Clinging to His Robe?

Progression of events:

Dizziness.
Discomfort.
Worry.
Obsession.
Panic.
WebMD.
Google searches.
Self-diagnosis.
Tumor.
Near death.
Anxiety.
Doctor visit.
Actual diagnosis:
Vertigo.

The above timeline refers to actual events that took place last February and March. Look closely at the progression again. Did you find the time I prayed about what was happening? How about the moment I turned everything over to God?

Now travel back in time further to last January.  Replace "Dizziness" with "stomach pain" and "vertigo" with "GERD." Same progression of events. Same startlingly lacking prayer and trust in God.

Of course, I did pray about these things. Late at night, when most of my pointless and damaging google searching was going on, my prayers turned a bit accusatory: "God, I know you're all powerful.  I've always had faith that you can do anything. So why aren't you making these things stop, hmmm?"

I wouldn't really say that is the most faithful kind of prayer.  But you see how I pointed out to God, that I was, in fact, quite faithful.  I let Him know (just in case He had forgotten) that I was His good and faithful servant. I believed in His power and miraculous blessings. So why wasn't He giving me what I wanted?

A few weeks ago our gospel reading was from Mark 5:21-43. Here, we read the story of Jairus and how Jesus brought his daughter back to life.  I've known this story my whole life, but the part of the story that resonated with me on this particular Sunday morning was about the woman who pushed her way through the crowd just so she could touch Jesus' robe.

Just one touch. That was enough for her.  She had the unabashedly profound faith in her heart where that would be enough. It was enough. Jesus said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well: go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

Looking back over my timeline, I don't see any moments where I had that kind of faith. I see myself trying to prove my faith, but I never just turned my moments over to my Savior. His very name says that he will save me and take care of me. But that wasn't quite enough for me, no, He needed to live up to my demands. Pronto.

This is an unfortunate pattern with me. It will always be an inner battle: letting my fear get in the way of my trust.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one who suffers from this "lack of trust" disease.

I have faith. I've believed in Christ forever, but that doesn't mean I always trust in Him. What I need to be is more like that woman, clinging to Jesus' robe. I need to cling to the promise that He will keep me safe and in His hands at all times.  I know he allowed unsavory things to happen to me, but He has delivered me thorough all of them. He allowed these things to happen for a reason, and I need to trust that I will someday understand why He chose these paths.

He will deliver me whatever may come my way. His way is the best path, and I need to trust that He's a little better at planning than I am, considering He can see past, present and future. His plan is surely better than anything I could map out for myself. He knows which way to direct me, where to guide me and how to bring me safely home.

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

over life's tempestuous sea;

unknown waves before me roll,

hiding rock and treach'rous shoal;

chart and compass come from thee:

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

As a mother stills her child,

thou canst hush the ocean wild;

boist'rous waves obey thy will,

when thou say'st to them, "Be still!"

wondrous sov'reign of the sea,

Jesus, Savior, pilot me. 

When at last I near the shore,

and the fearful breakers roar,

'twixt me and the peaceful rest

then, while leaning on Thy breast

may I hear Thee say to me,

"Fear not, I will pilot Thee."

(by Edward Hopper, 1871...
and still beautiful today...)

The Most Spectacular Score

...and by score, I mean musical score.  G. Schirmer's Edition of The Messiah by G. F. Handel.  It is reprinted, of course, but the original copyright is 1912. Which is actually somewhat new, considering Handel debuted his masterpiece on April 13, 1742.

I love my score.  I mean, really love my score. Here is a snapshot of me and my score:

My score and I get up close and personal during the Christmas season. As you can see, I most thoroughly enjoy placing colorful tabs on all the major choruses. I scribble notes and anecdotes from clever and brilliant directors as they guide me through its measures. During
Advent, Christmas and Easter this bad boy feels the love.

But lately I've had it hanging around my computer table. I was singing the Air for soprano, How Beautiful are the Feet. It is so absolutely lovely, that I must include a link for your listening ears! I was carefully focusing on my technique as I sang along to the accompaniment. I was  diligently focusing on pitch, dynamics, tone, vowels, resonance, eeek! Like patting my head and rubbing my stomach at the same time, I have a difficult time bringing forth all these elements together to make a beautiful sound. If I concentrate on one, I forget another.  Its a work in progress which I may never complete, but I am in love with the process.

So here my score sits by my beloved Mac (he and I are on a first-name basis). The children are sleeping upstairs, the house is quiet, and I sit down to write. I glance over at my Messiah. Suddenly I know what to write about: the beautiful feet.

How beautiful are the feet of them 

that preach the gospel of peace, 

and bring glad tidings of good things!

This Air for Soprano is taken from Isaiah 52:7, "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those that bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, "Your God reigns!"

I smile as I recall some of God's servants in my life who have embodied these words: these beautiful, humble people who have so greatly loved their Heavenly Father. I remember how my parents brought me to church to learn of my savior, how they taught me to pray, how they were the first ones to truly preach the gospel of peace to my listening ears. I remember my teachers at Trinity Lutheran School, and how they guided me on my first journeys through the bible. I remember my grandmother, who unabashedly preached the glad tidings, and who showed me the joy of loving Christ. I remember high school teachers, college professors, pastors and choir directors. I recall neighbors, friends, celebrities and strangers. How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace! 

I will never be able to see inside the brilliant mind of George Friedrich Handel. I will never know his intentions behind composing some of the most profoundly meaningful music for Christians.  But as I sing his words and music, I realize that he has preached the gospel of peace. He has brought glad tidings and proclaimed salvation. He has reminded me to be thankful for those who live their lives in order to bring others to Christ. He has reminded me that I, too, want to have beautiful feet! Beautiful feet that preach the gospel of Peace!