The Leader of the Band

I am a musician’s daughter.  Both of my parents are talented in their own rites.  My mother has played piano for 47 years now but can’t read music.  She can, however, hear a Mozart piece and recreate it effortlessly.  My father, however, has dedicated his life to music.  He started band when he was a child in school, played all throughout college and even after with music groups large and small.  He majored (and then mastered) in Music Education and has been a band director for 25 years or more.

When I was a kid some of my earliest memories take place in band classrooms and concert auditoriums and football fields and churches.  I know my dad feels guilty that my memories are comprised of this but I wish he wouldn’t.  They are good memories.  I used to love climbing under the bleachers, even though I wasn’t supposed to– I was never much of a rule follower.  And there was this big hill outside of the auditorium of one of the schools that I used to love to roll down.  I can’t remember if I was allowed to do this either, but I’m betting I wasn’t.  Dad used to sit in his pajamas in his recliner in the living room with a stack of cassette tapes and an arranging book across his lap arranging pieces of music for his bands.  He would play some of the cassettes from other band concerts he’d recorded, too… not all of those performances were spectacular, and even as a toddler I was very verbal about the fact that those bands weren’t very good.

As I got older I had more memories of my dad fixing students’ instruments on the spot (he’s very handy at fixing most anything) and of him tuning instruments or giving private lessons.  When my brother was in band in high school they would warm up before taking the field in a semicircle around the director.  They’d play their scales and then play a series of chords.  While other people in the stands heard scales, I heard my childhood and remembered my dad doing that when I was younger.  He was the luckiest person in the world in my five-year-old eyes to be able to stand there and have all of those beautifully tuned notes directed straight at him.  There’s something about those chords, those harmonies, that still can bring me to tears, because my dad was and continues to be the man who taught me that music is more than just calculated noise.

I learned a lot about God through music.  I feel God most through music even still.

This morning at church the band had a man who played brass and percussion and even at one point he played flute.  It ministered to my soul in a way that the words on the screen could not, and I choked back tears.  It just goes to show that you can take your kids to church, you can read the Bible all day, and while those things are wonderful, sometimes showing your kids Christ’s perfect love through the things you love can be the best way to lead them to Christ.

I hope I have the opportunity one day to carry on this legacy someday.

The Germany Dream continues.

I have not written in a while.  This is not because the Lord has not been working hard within me (within US!).  He indeed has been moving, sowing seeds of desire in my heart for the things that he wants for our lives.

As of now, this does not include a child.  At first I was hurt by this, and I still cry every single time a friend of mine gets pregnant, not because I’m not happy for her, but because it is easy to feel a void in that department when it’s something you want so badly.

In the meantime God has really been leading us elsewhere.

You remember my Missions-in-Germany revelation?  God has really been pulling at those strings again.  On the way to church this morning I was listening to the song below by Clueso about former East Germany and how melancholy it can still feel because of its past (in some areas).  I will translate a part of it at the bottom of this post.  More than that, Pastor Nick Park spoke in service today on Europe and some of the issues post-Christendom Christianity provides in a setting with such rich history.  I was taken back, and I think I’ve mentioned this here before, to the churches and cathedrals I visited when I lived there, which were so beautifully crafted and so artistically decorated.  There are thousands of churches, and so few people who pray.

I love that the series we started at Renovatus today is called Exile.  My initial thoughts on evangelism in Germany included phrases like “definitely impossible” and “I’ll look like a fool.”  God responded with phrases like “try me” and “bring it on.”  The series on Exile revolves around the idea that the church is stretched and grown in the darkness, like a turnip.  In times of trial the body of Christ is allowed to respond in such a powerful way that can’t necessarily be achieved when things are easy and the Land is plentiful.  I am obviously paraphrasing, but the sermon by Pastor Jonathan Martin at Renovatus this morning was powerful. Podcast it!

And if the Holy Spirit wasn’t speaking loudly enough, I got an email a few days ago from a friend who is leading a missions team to a short-term project in Germany in the summer or fall of 2011.  I hear you, Lord!  We are standing by on that front, as it is far in the future and is yet to be scheduled or planned. More prayer is definitely required to make sure this is the Lord’s will and not ours.

My husband has definitely been hearing from the Holy Spirit in regards to the Germany plight.  He has never been to Europe at all, and does not have the frame of reference nor the fear of rejection that I do.  He is beginning discipleship classes through our church, and I really hope and pray that the Holy Spirit will show up to him in such a powerful way.

Pray with us as we continue to seek God’s will for our lives, whether it’s in Germany or across the street.

Clueso- Geisterstadt  Ghost town (a loose translation)
aus Gräben ragen Kräne  Cranes emerge from graves
ein Fähnchen weht dort oben  A pennant waves up above
und winkt aus gold’nen Zeiten  And waves from the good ol’ days
als hier noch jemand wohnte  As if someone still lived here

Dreck unter meinen Füßen  Filth beneath my feet
verschwindet mit dem Regen  is washed away with the rain

Signed, sealed, delivered.

I have been struggling lately. I have been overwhelmed lately with who I was before I met my husband, the things I did and the people I spent time near in my late teens. It has been devastating reliving my mistakes from before I came to really know Christ and his forgiving, graceful, gentle love.

I don’t try to pretend that I was born sinless and that I lived a pious, honorable life. We all sin, but I really KNOW sin, and I an ashamed when I think about how well-formed my relationship with sin really was.

I have a tendency to believe that others’ opinions of me or even my own opinions of myself should define who I am now. But who I am now is not who I was. I have been forgiven of those harmful things I did to myself, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I shouldn’t have to feel that shame anymore if I’ve been delivered from it, forgiven for it, and set free.

Please keep me in your prayers as I continue to battle with the temptation to be defined and minimized by what others think of me and what the enemy wants me to believe.

Lifelong friendship

Today, my grandmother’s best friend was buried.  She was like grandmother to me, too, because they were pretty inseparable.  In the summers when I would visit we used to sit and watch soaps while shelling peas in big buckets.  It made me feel like a grown-up, sitting there with those women, like I was one of them.  Every time you’d visit she’d try to feed you something.  If she knew I was in town she would have a pitcher of tea ready, too– she made the best sweet tea.

I wasn’t able to make the funeral, but I hurt for my grandmother– they’ve been best friends for sixty plus years.  I can’t even comprehend that kind of love.  In this day and age our friends change as often as our lives change, with the exception of the occasional true friends that are still out there to be found.  These old gals were lifelong friends, the real kind of friends, who saw each other often, bickered occasionally, and loved each other anyway.

May we all aim to be that kind of friend.
May we all find at least one friend like that.

She will be very missed.

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

This morning my mind was going going going while I was at church sitting next to my husband and among friends from our CLG. Here are a collection of my Sunday thoughts in ramble format.

This week my family has seen many answers to prayer unfold. It has been rewarding to see some promises fulfilled and to be reminded of God’s faithfulness in the present. Also I was completely in awe of God this morning as he reminded me that His grace is not quota-bound. You know how you always hear that cops have a quota of tickets they are supposed to write each month? I’m not sure if that’s true. But what I realized this morning is that God definitely does not operate in that way, bound by human expectations. We are bred to want everything all at once but there is often doubt when it comes to God’s ability to grant us that. There is not a grace cap-off that limits Him, which is cool. I guess this is extremely elementary but I just experienced this revelation in an entirely new way this morning.

My husband and I are still having difficulty conceiving as of now, but we have charted a path for the near future which will include surgery soon. Our prayer is that we will have wisdom as we navigate the world of doctors and options and medications. We are still believing in the promises of God and trying to ignore the naysaying of those who accidentally or intentionally discourage us. More than anything we are understanding now more than ever that through Christ all things are possible (it isn’t just a verse, it’s truth!)

And thank God for that.

What God has to say about what the world says.

Here are the things the world wants my husband and me to believe:

1. Children of divorce are bound to get divorced themselves.

2. Couples enduring infertility issues are more likely to break up.

3. Adults who were abused as children are more likely to abuse their own kids.

4. We will never be anything but flat broke.

And then there are the promises of God, to prosper us and not to harm us, that even the infertile woman is a child of promise and should rejoice in that (Galatians 4:27-28), that instead of casting judgment He is merciful and faithful throughout the generations (Luke 1:50, Psalm 100:5), that both the poor and the rich are part of His beloved creation (Proverbs 22:7) and that He raises the poor from the dust (Psalm 113:7), that even the hairs on our heads have been numbered (Matthew 10:30), and that His mercies are new each morning (Lamentations 3:23).

Praise the Lord that I don’t have to listen to what they say about me. Statistics are meaningless and insignificant data that tell you only what has been true of the past. But as Christians, when we shed our old lives, we shed the laws of the world we live in and, in return, should bathe daily in these promises, which speak not of our pasts but of our futures.

Hoping vs. Coping

I don’t know how I am going to navigate this post, or if I effectively will be able to convey the message I’m trying to convey… but I will try.

The last two days have been very topsy-turvy in my life.  I’m finding that one of the hardest things to do is hope these days.  Not because I don’t have anything to hope for.  But it’s scary, because hoping doesn’t always lead to that which I seek.  In fact, it could leave me raw and weathered and devastated.  And still the Word tells me to hope.

Romans 12:12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

Many argue that there is always hope, that hope never runs out.  Maybe this is true, but hope gets tricky.  Sometimes I am anxious and hopeful at the same time.  Sometimes hope doesn’t calm my nerves like a heating pad to a back ache.  And sometimes I feel like I’m doing an excellent job at maintaining hope, and then I realize that I’m really just getting by.  I’m doing the day-to-day routine and saying things like My hope is in you, Lord.  Then I so quickly forget that saying it is great, but doing it is what gives me peace.  I’m coping.  I’m getting along.  I’m scraping the surface of the bare minimum.  I’m emotionally stifled and yet I cry at every opportunity.

I’m in a place right now where I’m feeling really stuck and helpless and heartbroken and humbled, and I’m really having to be still and wait on the Lord to do His thing.  It’s something I’m struggling with: hoping instead of coping.  And really, I just needed to share that with someone.

Head-first, fearless.

Now that I’ve got that Taylor Swift song stuck in your head…

Chad and I have taken the plunge and joined a community life group, much like a small group at other churches and colleges. This is a big deal. Really big for us. For two years we attended Renovatus undetected and totally satisfied with that.

Tonight I tried a few new things, which all were surprisingly great:

1. Vegan pizza (Divine. Mystic, if you will…)
2 Jumping into and embracing community
3. Opening up enough to be embraced

My prayer is that the Lord leads our group in the direction it needs to go, that Chad and I find dear friends in these people and they in us, and that God leads our leaders.

The last evening of my 22nd year was well spent, in fellowship, eating delicious vegan pizza. Thank you, Lord.

Rain, rain, go away

Tomorrow I start serving in the nursery at church.  This choice was NOT my choice… it was most definitely all God’s idea.  At the end of working with children all week there are moments where I’m childrened out and need a break.  But for a long time I had been asking God where he wanted me.

What I realized through this is that God gave me a gift to be able to communicate with children and really relate to them.  Why waste that gift to further his kingdom just because I’m tired?

This God-ordained task will be particularly challenging for me, as almost every woman in our church is either pregnant or has small children or both.  So maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it seems that way sometimes.  That’s been a struggle for my husband and I in recent times, trying to get pregnant and failing month after month after month.  I will confess that I felt a little angry that God would call me to confront my heartache like that.

Perhaps this is God preparing my heart and our life together to bless the child he will give us.  I believe that this is the case.

I’m nervous about tomorrow, and I need a good cry, but I know my God is with me.

What a blessing it is to have been called to this ministry, to any ministry.  What a blessing it is to have been called at all.

From protest to praise

There are protesters uptown who are using hate in order to push people away from love while preaching love.

While I don’t want to give them any attention whatsoever, I must say that this spirit of division is easy. It is the easiest thing in the world to find differences and pick at them like scabs. But just like picking scabs, it interferes with healing. It takes courage to find common ground and build bridges.

What saddens me most is not their message nor their method, but their sheer lack of understanding of who God is and maybe even how much he loves them– all of them– and not because they’ve earned it. None of us have earned it.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is that everyone has had to make tough decisions, and these people are trying to say that God isn’t there in those times. But what happened to grace? to forgiveness? to hope? The time they are spending promoting guilt could be better used, at the very least, praying that the women at the abortion clinics will feel the presence of Christ in those tough moments where big decisions have to be made.