Ever Get a Song Stuck in Your Head?

Imagine (How God Can Sing)

Imagine how God can sing
How His voice delights the universe
With a range that blends eternally
Into chords of His love.

Imagine how God can dance
Moving gracefully up to our hearts
To invite us to be intimate
And share in His joy.

And imagine how God must feel
When we move back away from Him
To design our own destinies
Living lives of desiring and fear.

Then imagine God's happiness
When a wanderer cries out to Him
For the peace that only He can give
For the grace He grants to truly live
And when the choice is made to look to Him
And finally draw near.

 Written by John Barlow Jarvis and Phillip McHugh

Thoughts on Grace Notes

Grace notes are funny little things.  They ornament and enhance the note to which they are attached, but from a position of submission and service.  By definition they cannot stand alone. Grace notes are printed much smaller than the principal note, often with a slash through the stem (ouch!). 

What's even more remarkable about grace notes, however, is that they have no mathematical value in terms of the beats per measure.  In other words, they don't count.  If you have four beats per measure, the grace notes will not be included in those four beats.  Sure, they take a small amount of time away from the note to which they are attached, but they are not factored in when writing the music.

Small, seemingly insignificant, marred, and counting for nothing... yet they're referred to as "grace notes".  Why?

"Grace" as a verb can mean the following things:  to beautify, enrich, elevate, ennoble, honour, favour, dignify, or distinguish.  A grace note does all of these things for the principal note to which it is attached.  And I begin to formulate an intention:

I want to be a grace note.  I don't mind being small, seemingly insignificant or even marred.  Counting for nothing is a harder pill to swallow.  But to beautify, enrich, elevate, ennoble, honour, favour, dignify or distinguish this amazing country which I now call home... that is what I long to do.  I know I have a long way to go, but that's okay.  If I've learned anything in the past four months, it's that questioning and defining your intentions counts for a lot.

Remembering Ray Bradbury

"Cayenne, marjoram, cinnamon."
The names of lost and fabulous cities through which storms of spice bloomed up and dusted away.
And looking at one single label on a jar...
The word was RELISH.
And he was glad he had decided to live.
RELISH! What a special name for the minced pickle sweetly crushed in its white-capped jar. The man who had named it, what a man he must have been. Roaring, stamping around, he must have tromped the joys of the world and jammed them in this jar and writ in a big hand, shouting, RELISH! For its very sound meant rolling in sweet fields with roistering chestnut mares, mouths bearded with grass, plunging your head fathoms deep in trough water so the sea poured cavernously through your head. RELISH!

- from Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury

Thank you for the many books you wrote, Mr. Bradbury, and for inspiring the imagination in all of us.

The Joys of Learning Another Language...

Today I made what might possibly be my worst Afrikaans mistake yet.  Worse than the time I said, "I would like to cook your mother for dinner." Far worse than the time I said, "You're all Englishmen!" to a group of Afrikaners.  A thousand times worse than the time I said "plakoek" instead of "vlakoek."

It is worse because it was part of a birthday greeting I was giving.  It is worse because I thought I was doing really well in learning Afrikaans.  It is worse because, well... because I'm humiliated and my pride has been mortally wounded (yes, I know, that's not necessarily a bad thing...).

What I meant to say was: Mag die volgende jaar voll met wonderlike verrassings wees.
What I actually said was:  Mag die volgende jaar voll met wonderlike verassings wees.

Do you see what's missing?  One tiny, little letter "r."  So innocent.  So inconsequential.  So vitally important!

What I meant to say was:  May the coming year be filled with wonderful surprises!
What I actually said was:  May the coming year be filled with wonderful cremations!

I think my ego just had a surprise cremation ('n verrassende verassing?)...

Matthew 14: Food for Take Away

Matthew 14 is a long, quirky chapter filled with random, disconnected stories... yet each story is a book in and of itself.  If I had to summarise what I've learned from this chapter (not an easy task), I might say something like this:

1. It's okay to withdraw for a while when processing grief or trauma.  Go hide under the covers for a day and extend a little grace to yourself.
2. If you want a good leader, be a good follower.  In other words, make it as easy as possible for them to do the right thing and not cave to pressure.
3. Don't quit before your second wind kicks in. You have more strength than you think.
4. Acknowledge your limitations, but offer what you do have - skills, time, etc.  Collaboration is a pretty cool thing.
5. Some days we're emotionally all over the place.  That's okay.  Tomorrow will be different.
6. Some queues aren't worth waiting in.  Others are.  Question why you're in the queue, and if you're in it for a good reason, wait patiently.  Good things are likely to come when it's your turn.

Matthew 14: A Really Long Queue

Matthew 14 ends with a funny little story lasting a few short verses:  Jesus lands at Gennesaret, is recognised by the people, and pretty soon everyone is bringing their sick friends and relatives to Jesus, begging him to just let them touch the edge of his cloak so they can be healed.  The chapter ends by saying, "...and all who touched it were healed."  At first glance, it seems like the people were filled with such faith that they felt they only needed to touch that which touched Jesus (his cloak) in order to be healed.  But upon second glance...

Let's do a little contemplative imagination and place ourselves in the story.  Pretend you're in the queue (it's a really long queue), waiting to be healed. It's hot, and people are starting to become impatient.  Someone shouts out, "Aww, Jesus, just take off your cloak and pass it around.  If we can touch it, we'll be healed and can all go home in time for dinner."  Jesus (who was fully God but also fully man and therefore also hot and tired) agrees. 

People clamour to touch the cloak, are healed, and leave the place jumping and dancing and generally whooping it up as people do when they are miraculously healed.  But there is a small remnant of people, still standing patiently in a queue.  Why?  Perhaps, for them, the cloak is not enough. Perhaps what they really want is Jesus himself.  You find yourself in that queue - hot, tired, but willing to wait for Jesus himself rather than the quick-fix of touching the cloak.  You wonder if it's worth it.

Finally, it's your turn.  As Jesus looks into your eyes, what do you see?  What kind of a look is it? Jesus breaks the silence (though volumes were likely spoken in His look upon you). "Why did you wait all this time when you could have just touched my cloak?" What would you say?

I sometimes wonder if I want Jesus to do things for me more than I want Jesus himself.  I'd like to reach a place where being with him - being in his presence and aware of that presence - is the end goal, regardless of anything he might do (or not do).

A Little Debussy

"Music is the expression of the movement of the waters, the play of curves described by changing breezes." - Claude Debussy

"There is nothing more musical than a sunset. He who feels what he sees will find no more beautiful example of development in all that book which, alas, musicians read but too little - the book of Nature." - Claude Debussy

You don't have to be a musician to hear the music in running water, the wind through the trees, or to see the music of a sunset.  Listen, look, and enjoy!