2015

New year, new start, new resolutions, new goals, new dreams.  I've always liked the chance for a fresh start.

This year, however, it feels different.  As I pondered yesterday over the new start coming, I was not filled with the exuberant feelings I usually have.  Instead, my prayers were answered with a feeling of trepidation.  Came the answer:

No, this will not be a year full of exciting changes, wonderful new dreams to explore.  It will not be a year where things progressively get a little better as the kids get a little older.  This is going to be a tough year for you.  This is going to be a year filled with fear and trepidation.  It will string you out physically, mentally and emotionally.

I'm not sure I want to hear this.

Hear it now, and use it for your good.  Dig in deep spiritually, be gathered under the wings of God.  Rest.  Abide.  Take cover amid the storm.  You will need a great deal of peace and there is only one giver of such peace.

Please....please.

Life moves in cycles.  There are ups and downs.  You cannot know joy without sorrow.  And you cannot know God without circumstances to drive you to him.  You will come to know him more deeply than ever before.  Go to him.

A song.  A song came on at that moment and spoke into my soul, declaring itself as a hymn for my heart this year.

Abide with me! fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens. Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day.
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away.
Change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me!

I need thy presence ev'ry passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!

God's word, to cling to:

"And there was not any light seen, neither fire, nor glimmer, neither the sun...for so great were the mists of darkness which were upon the face of the land... For the devil laugheth and his angels rejoice because of the slain...
"Behold, I am the light and the life of the world.  Arise and come forth unto me that ye may thrust your hands into my side, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth."

(excerpts from 3 Nephi 8-11, as quoted in Alex Boye's "Abide with Me!")

Benjaminugget

For a special holiday treat, I brought home a big box of Fruit Loops for the kids.  (Oh, who am I kidding.  Also for me.)  This morning as Benjamin ate and pondered his bowl of rainbow delight, he asked me:

"Where do they get Fruit Loops?"
"From the store." I replied.
"I mean, how do they get them?"
"You mean how do they make Fruit Loops?"
"Yes.  Do they catch a parrot?"
"Because of the picture of the bird on the box?" I ask, suppressing a smile.
"No.  Because they are made of many colours, just like a parrot.  Do they catch a parrot and cut it open and cut it up and make Fruit Loops?"

The musical breaking point

I love music.  I love hearing it, making it, being a part of it. Christmastime is a particularly busy time for me as a musician.  There are always recitals and concerts and cantatas and programs to write, lead, play, and participate in.  For as long as I can remember I have been asked to share my musical abilities at this time of year.

This past Sunday was no different.  Our Sunday church Christmas program was coming together a little last minute, and I was asked if I would contribute in a few ways.  I had two choir songs for which I was the pianist, and then I offered to play the violin in a piano/violin/vocal number.  This is actually a scaled back involvement for me, as I'm usually writing and coordinating, as well as playing.  But we have an unusual amount of extraordinary musical talent in our congregation, which not only eases the load but also creates beautiful opportunities to work with other musicians.

8:45 am, Sunday morning, I got a phone call.  Our organist was ill and wouldn't be able to play.  Would I mind?  No, I offered, of course not.  The Christmas hymns are familiar enough I can jump in.  Oh, and there is also a group number, a song the young women (ages 12-18) are singing, and would I accompany them also?  I tensed a little; I had not heard the song and had no idea what I was getting myself into.  But I know how often these girls practice, and to not sing would be heartbreaking.  I agreed, with more than a little trepidation.  I had choir practice at 9am, but if we ended at 9:45 and I excused myself from the prelude choir, I could run through the song once because tuning up the violin and getting all my music in order...

Then choir ran long.  Right smack up to 10am when the service was ready to start.  And since I was now on the organ for the congregation hymns, I couldn't slip out during the announcements and church business to get ready.  I scanned the music, played a couple passages and prayed I had the right feel and tempo of the piece.  Then I apologized to the Bishop as I slipped out to get my instruments and music, promising to return soon and hoping that would ease the panic look in his eyes.

Go time.

I usually find my groove in these kinds of presentations, moving between songs, taking a moment to reorient myself to the next performance and then jumping in.  But I have discovered that I have a limit, and 7 out of 9 numbers was it.  Every time I sat down in front of a piece of music, I felt my head spinning, unsure of the key, the time, the notes.  My finger memory failed.  The organ sound was getting lost in the crowd, I was standing holding my violin and still thinking about the piano.

The young women ascended to the choir seats.  My sight reading number.  I started in, maybe a little fast, but the girls' voices blended in nicely.  Not bad.  Thank goodness sight reading is my forte, and very few people would notice my lack of technical precision.

A congregation song was announced, which would start with the first verse on flute.  I sat at the organ, my friend at the piano, the flutist behind me.  Am I playing?  The piano?  For a few drawn out seconds I realized we had never talked about how this piece would go.  I was filling in for the organist and had no idea what the plan had been.  It seemed the flutist nodded to me, so I started.  She started.  Then after a line the pianist came in.  And there we were, on the stand, in front of 200 people, music improvisation.  I've heard it was beautiful, but in my muddled frame of mind it was slightly terrifying.

In the end, people seemed to love it, but as a musician I was frazzled.  I have never considered that there is a limit to the number of pieces I can perform; I've never hit it before.  But Sunday, I finally did. It was an interesting and unique musical experience.  If faced with it again, of course I would jump in to help a friend in need.  But at least I will be aware of my own limitations and try to take an extra minute here and there in the program to reorient myself more fully.  A little performance fermata.

Calebites

On the family cat:

"I was just having a little talk with Cleo (our cat). We even put our hands together for a bit. I was thinking about how she's been separated from her family for twelve years now, so that she can be with us, and how that is a little sad for her."

***

On music:

"I want to do something that makes other people happy, so I'm thinking of starting a band.  I think I should play drums, because I can always find the beat of any song.  Then maybe I'll ask Evelyn or Charlotte to play piano, Benjamin to sing, and Mom to play electric guitar.

"I already auditioned Ben.  I had him sing "O Canada" since he knows that song well.  I listened to each line, and then when he got to the end I asked him to do the last bit again, but really try to belt out the last note, but without oversinging it.  That's the real key to a good singer.

"After I auditioned everyone, I would get everyone together and ask each person to play a little bit on their instrument.  I would listen to each person's style, and whatever is the centre core, that would be our sound.

"We would have to practice a lot, and then we could put on a concert.  I'm thinking that for the first few concerts we would charge a dollar a person, which would mean we each get 25 cents from every ticket.  I think we could get about 75 people out to our first concert.  Then when we are more popular, because these people tell others about us, we could up our price to $4 a ticket so we each make $1 per ticket.

"Do you have to buy a stadium or rent one?  Once we are big enough, we could rent out a place to play, like one of the big churches in town.  And we might have to play two or three nights in a row if there were lots of people who wanted to see us.

"Once we were big enough then we could record an album.  But only once we know there are enough people who want to buy it so we can make the money back that we have to pay to the recording people.

"You know what is the best about this?  It's work, but it also is something I love.  Not everyone gets to do something they love for work.  I get to make money, be happy, and make others happy.  That's a pretty good life."

The violin

I think I have found the answer to why I have yearned for the violin all these years.  Every since I can recall, I wanted to learn to play the violin.  From when I first came to music through the piano, then to clarinet (because we already owned one) to the guitar (because it was my father's) to the flute (because a friend had one to loan me), music emerged from me in new and different ways.

The piano was an extension of my own extremities.  I pounded the keys like a percussion instrument, and then caressed a gentle song from its strings.  I learned expression, to feel and move over its length.

The clarinet brought me to the group, joined my solo voice with others to hear what it was to evoke  single chord that echoed above us.  Harmony like that can only be achieved with different voices drawn together to a magnetic centre, clinging to each other in perfect unison.

The guitar touched my imagination as I sat on the deck in sunset glow and murmured a poem while pulling out some humble chords.  It was tactile in a new way and altered the very beat of my heart to pulse in time with the rhythm.

The flute was beauty.  I found melody and song, sweet tones and wistful tunes.  It was a feature, something to stand out and above, to call out to the heart and gladden.

But when I pulled the bow down the strings of my violin, I pulled something out of my soul.  The timbre of the vibration was an echo of my own voice.  A happy tune was happy only because I fed it with my own happiness.  A mournful song was stoked with my own heartache.  34 years of living, 34 years of life, and each note on the violin reached deep within me to pull out an emotion I have grown in my own heart.

I can hardly tear myself from this near-to-living thing, because with it in my hands I am living a hundred lives.  I am almost timid to touch it, knowing the depth of an artist's emotions and the danger of subjecting myself to so much in so short a time.  To play one song, then the next, to ride a joyous high and then descend to darkness, to rise and fall within minutes of each other, I am fearful of the drug of music.  And yet I cannot pull away from this supernatural language any more than I could cease to communicate in my native tongue.

A History of God

CBC Radio steered me toward British author Karen Armstrong, and subsequently toward a documentary based on her book "A History of God."  It has been illuminating, especially in light of my last blog entry.  As Armstrong traces the history, unfolding and evolving human understanding of God, I was astonished that this phenomenon is even possible.  Because, in fact, an understanding of God is a personal one.  Faith cannot be passed from one person to the next, one generation to the next.  Faith can only be attained on an individual level, and as such always starts from zero.

I am intrigued by Armstrong's idea of Monotheism, rather than Christianity or Judaism or Islam.  The notion that any monotheistic faith, and even many of the polytheistic faiths that assert a high god, or god of gods, come from one original truth of a Supreme being.  Each religion asserts doctrine, but is that doctrine really just a collection of current understanding, based on history, culture, and experience? Are we confusing doctrine with what is actually ritual?  Even tracing the evolution of God through the bible, we can see how different generations related to God differently, worshiped differently, and therefore understood differently.

James and I had a conversation about a recent movie that explored a "fifth dimension."  I asserted that to even discuss the idea was useless, because it involved the absence of time.  The human mind is bound by time, and cannot contemplate existence not bound by its parameters.  Even our discussions on the absence of time (paradoxically) dissect it in relation to it (by saying "the absence of time" you are using time in its very definition.)  Every method James started to use to try and convey the concept of a dimension without time had some start, some end, some movement from A to B, one thought following another, the mind focussing on one thing then the next: all of these implying existing chronologically.  And so the conversation was shut down.  There was no way a time-bound mind could truly understand what it is to exist without time.

In the same way, I see that for a finite mind to understand the infinite is futile.  We have constructed ways to relate to God only in relation to our finite experience: as the one who created us, as the one who gives us instruction for life, as the one who inspires us to good.  But these again are simply ways to relate to God, not to explain or understand him.  Everything God has given us, through word or revelation, is a small attempt to give enlightenment (or appeasement) to humanity, a temporary morsel to get us through to the eternities.

"We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that's what heaven is for."

- Hilary Weeks

A faith journey is a lonely one

Every Tuesday I get together with a few good friends and we relate scriptural ideas to motherhood and being a woman.  Every Thursday I attend an interfaith bible study, a different group of eight women each year.  Every Sunday I oversee the teaching of seventy-five children.  Every day I teach my children to read from the scriptures and pray.

My faith life is filled with people.  But a faith journey is one you take alone.

I don't know what made me come to this realization this morning.  The only difference I suppose was an extra ten minutes.  I was already in the car and so I headed up to the bible study early.  Someone was already in the child care room, which is unusual.  Juliette ran on in without a second thought, also unusual.  My table was empty.  I sat down, opened my bible to Hebrews 11, and prayed each verse aloud.

Father, help me understand the power of faith, by which you framed the worlds.  Help me see that if faith can create this world, it can work the smaller things in my life.

Verse by verse.  A Hall of Faith.

Give me the faith I need to go out into the wilderness to follow where you call me, even when I don't know where I'm going.  Keep the blessing of my inheritance in the front of my mind, so that I know toward what I am travelling.

Verse by verse, 40 verses.  (40.  A significant number in the Hebrew culture  A number that signifies a large number, approximate number, like umpteen.)  Umpteen verses on examples of faith.  Lives of the past, life circumstances.  Nothing easy, only trials that seem soul crushing to endure.  Except that it had the opposite effect: it didn't crush their faith, but fortified it.

Remind me of the better country, the Heavenly city, prepared for me.  Remind me that my divine nature is stronger and older than my physical nature.

I come upon a list, a list that signifies the writer must move along, cannot touch on every single example of firmly built faith given us in the pages of the Old Testament.  I can feel the passion and faith bleeding from the ink on my page.  Here is a writer, a man, whose desire to build other's faith comes across as near desperation.  "Please!" he begs.  "You must have faith!  If nothing else you must have faith!"

subdued kingdoms

wrought righteousness

obtained promises

stopped the mouths of lions

quenched the violence of fire

escaped the edge of the sword

out of weakness made strong

valiant in fight

dead raised

tortured

cruelty and scourgings

bonds and imprisonment

stoned and beaten

tempted

killed

wanderers

destitute, afflicted, tormented

And what is my fight compared to these?  I pause and struggle to find personal meaning in such trials.  Instead, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude.

And suddenly buoyed.

The apostle Paul's fervour is catching.

I catch my breath.

My friends have arrived.  I have been moved and they sit down with their books and coffees as though the Spirit had not just breathed over the table.  I look around at these women: we have studied, learned, shared, cried, and prayed together.  We have been vulnerable because of the newness of friendship.  We have journeyed together in friendship, and yet I come to realize that that is not the same as a journey of faith.

There are not earthly words to describe my understanding, my faith.  At one time I would have chalked it up to an inability to gather the words, but now I am more likely to attribute it to the touching of heavenly and earthly realms.  It is simply a knowing.

I don't think it is possible to relate one's faith completely.  There are too many facets, too many angles, too many emotions involved.  So many, in fact, that nothing is linear.  It is the culmination of it all, doubts included.  It is a breath, a cloud, something settling over you, seeping through your pores and simply becoming you.  It cannot be expressed, hence the loneliness of the experience.  Even for all the words that Paul penned, I can feel the desperation of inadequacy.  Perhaps the best we can hope for is to inspire someone to take a step in a similar direction.

While I wander in deserts, in mountains, in dens and caves, build my faith, so that even if I don't see the blessing right now, I can know that God has something better in store.