Chapters

There is a book that sits in front of me. It's a book that is extremely personal. It's not something tangible, however. It's my book of life. I have been flipping back and forth through the pages in attempt to see what lies ahead. Each time I flip a page beyond where my story resides, all that is revealed remains crisp and blank.

I can flip back a few pages. I see my mistakes, my eraser shavings, and my crossed out words. All of which I have access to because the past can't be rewritten. I become frustrated in my efforts to read the end of the book. I look closer; I dig deeper--with no avail.

Then, with sudden urgency, excitement fills my mind and my heart to do one thing: begin where I left off writing. I haven't found the pencil yet, but I'll never cease to attain one to keep my book for those to read.

Life is full of chapters. I have some that are short and some that are long. I am just barely starting a grand new adventure; a twist in the plot.

And I'm ready.

Resonating Hope

Her hands were warn with work. They shook as she pet the keys of the piano. Memory gone, talent not nearly exercised enough over the last ten years. She had experience in her eyes and though a stroke took part of her memory, music still echoed in her mind. Where had she gone, whom had she known? It didn't matter. It was in her song that her fingers struggled to recall. She trembled on every note, but played from her heart.

I quietly sat and watched. Not too close. I wanted to feel of the love she had for her crudely played piece. Finally, I asked, "How long have you played?"

"Before or after the stroke? I'm 96 years old. I've played since I was 6. Then that happened. Now I sound like this. How embarrassing?" Her answer was strained with tears.

I began to reflect on my life. My notes in adventures. Would I come to a point where I didn't remember? I then told her it was time for my choir to sing for her. Elderly gathered around. Many were veterans of the home we were at.

Our words echoed through halls: Here is love unbounded; Here is all compassion; Here is mercy founded: Oh, Great Redeemer!

I went up to her afterwords, grabbed her hands, and with a joy exclaimed, "Just so you know, even if you are terrible at the piano--which you aren't-- it's the effort that counts. It's what is in your heart--and you have that faith. Thank you for teaching me that."

I have smiled ever since. We have such a blessing on this earth. We have the chance to express that Love that we feel; the Joy that we know; and the Hope that we trust. And this weekend is exactly how my loved friends and I went about that. We sang of peace through Him that loves us. We prayed through song. We laughed in joy.

This was my "happily-ever after" movie. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I regained joy, hope, peace, love, friendship, talent, prayer, and so much more.

And words of sweet song still resonate:

All of my life; all of my days; STILL not enough to sing [His] praise.

Dryer's Heartbeat

There are a lot of tedious things in this world--things that, if listed, would turn this blog into tedium at it's best. What's at the top of this list for me? Laundry--any shape, any form: folding, ironing, washing, timing, sound, the list continues.

So, I performed this mundane task: quarters in, water on, soap in, clothes in--all necessary steps for freshly scented and warm attire. Today, however, it was different.

On a normal day, I'd go back up to my room, do some sort of meaningless activity and carry on with my day while my laundry kept working on getting clean. Instead, I sat listening to the heartbeat of the dryer. It was annoying at first but then became melodic. I sat down on the chair and began to read about a close friend of mine.

In the world where I read, many suffered; many sinned; most wept. All seemed lost. There was seemingly no direction. No one knew where to turn. Amidst all of this my close friend spoke. His words were soft, tender, and so thick with tension you could see what He spoke. He spoke of His grief. He spoke of his anguish. He wanted them to change--but they didn't understand.

Then, it happened. They opened their ears to hear Him. He appeared to them in white robes; so white they pierced the eyes to the very heart. They acted, He answered. And for a moment, I felt how they felt. I felt love and gratitude for all of the heartache I've endured. I could taste the tears they shed and I could hear the words He spoke: "Arise and come forth, unto me that ye may thrust your hands into my side."

I found myself rubbing my hands together. What a divine moment it must have been? What glory and pain, regret and gratitude, love and hate! I envisioned myself feeling the prints in His hands; bathing His feet in my tears.

And suddenly, I didn't notice the relentless beating of the dryer. I felt the beating of my heart. So it's true. The Savior does live. So I'm not alone in this journey. Tonight, I become reconverted. I truly feel of His love and sacrifice for only me.

Conclusion? Laundry is tedious, annoying, and downright stupid but there are more important things in this life to be unduly concerned with: the Love and Life of Jesus Christ.

Love from Him

Love for Him

Love like Him