The Limp

I am asked often about my plans for my music: have you been writing new songs?  Are you working on your next CD?  Are you trying to get on the radio?  Have you ever submitted your music to a famous singer?  Do you think you'll ever go on tour?  Do you have a lot of concerts coming up? 


Six years ago, when I began to record and perform my music, these questions confused me...and the possibilities excited me.  I have a whole journal full of entries in which I wrestled with these exact things.  But like Jacob, who literally wrestled with God and walked away with a permanent limp, I have climbed off the mat with wisdom and a certain kind of limp. 

Do you know what Jacob said before the wrestling match began? 

"I am not worthy of all the unfailing love and faithfulness you have shown to me, your servant." Gen. 32:10

This is a wise place to begin a wrestling match with God.  To know you're going to lose, but to recognize you've already won.   

I learned on the wrestling mat how to answer these curious questions.  Yes, I am always writing new songs.  God created me to receive holy stirrings and articulate them in the form of songs.  I can't think of a time since my early 20's when I haven't been crafting a song. 

Out of His storehouses, he has given me recording equipment and a talented, devoted husband/producer, so yes, I will record more CDs.  I don't worry about how many sell or take up space in my basement.  My greatest pleasure is giving them away when the Spirit moves.  I appreciate the people who are willing to pay for them so that I can put that money back into the ministry. 

When the questions turn to fame, touring, and promotion to bigger audiences, I confidently say no.  My time is better spent supporting my husband, investing in my children, and serving in my church and community.  These things produce lasting fruit.  Several times I have heard someone say, "I saw your CD for sale at someone's garage sale."  What a great reminder about things that pass away!  I always limp away from comments like that. 

Yet, I've also learned not to undervalue my contribution.  One of my songs underscored the last months of a dear child's life, as she went from hospital bed to the arms of Jesus listening repeatedly to "Would You Do This For Me."  Singing that song at her funeral was most heartwrenching.  

A two-hour concert of my music raised thousands of dollars for people in Haiti, leaving me mystified that God would use someone like me to rally a churchful of people to open their purses and share.   Again, I limp. 

I have a phrase inscribed across the wall above my piano that says, "Where words fail, music speaks."  I am thankful that God has given me opportunities to tell of His love through music, because the words alone do not come easily.  I stumble in conversations about God because they seem to fall short of His greatness without the full accompanyment.  They sound trite, like platitudes. I have friends whose anointed words flow freely, but as for me, I speak of God in "hymns and songs." 

And always the limp. 

The Morning Altar

Clean the slate, God, so I can start the day fresh.  Keep me from stupid sins, from thinking I can take over your work...Accept these words when I place them on the morning altar.  from Psalm 19, The Message

I put something on the morning altar every day.  A thanksgiving.  A plea on behalf of another.  A confession.  I need that sense of starting clean, refreshed, accepted, empowered, and full of grace and gratitude, because it doesn't take long before I'm feeling a little  

                                                dirty...guilty...defeated...negative...angry. 

Usually by noon. 

It's not like I'm completely grimy, but I feel the pureness of the morning slip away as I face life in a fallen state. 

Today I place food on the morning altar: not a spotless lamb on a stone altar, but my hour by hour choices of what goes in my mouth on the altar of prayer.  You see, this is a constant battle for me.  I am a well-informed eater and pretty much know the Weight Watchers point value of any food; I can give you a list of filling foods full of fiber and good nutrition, and I can cook up a beautiful, colorful, well-balanced, Michelle O'Bama kind of meal. 

But since I was a little girl, junk food has called to me like a harlot in the street.  It tempts me with promises like, "Just one little bite.  It won't make a difference."  But of course, one turns into many and the whole episode turns into a spiritual battle, where I say to myself, "Are you trying to feed your stomach when it's your spirit that needs a boost?"  The simple act of eating becomes a willful sin of self-indulgence. 

Forgive my hidden faults.  Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me.  Psalm 119: 12-13 NIV

I need boundary lines in pleasant places, where I co-exist in a world of tempatations, but don't over-indulge, where I find more pleasure in eating wisely than impulsively.

Everyone has private battles, but when we believe in a Mighty God who invites us to lay whatever haunts and stalks us on the morning altar, we have hope and power and victory to claim.  Oh, that I could claim it today.  And tomorrow.  And the days to come.

Life on a Rope Swing

My children spend nearly every recess break on our rope swing. 

It propels them to dizzying heights, as they launch off deckside, skim the tired blades of grass below, and soar skyward on the far side of the yard.  If they're in the proper position, they can land squarely back on the deck, or they can choose the long pendulum ride, on which the swing finally stills to the equilibrium point.

I've swooped on it myself many times.  It provides the tummy- tickling thrill I love, but by the third pass, it reminds me I am almost 40 and no longer have tolerance for pendular motion.  Somewhere on the continuum of life, I went from joyful swinging, to gentle pusher of the swinging babe, to wild underdog-giver, to happily watching from the deck chair.

In my women's Bible study last week, we passed the baton of prayer requests around the circle, and many ladies uttered the need for balance.  One wise soul told us that balance is like a pendulum...you just kind of brush by it on occasion, but never settle there for long.  Most of life is spent on the upswing or downswing, where you can feel it in your stomach. 

Gallileo figured out the pendulum, which in Latin, means "hanging."  I like the phrase "massive bob."  Yes, that phrase well describes many scenes in our lives.  Big things.

The smallish things, too, disrupt balance.  I think of the pendulum when I pass by the vacuum cleaner, which has been patiently sitting in our 2nd floor hallway for over a week.  Instead of using it, I bend to pick up plugs of dog hair, buttons and barrettes, paper scraps and mystery objects, and tell myself I should just finish vacuuming, but I don't have time because Megan needs my help in math, and there are piano students coming at 3, and the kitchen counter is crying for clearance, and what on earth did I just climb these steps to get?  Life can feel less like a pendulum and more like a brisk game of tetherball. 

I want everything done at once, running smoothly, spilling over with contentment, all needs met, with energy to spare.  Sometimes I want to be the miniature ballerina in the music box, poised lovely on tiny toes with pleasant music underscoring the day. 


Why did God place in us this longing for balance and then create the pendulum model of life? 

Perhaps balance is not worth chasing after. Could it be that the sense of well-being we long for is found in the rope we hang on to, no matter the trajectory, no matter the amplitude; the rope that is tethered  not to a limb, but to the heart of God?