Music and song are inextricably linked with God's glory. Moses sang," I will sing to the Lord, for He is highly exalted." (Ex.15:1)
Deborah, the biblical judge and prophetess sang," I will sing to the Lord, I will sing; I will make music to the Lord, the God of Israel." (Judges 5:2)
David, the psalmist, sang, " It is good to praise the Lord and make music to Your name, O Most High." (Psalm 9: 1)
Dear reader, the next time you listen to a beautiful piece of music, meditate on God's greatness and thank Him for creating in you the capacity to enjoy rhythm, melody and harmony. We may not even know why some music moves us. Listen to Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings." Why is it that a few well-placed dissonances in Barber's orchestral score proceed through our ears, to be translated in our brains as pleasure so intensely sweet that tears sting our eyes?
I believe music elicits a deep longing in our souls for intimacy with our Creator. He made us; He made music. We know instinctively that music is our spirit's quest to connect with that Someone Who, similarly, longs to connect with each one of us.
Tell me what music does for you?
(all scriptures taken the Holy Bible, New International Version, copyright 1973,1978,1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Fear of Fear
"What on God's green earth was that?"
I sat at the seven-foot Kawai grand piano in Calvary's worship center on a crisp Sunday morning, 12 bars away from the final chord of my piano solo.
The most awful, nasty, atrociously horrible sensation of impending death sneaked up from behind and bludgeoned me like a sledgehammer to my brittle skull.
My field of vision funnelled, nausea gripped my innards and hot and cold shocks jolted my spine. My heart machine-gunned my chest, as if trying to breach ribs, blood vessels and flesh.
Terrible as the fear was, the thought of passing out and falling onto the piano keys in front of 500 horrified spectators was nearly as bad.
Somehow, though the piano keys and music score looked incomprehensible, my fingers limped to the finish line.
I stood up, amid applause, and made my shaky way back to my family, sitting in the pews, far stage left.
My husband put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. "That was great, honey."
I smiled at him with my mouth, but the rest of me was reliving the horror of my first panic attack.
My mind would relive that horror thousands of times over the following weeks, each time finishing with the logical question: will that happen the next time I perform?
I've later discovered that this is the greatest horror suffered by those sensitive souls afflicted by panic attacks. When/where will it happen again?
I'll be sharing more about my 17 year struggle --what works, what doesn't. I've even written a novel about a woman who battles attacks of anxiety.
How about you? Do you battle panic? How do you cope?
I sat at the seven-foot Kawai grand piano in Calvary's worship center on a crisp Sunday morning, 12 bars away from the final chord of my piano solo.
The most awful, nasty, atrociously horrible sensation of impending death sneaked up from behind and bludgeoned me like a sledgehammer to my brittle skull.
My field of vision funnelled, nausea gripped my innards and hot and cold shocks jolted my spine. My heart machine-gunned my chest, as if trying to breach ribs, blood vessels and flesh.
Terrible as the fear was, the thought of passing out and falling onto the piano keys in front of 500 horrified spectators was nearly as bad.
Somehow, though the piano keys and music score looked incomprehensible, my fingers limped to the finish line.
I stood up, amid applause, and made my shaky way back to my family, sitting in the pews, far stage left.
My husband put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. "That was great, honey."
I smiled at him with my mouth, but the rest of me was reliving the horror of my first panic attack.
My mind would relive that horror thousands of times over the following weeks, each time finishing with the logical question: will that happen the next time I perform?
I've later discovered that this is the greatest horror suffered by those sensitive souls afflicted by panic attacks. When/where will it happen again?
I'll be sharing more about my 17 year struggle --what works, what doesn't. I've even written a novel about a woman who battles attacks of anxiety.
How about you? Do you battle panic? How do you cope?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Why I like Suspense
It's just past one a.m. on a breathless, fog-shrouded night in Northern California. I'm eleven, and I should be dreaming about Jimmy, my fifth grade crush with the long, surfer dude hair, and the blue eyes rimmed by thick, dark lashes. Instead, I'm holding my breath and listening for all I'm worth because someone or something is right outside my bedroom window. I hear the brush of a body, squeezing through the narrow space between the house and the juniper tree.
I can easily pass through that narrow space. Done it tons of times. All I gotta do is open the window, scramble out onto the nearest branch of the juniper and slide down.
But this thing does not get through so easily.
I should jump out of bed and go get Daddy.
Mr. Klosten. That creepy old man who lives next door. He's always working on his garden next to our side of the property. I'll bet it's him.
What if I just tiptoed to the window and threw back the curtains? That'd give him a good scare.
But what if I saw something really creepy? Like a monster face from The Twilight Zone?
Still, I have this irrational impulse to just open the window and make a stupid face.
I really should go get Daddy. But then he'd go out there with a kitchen knife and whack the bushes and make deep, scary noises. Then whoever's out there would skedaddle really quick.
I'm just gonna lie here and imagine the worst. It wouldn't be so fun if I knew for sure it was Mr. Klosten.
I can easily pass through that narrow space. Done it tons of times. All I gotta do is open the window, scramble out onto the nearest branch of the juniper and slide down.
But this thing does not get through so easily.
I should jump out of bed and go get Daddy.
Mr. Klosten. That creepy old man who lives next door. He's always working on his garden next to our side of the property. I'll bet it's him.
What if I just tiptoed to the window and threw back the curtains? That'd give him a good scare.
But what if I saw something really creepy? Like a monster face from The Twilight Zone?
Still, I have this irrational impulse to just open the window and make a stupid face.
I really should go get Daddy. But then he'd go out there with a kitchen knife and whack the bushes and make deep, scary noises. Then whoever's out there would skedaddle really quick.
I'm just gonna lie here and imagine the worst. It wouldn't be so fun if I knew for sure it was Mr. Klosten.
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