. As I’m finishing up here, I realize that this post isn’t deeply theological, philosophical, or even anything new. It also seems rather incomplete… Like I could write for days and there would still be many corners, avenues, and deep wells to explore. Some people write to entertain or to influence. I write to process. Still processing.
It’s Valentine’s Day…one simple twenty four hour period out of an 8760 hour year that has the potential to stir as many emotions as there are hearts to feel them. 24/8760. Simplified: 1/365 of a year that can cause feelings of elation and assurance that you are completely loved and appreciated. Or not. It can also be a reminder of more dark and cloudy feelings like depression, deprivation, loneliness, or loss. I’ve been all over the Valentine map: dateless and lonely, single but content, secure in a longstanding relationship, settled. There was a time when a dozen roses or box of chocolate sought to define how much I was loved, thought of, and admired.
but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 
I love that! 🙂 “This love is called out of one’s heart by qualities in another.” So it’s really okay to love my husband, my friends, my kids, and my dog. Their presence, their personalities, and their smiles call out and awaken my heart. ❤
it does not boast, it is not proud.
daily life and created a thousand still shots: mixtures of laughter, fun, relaxation, warm cups, warmer hearts, cozy mittens, scarves, and snowballs. Through filtered computer light I’ve seen pictures of snowsuits, snow boots, snowmen, snow forts, snow angels, sleds, and at least a hundred cold, smiling faces.
tangible than measured inches or levels of mercury: laughter outside, pictures on phones and computer screens: rounded red faces flushed by winter wind, puffy balls of children swaddled in warm coats and hats, brave snowmen standing proudly in the midst of their cold, humble beginnings. They all seemed to project carefree laughter and unbridled joy from a three inch still shot photo on the computer screen. What did any of those images have to do with measuring up? It didn’t take long for a barrage of questions to assault my accusing thought processes. Was I a bad mom for basking in the warmth of fuzzy blankets, inviting books, and warm, soothing coffee? Should I bundle up the kids and rush outside to make cold noses and warm memories? But wait… The kids are grown and making snowballs or enjoying quiet moments on their own. Then more questions…had I done it well, did they have good memories, why didn’t we get this much snow when they were younger and eager to play in the snow? Such simple, seemingly unimportant questions. How insidiously the comparison trap begins…
lonely woman, the defeated man, the bullied teenager, the insecure child, the dropout, the addict, the weary. I see how it tries to sneak in, unseen, into simple everyday thoughts, plans, and observations. I should have… I could have… Why didn’t I… I wish… Like cold hard snowballs thrown mercilessly by the enemy, they always seem to find a weak spot or an unguarded target.
What would it look like to find others willing to step into the cold, messy storm with us to lend a hand, to support, and to strengthen? What does it mean to take every thought captive? Frequently set aside time for a thought check and belief inventory: What do you believe? Who or what do you concede the power to define you? And a support inventory: who do you love, trust, and believe? Who will walk with you and give honest reflection of your strengths, your weaknesses, and your worth? All the voices, images, memories, and ideas we are exposed to have power to create beliefs and self-imposed definitions. Some realistic and accurate, others false, unrealistic, or even unattainable. So we compare. Or we condemn. We measure. Others and ourselves. How will you measure your worth today?
Can you think of a more appropriate title to wave like a banner over the first day of the new year? New Year: New You. Popular circles, headlines, and social media are all ablaze with talk about resolutions, words for the year, new choices, and various lifestyles that focus on self-improvement, accomplishment, or personal satisfaction. How many fitness clubs are bustling with new members who pledge their commitments to better discipline and habits? At least for a little while. How many bookstores offer stacks and displays that encourage better or trendy lifestyles and practices? Or at least offer to take up room on your already crowded bookshelf?
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