Messiah: Blessing So Many, in So Many Ways

Yesterday I was part of a wonderful experience. I had the privilege to sing with the Fox Valley Orchestra's Sing Along Messiah. My mother, sister and niece came as well.  For the first time in some 20+ years we were able to sit together to sing these pieces by George Friedrich Handel.

At the beginning of the performance/sing-along, our director gave an introduction. She commented about how each person in the audience has some kind of relationship with Handel's Messiah. Each person has a story to tell about how they came to know and love this most-famous work by this great composer. Each person can remember the first time they sang it, and they have beautiful memories that they brought with them to our performance. As we began to sing, I imagined that the air in the auditorium was thick with all of these memories. 

I loved every moment of it.  The soloists were inspiring. The mass choir was amazing. Singing the choruses, hearing my sister next to me...my niece beside her...my mother blending in beautifully...it was truly a blessing and a Christmas gift. 

As we were driving home, my mother mentioned again how one of the pieces sung by the soloists was my grandmothers favorite. She had always loved He Shall Feed His Flock. I had always known this, and it is my favorite as well. But then my mother told me a little more to that story than I had realized. 

When my mother was in high school, her father passed away.  That first autumn without him was, of course, a difficult one for her family. In December, just two months after her husband had died, my grandmother was invited by a friend from church to attend a performance of the Messiah. She took my mother along...this was to become my mother's first experience in her relationship with Handel's Messiah. 

My mother said that my grandmother cried through the entire performance. I can only imagine the different types of grief that my mother and grandmother felt during those moments.  

But as we drove home yesterday, my mother commented why He Shall Feed His Flock had become my grandmother's favorite piece:

He shall feed his flock, like a shepherd

and He shall gather in his bosom

and gently lead those that are with young. 

Come unto Him, all ye that labor

and he will give you rest.

Take his yoke upon you and learn of Him

for He is meek and lowly of heart 

and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 

What those words must have meant to her that day! How they must have laid upon her soul and her heart! Here was this young mother: suddenly thrust into taking care of her family alone, missing her husband, feeling overwhelmed with grief and life. And here was her Savior telling her that He will gather her and her children close, He will give them rest, He will take the yoke with her. He will lead her, she was not alone. 

I am so very glad our director brought our memories to mind as we began to sing yesterday.  Now I have so much more to bring to each Messiah that I sing...for years to come.  

At the end of the performance yesterday, we concluded with the Hallelujah chorus. When it was over,  my mother had tears in her eyes.  She couldn't sing the last line. Tears of joy that we were together.  Tears of joy for all the memories of the past.  Tears of joy for the blessings that God has given us through Handel's Messiah.

Amen!! All is well, all is well. 

A Morning Prayer

Dear God,

Help me today. Just help me. I need help in everything I do. Sometimes I can't form the specific words. I just know I need you. 

Help my children. Bless their days, their schoolwork, their friendships. Bless their self-esteem. Guide them. Help them feel your loving presence. 

Bless my husband. Help him with his work, his commute and his responsibilities. Guide his every decision. Wrap him in your loving presence. 

Help my day be a walk with you. Help my every moment be an ongoing conversation with you. Embrace me in your loving presence. 

Amen. 

What Makes a Woman Beautiful?

What makes a woman beautiful?

I am ashamed to even write my answers to that question, but I would begin with beautiful hair. Beautiful, long, thick wavy hair has always, always, been out of my grasp. I'm quite happy with my hair, mind you, but beautiful hair? According to my skewed sense of reality, it must be long, thick and wavy. (And I might add...no gray.)

My next answer would be beautiful skin. A clear, flawless complexion...without wrinkles.  That wrinkle bit has just lately been added to my must-have beauty checklist.

Next on the "only-attainable-in-my-dreams" list is a small, perfect little nose. I will leave it at that.

Now the big finale...a beautiful woman must hover around a size 8.  I'll give a little leeway up or down, but this is a sticking point on my stellar list.

One afternoon my daughter and I were sitting at the computer, scrolling through my Facebook feed.  Since there are constantly ads along the side of my newsfeed, by daughter made a comment about a beautiful woman in one of the ads.  I don't remember what she said, but probably something along the lines of, "Oh she's so beautiful!"

That spun us into a little conversation about beautiful women, and beautiful women that we know. As we were on my sister's Facebook page,  of course, my sweet young lady mentioned my sister, mamma milk.  I agreed with her, because her aunt is beautiful inside and out! My daughter has always adored her aunt, and all of this just made me smile with pleasure.

As we kept scrolling through my newsfeed, by daughter kept commenting on my Facebook friends. "Oh she's so pretty!" "Oh she's really beautiful!" I began to realize that she was making these comments whenever she saw a woman that she knew. The picture she saw didn't really matter, because she was mentally picturing them in real life. And even if they did or did not have long wavy hair, did or did not fit into size 8 jeans, she thought they were beautiful.

My daughter was seeing these women as beautiful because of who they are. I don't really think she even saw their outer packaging, so to speak. She saw that they are kind, loving, caring, selfless and have a heart for Christ.  These women of God would do anything for me, my family, or anyone else for that matter. They are beautiful mothers raising children to be disciples for Christ. They are beautiful for everything they've had to overcome and for the strength they have to keep on this earthly journey. They are beautiful because they reach out to my daughter in love and compassion. They are beautiful to her because she wants to be like them one day. They are beautiful to her because they have set an example of beauty that is so much more lovely than wavy hair, clear skin and size 8 jeans.

And I know that's how she sees me too.

I've been pondering this little scenario with my lovely girl for about a week now, wondering exactly how to put it onto words.  I never, never, want her image of beauty to change. I know that as she enters the tween and teen years, this will become more and more difficult to maintain.

To all my Facebook friends out there...you are all beautiful!  I realized that I completely agreed with my daughter's comments about you all.  I would never hold my friends to my ridiculous beauty standards.  I absolutely do not care if you have long wavy hair. It wouldn't make me love you any more than I already do.  And if you're a size 4 or 14, it truly doesn't matter to me! Your size doesn't affect our friendship in any way.

Thank you God, for the gift of this young lady who reminded me of how You really see us.  You really see our love for You and others.  You really see how we care and serve our friends.  You really see how we show the love of our Savior to our families, church and communities.  You really see our beauty...and its the only beauty I can every hope to possess!

For All the Saints, and My Daughter!

Sunday morning I sat in church, with my tissues safe inside my purse. It was All Saints Day, which really is a joyous occasion, but I knew I might be needing those tissues.

I had been telling my daughter how my sister and I love the hymn, For All the Saints. I told her how I get choked up when we sing it, thinking of our grandparents and other loved ones who now "in glory shine."   How it makes me cry, but really it is so very joyous! So I knew the tears would be threatening to surface as they do every year at this service. 

My, how my Heavenly Father loves to show me His greatness!  On that Sunday morning...in the front row...sitting next to my daughter...He chose to show me once again His infinitely wondrous joy, and how it is so much bigger and grander and amazing than I allow myself to realize.

That special morning was my daughter's first communion. We had been taking classes together with our pastor for a month (parents and children together), and she had been learning about the Lord's Supper.  She had been discovering what it meant for her, God's precious daughter, to come together with our congregation to share in this sacrament. She had been looking forward to this moment for two years, looking forward to being a part of this family of believers. It was special to her as an individual and also as a part of a bigger picture, Christ's church here on earth. 

During the Words of Institution, as the pastor was blessing the bread and wine, I saw my daughter open her hymnal to the front page, where there are special prayers to be said during different moments of the service.  I knew she was reading the prayer to be said before communion, and my heart gave a little squeeze of joy. 

Then she looked up at me and whispered, "I'm so happy." 

My heart shuddered with joy, and a little tear escaped.

As we were taking communion, the congregation began singing, For All the Saints. I heard our pastor speak her name as she took the wine. Christ's blood was shed for her, for me, and for every one of us. 

When we returned to our seats, I found I couldn't make my voice form a single word of the hymn. I reached for my tissues and hoped no one saw the tears on my face. I read the words in my head as the congregation sang, and each word meant something new. 

Oh blest communion, fellowship divine,

we feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

Yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

My daughter was a part of the communion of saints...all of them! My grandmother, my grandfathers, and all of those that have gone home to Heaven. They may not be here with us, but they are in everlasting communion in Heaven, rejoicing as we rejoice here on earth. She is a part of something so big, so grand and so amazing. I was filled with such joy, it was seeping out through my eyes. 

And I once again was so thankful of how God can show me His greatness, how I am 40 years old and I'm never going to stop being amazed and overwhelmed and overjoyed by Him.  How I am so thankful for this gift of my daughter (and my son two years before her, and my husband and I some 30 years ago, and my sister, and my brother in law, and my niece and nephew, and my parents and in-laws, and my cousins and aunts and uncles, and my grandparents...) who became a part of this big, grand, amazing, blest communion. His mercies will never cease. 

Amen, come Lord Jesus!

We Are the Church

Sunday morning. Wake up children.

"Brush your teeth!"
"He won't let me in the bathroom!"
"Find your socks!"
"None of my socks fit!"
"Where's my plaid shirt?"
"Its in the laundry."
"Help me with my hair!"
"Let's get in the car!"
"I'm hungry!"
"You can have a donut at church."
"I can't find my choir folder!"
("Hmmm, I think dad and I lost it...")
"Hurry to the choir room!"

Church begins. Calm. Quiet.

Prayers. Hymn. Old Testament reading.  Children rise to sing.

Tears. I'm fighting them off.

"I am the church."
"You are the church."
"We are the church together."
"All who follow Jesus, all around the world!"
"Yes, we're the church together!"

Heart swelling.  My children are a part of church.  This church.  God's church.  Elect and glorious. Not too small.  Not too young.  Important.  Valued.  Needed.  Loved.  Nurtured.  Nurturing. Disciples in training.  Disciples who teach me daily.

Sunday morning.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

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!