The Symphony of My Days

I sit on the little bench pulled close to the keyboard. My heart is pounding; my hands shaking. I have practiced the music for hours. I know the notes, the rhythm. She sits close beside, this teacher who is friend - filled with such grace and kindness. I fumble my way through the song, heart sinking. It sounds as though I never practiced a note, and I am so discouraged - yet again.

I apologize for notes played wrong, and she smiles, says it is fine. Gently she encourages me to stop being so hard on myself - to let perfectionism go. It is all right not to play it exactly as written - to miss a note here and there. I nod agreement all the while knowing that, although she is right, I will still try to get it right.

It is a life-long habit, this trying to win approval by being as good as I possibly can. It is an exercise in futility. I will never be all things to all people. I will fail; I will be wrong (oh dear!); there will be some people who just plain don't like me. But the striving has gotten me into places I never wanted to go. So I ask Him to change this perfectionist heart. And He gives me a picture:

I see Him, long before I was conceived, sitting with pen in hand and a long roll of blank sheet music before Him. He looks ahead in time, my life playing out in its entirety. He dips His pen in the ink and begins to write the symphony of my days.

The melody takes form - beautiful and lilting - until a discordant note makes its way onto the staff. Instead of reaching for the white-out, He continues forming notes on lines and spaces, some lovely some so out of tune.

He doesn't crumble up the paper in frustration and toss it in the trash. He keeps composing - incorporating the notes made up of the wrong choices, failures and rebellion of an all-too-human heart into the song.

When He is finished, He picks up the music and seats Himself at the grand piano. I wait, heart pounding, to hear the discordant music of my life. His hands move gently over the keyboard and liquid notes pour into the room - a beautiful melody of grace and love.

He turns to me and holds my gaze with eyes that look deep within my heart and simply nods slowly.

Linking to Emily's imperfect prose today



Blessings,
Linda

Poetry in Motion

Look who came to visit yesterday:

I think the drought has made us the only "watering hole" in the neighborhood.

I had a poem dancing around in my head this morning, but then I glanced out the bedroom window. There they were again, and the Master Poet was busily writing a more eloquent poem than I ever could.

Given to us with joy and grace by a loving Father.

linking to One Stop Poetry today - they are celebrating their first anniversary!

Blessings,
Linda

A Letter to God

Dear Lord,

It's me, and it's the same old thing. I thought I'd better talk to You about it. It's festering, and I know it will only spread its poison deep into my heart if I don't.

I had such hope when I reached out that last time. I told myself not to expect too much, not to expect anything at all really, but my heart just doesn't seem to listen to my head. I waited with hope for a long time, going over all the valid reasons why it wasn't sensible to expect an answer. But then I began to feel the hurt and resentment bubble up from down deep inside.

I tried Father, I really did. I even wrote a poem about not letting feelings rule my heart. I knew what You wanted me to do. I am so slow to learn. I looked again  this morning. When there was nothing there, I just let the feelings overwhelm me.

It is amazing the way one emotion snowballs into another, gathering momentum and size the longer I allow it to roll unhindered by wisdom or reason. Disappointment, to anger, to bitterness to discouragement, to a turning inward that shuts everything else down. It begins to color every area of my life until all I see is covered in shadow.

I began to rattle off the list of things I would never do again, the ways I would never put myself out there again, the ways I was such a failure. And then You reminded me:

A conversation with my daughter - just a few short days ago - when she was so upset with a friend that amidst a shower of tears she declared the friendship over. When the anger subsided a bit, she admitted there was just the slightest chance there may have been a misunderstanding, a reasonable explanation. I dispensed my dose of motherly wisdom, and she wrote to the friend. The misunderstanding was cleared up and the friendship salvaged.

Before she wrote that letter, I told her there was always the possibility that it wouldn't be - that the hurt might have been deliberate. Then there could have been forgiveness - even if there had been no apology. We always have that choice. When we chose to forgive, even under those circumstances, we let go of the anger and bitterness that hurt us far more than the other person.

Thank You for reminding me. Thank You for Your infinite patience with this oh so slow to learn daughter. Forgive me for letting my feelings take precedence over my faith. I know the enemy likes nothing better. Look how far off course I let him take me.

I'm giving this to You - yet again Father. I don't want to ever take it back again. I don't imagine the situation will change, but I choose to embrace forgiveness and grace. They are the gifts You have given me in abundance. How could I withhold them from anyone else?

 Ephesians 4:31-32

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you."

With deep reverence and love,
Linda

picture:Henriette Browne, 'A Girl Writing', oil painting, about 1860-1880. Museum no. 1083-1886

Fairest Lord Jesus

This week I'm highlighting one of my favorite hymns. It's history is a bit cloudy. Thought to be written around 1607 by German Jesuits, it first appeared in print anonymously in 1677 in a German Roman Catholic publication. Of the four verses the first three were translated from German and the last added, in English in 1873, by Lutheran Pastor Joseph A. Seiss.


Fairest Lord Jesus

Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all nature,
Thee will I cherish, Thee will I honor,
Thou, my soul's glory, joy and crown.

Fair are the meadows, fairer still the woodlands,
Robed in the blooming garb of spring;
Jesus is fairer, Jesus is purer,
Who makes the woeful heart to sing.

Fair is the sunshine, fairer still the moonlight,
And all the twinkling starry host;
Jesus shines brighter, Jesus shines purer
Than all the angels heaven can boast.

Beautiful Savior! Lord of all the nations!
Son of God and Son of Man!
Glory and honor, praise, adoration,
Now and forever more be Thine.



Blessings,
Linda

Wonder/ Five-Minute Friday

Our Five-Minute Friday prompt is "wonder". (Just five minutes of writing without planning or editing!)

go:

Another drought. The rains that filled the lakes and streams last fall seemed to disappear, and only a few inches have fallen so far this year. The earth is cracked and dry and the beds of rivers and creeks lie exposed to the unrelenting sun. We look to the heavens and cry out for rain. For days, weeks, months we cry out to God for rain.

Last time I wondered if He heard - became anxious and fearful that for some reason He was punishing me, turning a dear ear. But the rains did come; they came in abundance. I was so thankful - and perhaps this slow learner was even a bit wiser.

This time I didn't wonder, but oh how I prayed. Two nights ago, as I lay down, I saw the faintest light flash across the dark sky. I couldn't sleep. I prayed and prayed. The lightning increased in frequency and then came the distant roll of thunder. The trees trembled - and the rains came.

I got out of bed and walked to the big kitchen windows and watched in wonder as answered prayer poured from the heavens. Wonder that He would hear and answer prayer; that He loved us enough to see the parched earth and send down life-giving rain. He is a wonder- more wonderful than mere words can express.

stop



Blessings,
Linda

Feelings and Faith

Her name is Feelings.
She dances onto center stage of my heart
twirling, glittering
pushing the Other into darkened corner,
beautiful face hidden from view.
I wait to see.
Will her perfect features light
the stage
Or will she be wearing
one of those masks?

Her mask of Discouragement,
with down-turned mouth
and hooded eyes,
portends a day heavy and dark,
words of condemnation
ringing in my ears.

Worry's mask, eyes anxiously
looking all around,
foretells hours of
imagined terrors,
a frantic trying to
gain control.

The eyes in the mask of fear
cause me to look away,
to long for a place
of safety
to hide behind voice
loudly spewing words
that hurt and demean.

With sigh of relief
I see she wears the
mask of happiness and
satisfaction today;
together we will chase
joy at breakneck speed,
stuff the other masks
behind her back
and let self have her way.

The other waits quietly
in darkened corner;
waits for awakening
to the truth
that Feelings is a false friend,
her promises empty
her ways destructive.

Faith waits,
face serene and glowing,
feet firmly grounded
on Words that have
stood the test of time;
on the testimony of lives transformed,
filled with joy, peace and contentment.
She waits to take center stage.

linking to Emily's imperfect prose today





Blessings,
Linda

A Divine Encounter

As soon as we arrive home from a trip out of town, we collect our suitcases from the baggage claim area, walk them out to the parking lot, load them in trunk, pile into the car and head to the Alamo Cafe - nearly every time. The Tex-Mex food calls our names, welcoming us back home to Texas.

We walk past the fountains bordering the path and step through the doors. There they are right behind the glass - fresh tortillas making their way through the fascinating machine that takes the round balls of dough and presses them flat. The baskets of tortilla chips sit on shelves waiting to accompany us to our tables.

Although we've been there countless times, we cannot resist looking up at the ceiling. There a blue sky and white fluffy clouds transition from sunrise to sunset as special lightning makes its way across the length of the restaurant.

A wall of noise meets us as we make our way down the gentle slope that runs along a little indoor waterway. Everyone seems to be talking at once. It is this, the feeling of family, as well as the delicious food that welcomes us home.

We hadn't been on a trip away from home, but we made our way there last Saturday evening after church - because, after all, you just have to every so often. Our hostess took us to our table in the center of the large dining room, leading the way with chips and salsa. As soon as I was seated, she caught my eye.

Seated at the table next to us was a young father with two little girls. One with lovely golden skin and shiny black hair, the other fair with hair that curled gently around her face. She was flirting outrageously with the older man seated behind us. He was so taken with her. I think she was around two - perhaps a bit younger. Her little sister didn't look more than a year younger.

Dad was doing very well with his girls - doling out little morsels of food, soothing the occasional cries. Then Mom came to the table - with another little girl who looked very much like the baby. She was about the same age as the little flirt. I, being a very well brought up lady, tried really hard not to stare, but I was so fascinated. The three girls were so close in age, it must have been a bit like having triplets.

Mom didn't get to stay in her seat for more than a few minutes at a time - taking one after the other to the rest room, retrieving dropped cups and feeding the little one. Dad was very busy too. The girls were so good with only a little bit of crying every now and then. At one point the young father looked at me (I guess I wasn't as subtle as I had hoped to be) and said, "I'm sorry for all the noise and mess."

I just smiled, "I think you're doing a wonderful job."

And they were. They never seemed upset or flustered. They were so patient and good humored.

We talked for a few minutes and discovered that all three of the children had been adopted. The two little dark-haired girls were siblings. Apparently the timing of the adoptions had taken them by surprise, but they were obviously smitten with their sweet daughters.

"It wasn't quite the way we had planned," she said, "but it was God's plan."

Ah yes, God's plan, and His plans are always good.

We finished our meal a bit before them, said good-by and walked out to the parking lot.

"I should have paid for their dinner," my husband said as we got to the car.

"I think they're still there."

They were. He did. We were so blessed.

Blessings,
Linda