Name That Tune!

          While shopping on eBay, I discovered a music box that caught my eye. Confession: I have a weakness for them, so any excuse to buy one works for me.

          Hmm, maybe my daughter-in-law would love this for Christmas! So, I read the ad to make sure this music box was in good working order and to find out what song it played because no title was listed.

          I never buy a music box without knowing what it plays. I mean, who wants the run-of-the-mill Memories, Happy Birthday, or Row Row Row Your Boat unless that’s actually what you’re after? Not this gal.

          I quickly jotted off a memo to the seller: “Can you please tell me what song this music box plays? Thank you. –Sarah”

          The next morning, I was pleased to find a response, although a tad unusual. It went like this: “Hi. Thank you for your interest in our item. Here’s the crazy thing: I recognize the song it plays, but I have no idea what it is. I feel like it’s a wedding song but not Here Comes the Bride. I will try to upload a video of the song for you tomorrow. Blessings! –Millie”

          …to which I replied: “OK. I’d be very interested in knowing. Thank you. –Sarah”

          The next day I received another note saying the seller couldn’t send me the video, so she’d upload it into the eBay ad, which could take up to 48 hours to appear. Included with this explanation was this: “Hi again, Sarah! I’m so embarrassed to do this, but if you pronounce it out loud the song goes:

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DOOOO-DA-DO!

 

…If that rings a bell. Not sure if that’s any help at all, or if I just sound like a moron. I just cringed at myself. Ugh! –Millie”

          I laughed so hard and had to read the conversation to my hubby. He too lost it! We were in hysterics, sitting here DO-DO-DOing and even trying to figure it out. Oh my!

          Well, that deserved a response: “Millie, yup, you do sound like a moron—or like ME! Maybe a little Twilight-Zonish! I’ll keep checking the eBay ad for the video.”

          Thankfully, eBay got with the program, and the video appeared. I played it so Brian could hear it too, thinking I might not recognize what DO-DO-DO-DO, etc. really meant. We were pleasantly surprised, recognizing it immediately.

          A win/win! I quickly clicked the BUY-IT-NOW button and finished checking out!

          Once more I received a note from the seller: “Thank you for your purchase! I hope you do know the song with my horrible effort to get the melody to you. Many blessings! –Millie”

          I wrote to thank the seller and let her know: “Millie, the song is PERFECT! It’s from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony but also the tune used for the hymn Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee. Hey, did we win the game show, Name That Tune? Is there a prize? Anyway, it will make a fantastic Christmas gift. Yeah, I’m coo-coo for shopping in July!”

          “Sarah, glad the song uploaded. I know about that game show, but unfortunately I don’t have a further prize. 😊 Maybe fast shipping??? Haha! It’s shipping out today. Thank you. –Millie”

          But Millie did give us a prize! You see, she didn’t know we needed to laugh the days these exchanges took place. We’d been burdened down with several hardships the previous week and leading up to that day. So, she totally made our day!

          Better yet, God knew we needed laughter—joy too! He gave us that, and the mail carrier will give us the package from Millie soon. In the meantime, here are the lyrics to the song this music box plays:

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love;

Hearts unfold like flow’rs before Thee, op’ning to the sun above.

Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away;

Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day!

 

All Thy works with joy surround Thee, Earth and heav’n reflect Thy rays,

Stars and angels sing around Thee, Center of unbroken praise;

Field and forest, vale and mountain, flow’ry meadow, flashing sea,

Chanting bird and flowing fountain praising Thee eternally!

 

Always giving and forgiving, ever blessing, ever blest,

Well-spring of the joy of living, ocean-depth of happy rest!

Loving Father, Christ our brother, let Thy light upon us shine;

Teach us how to love each other, lift us to the joy divine.

 

Mortals, join the mighty chorus, which the morning stars began;

God’s own love is reigning o’er us, joining people hand in hand.

Ever singing, march we onward, victors in the midst of strife;

Joyful music leads us sunward in the triumph song of life.*

OR…

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DO-DO-DO-DO,

DOOOO-DA-DO!

😊

 

          Of course, we’ll have to wind the music box many times to get all those DO-DO and DOOOO, DA-DOs in there! After all, how can we expect such a little box to hold all that!

 

          “Awe, Sarah, you are awesome. We appreciate you. The real “prize” was the embarrassment of trying to ‘DO-DO-DO’ the song for you! Bahahahahaha. Ugh! 😊 The music box is in the mail. I hope you and your very lucky daughter-in-law just love it! –Millie”

          We will!

 

*from the hymn Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee, lyrics by Henry Van Dyke, 1907 and

music by Ludwig van Beethoven written between 1822 & 1824, public domain

 

#musicbox #ChristmasinJuly #eBay #laughter #Beethoven #NameThatTune #joy #Godthegiver

Photo credit: “Millie” of Maryland

My Tattoo

          Would you like to hear about my tattoo? Well, don’t hold your breath because I don’t have one, although I confess—I’ve considered the idea.

          Choice of design? Only one. Simple yet filled with meaning. For, you see, I learned of a people who bear the same tattoo on the inside of their wrists, all with very good reason.

          The Coptic Christians in northern Africa (primarily Egypt with Sudan coming in next). This group of believers, although differing from my foundation in doctrine and interpretation of sacraments, do love God, yet they live in an area of the world where they risk persecution—even unto death—by those of a different belief system. The history of this persecutions reaches back to 640 A.D.

          The Coptic Christians so revere God that they wished to be identified with Him—thus, a tattooed cross. A visible mark of their resilience. Not only did they desire this mark, constantly reminding them of their commitment, but they also use it as “backward insurance.” A death sentence.

          Can you imagine?

          You see, these people know they risk being persecuted, and many—when faced with “deny your faith or die”—wondered if they’d stand firm. With no mark inked into their arm (where the enemy would certainly look) they could falter and say, “I never knew Him.”

          But with the tattoo they could not deny the faith—because, even if their mouths failed to claim Christ, their marks would assure they’d be unable to. Yes, “backward insurance”—possible death if they wavered.

          So, that’s why I’ve considered taking the cross—in solidarity and also as a vow to hold firm to my faith, even under threat of death—like these persecuted Christians because I’ve also wondered if faced with denying my faith to preserve my life, would the mark assure my allegiance to Jesus?

          If I were ever asked to turn against Jesus Christ in exchange for my life, would I? I would say, “Unequivocally no!” Yet, just like the Copts (as they are called), do I know for certain I wouldn’t pull-a-Peter? How do I know unless the enemy shows up at our door and we’re put to the test?

          Do I need a tattoo to identify with Christ? No. Really, if my life doesn’t shine for Him each day, then how will those around me—friend or foe—know I bear His mark? The one that’s in my heart and the place where He lives within me?

          Here’s the rub: I love the Lord and want to be like Him. I want others to look at me and see Christ. I also want my actions to draw people to seek His Kingdom.

          If I keep growing closer to the Lord, then I believe I’ll be less likely to deny Him. But Peter didn’t think he would, and look what happened with him! He who was close to Jesus.

          So, getting a Coptic cross tattoo is still on the table in my thinking. But may I ever be mindful of what’s most important—that God has stamped His image in my heart.

 

Oh! To be like Thee, blessed Redeemer, this is my constant longing and prayer;

Gladly I’ll forfeit all of earth’s treasures, Jesus, Thy perfect likeness to wear.

 

Refrain: Oh! To be like Thee. Oh! To be like Thee, blessed Redeemer, pure as Thou art;

Come in Thy sweetness, come in Thy fullness; stamp Thine own image deep on my heart.

 

Oh! To be like Thee, full of compassion, loving, forgiving, tender and kind,

Helping the helpless, cheering the fainting, seeking the wand’ring sinner to find. (refrain)

 

Oh! To be like Thee, lowly in spirit, holy and harmless, patient and brave;

Meekly enduring cruel reproaches, willing to suffer, others to save. (refrain)

 

Oh! To be like Thee, Lord, I am coming, now to receive th’ anointing divine;

All that I am and have I am bringing, Lord, from this moment all shall be Thine. (refrain)

 

Oh! To be like Thee, while I am pleading, pour out Thy Spirit, fill with Thy love,

Make me a temple meet for Thy dwelling, fit me for life and Heaven above. (refrain)

 

(from the hymn Oh! To Be Like Thee by Thomas O. Chisholm, 1897, public domain)

 

#tattoos #CopticChristians #markedforChrist #identity #persecution #witness #testimony

 

 

Photo Credit: Reddit.com

When God-Whispers "Don't Make Sense"

 

          Do you ever wonder about the whispers God puts in your heart? I do. Sometimes I think this can’t be You, God because—well, it seems so bizarre.

          There’s one particular time in the past few years when I wondered 1) Is this God, indigestion, or a neurological breakdown? 2) If it is God, why in the world is He telling me this? 3) Doesn’t He realize this is way too hard for me? 4) Am I just totally whacked out of my mind?

          I’ve wrestled within myself and with the Almighty.

          Wrestled with the Almighty? Talk about being out of my mind! What sane person does that? Okay. Jacob did, and he took a wallop in the hip. Well, I’ve already got aching hips along with all my other joints, so I’ll skip that argument.

          I will tell you, though, I was brought to tears, laid low—literally falling prostrate across a table with my hands outstretched and turned upward, ready to receive whatever God told me. (No, I wasn’t stretched out on the floor because of—well, the aching-joint thing.)

          But I’ve cried hard tears over what God told me—if it’s Him. I’m still not 100% sure because, again, how could God whisper something so strange? I even went to the alter at church and prayed with our pastor, telling him, “God’s asking me to do something that seems beyond me. I need His help.”

          Here’s the thing: If God is the One whispering to me, then I’ve already told Him long ago I’d obey. And, to be honest, I tried to keep that commitment over the decades.

          IF God is nudging, can it not make sense?

          No. If God nudges, whispers, shouts—He always makes sense—even if what I’m seeing at my end seems totally impossible, loopy, too far out there to be real.

          When I was in my early 20s (and already asked Jesus into my life as Lord and Savior many years before that), I committed my life to serve God fully. Then and since I put on my “work clothes,” one item being the Mind of God.

          God’s Mind? I Corinthians 2:16 and Philippians 2:5 will help you understand. The Lord God Himself tells us to put on the Mind of Christ. In this way, we will know what is His good and perfect will. We’ll think like Him.

          So, when I’m seeking God, I actually imagine myself picking up that head-covering/mind wrap and wearing it. Because, without that, how do I know what He wants? Through His Word this directs me, as if there’s a headlamp brightly shining on a path I couldn’t see otherwise. 

          Now, I’ve contradicted myself. If I have God’s Mind-Cap on, then shouldn’t I know for sure Who is telling me to prepare for the “strange” thing I’ve heard?

          But I confess. I’m flawed. And, although I should know, I don’t. Or is it, instead, that I’m not wanting to know what He’s saying? Hmm.

          So, why am I sharing this with you? Because maybe you wrestle the same as I. Maybe you doubt at times who is speaking to your heart. Maybe you need to know it’s possible for God to ask you to do something big and be able to tell Him, “Speak, Lord, your servant hears you.”

          Ah! There it is! Servant.

          A true servant doesn’t question. A true servant obeys the master, even when the request doesn’t make sense.

          From God’s point-of-view, what He asks always makes sense. Consider these examples:

                        Take your only son Isaac and slay him.

                        Drench the alter of sacrifice before igniting the flames.

                        Build an ark.

                        Pick five smooth stones and go deal with a giant.

                        Break your pitchers, then charge the sleeping enemy.

                        Virgin, you will have a Son and name Him Jesus.

                        Dunk in the dirty Jordon River seven times.

…and the list goes on. No, none of those things “made sense,” but they all did. They were needful. All-important.

          This God of ours—Almighty, all-knowing, all-caring, all-powerful! Perhaps this sets us more in awe when we see the fruition of His not-making sense make perfect sense when the task is completed.

          So, should God whisper something that doesn’t make sense to you, after you’re sure you have no fever and don’t need an antacid, ready yourself to accept what’s to come.

          It might be good. It might seem bad. Whatever the case, He will be the Master of it and already knows the end since the beginning. You can rest in that.

Master, speak! Thy servant heareth, waiting for thy gracious word,

Longing for thy voice that cheereth, Master, let it now be heard.

I am list’ning, Lord, for thee; what hast thou to say to me?

 

Speak to me by name, O Master, let me know it is to me;

Speak, that I may follow faster, with a step more firm and free,

Where the Shepherd leads the flock, in the shadow of the Rock…

 

…Master, speak! And make me ready, when thy voice is truly heard,

With obedience glad and steady, still to follow ev’ry word.

I am listening, Lord, for thee: Master, speak, oh speak to me!

 

(from Master, Speak! Thy Servant Heareth by Frances Ridley Havergal, 1867, public domain)

#willofGod #prayer #obedience #servant

Dad and the Discards

           In the town where I grew up, the local library placed a cardboard box filled with free books outside once or twice a year—each book’s cover removed and stamped with the town’s name followed by “Library Discard.”

          Many people walked past that box thinking it garbage. 

          But our father was a junk collector and couldn’t resist digging through a box. He really wasn’t much of a reader, but he helped himself to several books every time the library disposed of them.

          Dad chose ones he thought we girls would enjoy. Some must’ve been mighty costly in their day—filled with exquisite illustrations.

          I remember one about the history of musical instruments from the beginning of their recorded history. Gorgeous pictures! But one wouldn’t know those beautiful images lived inside the pages by the condition we found them in. All the thrown-away copies looked the same.

          Coverless. Worn.

          Discards.

          But the contents? So rich and wonderful!

          Not far from where Dad lived was a house with a “reputation.” People avoided that place, although they talked about it and the kids who lived there and wondered aloud “how many men fathered them.”

          These children. Discards.

          I didn’t know those kids—not really. Yes, we invited them to church a time or two, but their mother only slightly opened the door to answer, “Not interested.”

          A mere stone’s throw from Dad lived another “discard”—a young lady with a problem. No husband and now a baby to raise while she tried to make ends meet in a one-room apartment behind an old house.

          My high school self didn’t know this lady even existed, but Dad did. He put two & two together, crossed the street, introduced himself, and offered me as potential babysitting help.

          Thus began my evenings several times a week—playing with the baby, getting him bedded down with a warmed bottle, and sleeping beside his crib into wee hours of the morning when his mother returned from work.

          Then there were other neighbors—two women in a union as one. I don’t know if Dad was aware what went on there, but—if so—he never mentioned it. Instead, he paused along his walks to chat with the ladies—these considered “discards” by others whispering about them.

          Long after I’d left home for college, the mission field, marriage and family life of our own—the years after Mom died, Dad opted to stay in what had been our family home. My sister and I visited as often as we could.

          Father’s Day weekend 1994, Brian and I took our family for an overnight visit. I remember being shocked by Dad’s drawn appearance and said to my husband, “I won’t see him alive again.”

          And I didn’t.

          Three weeks later, Dad suffered a fatal heart attack while driving on an 8-lane highway where his broken, bruised body landed up the right embankment.

          Medics pronounced him dead at that spot.

          After the funeral, my sister and I spent weeks digging through, sorting endlessly, and discarding what we considered junk.

          As I carried out stuff and temporarily dumped items in the driveway, a girl approached the row of hedges separating our property from the next. I smiled and said, “Hi.”

          She came closer. Although young, her face bore a weariness. “Hi. I was just wondering where the man is who lives here. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

          “Oh,” I said attempting to hold back tears. “He died. I’m one of his daughters.”

          Then tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She paused and took a breath. “You know, I grew up down there.” She pointed in the direction of that house—the one people talked about. The one with the reputation. “Most people thought we were trash and had nothing to do with us, but your father…” she choked up a bit “…always treated me like I was something special. I loved coming to talk with him.”

          Little had I known our dad did this. Little did I know the impact he had on this girl’s life. Little may he have realized.

          Now, don’t assume Dad walked around with a halo floating over his head all the time. Not so! Much got his dander up. Oh, and he was as mischievous as they come! For example, this guy delighted in getting the attention of toddlers eating messy meals with their hands. He’d pat his own head, and the toddlers copied, much to their parents’ chagrin.

          Then there were the times we visited folks, and Dad, with the Flair indelible marker he always carried in his shirt pocket, wrote his name on the bottom of items he admired. Later in the visit he’d pick up that item, turn it over, and say, “This must be mine. It has my name on it.” And more than once the gullible folks gifted the incorrigible fella with the item.

          One of our dad’s favorite items was his screaming mirror, left in the powder room just waiting for a visitor to “excuse themselves.” It wouldn’t take long before we’d hear that awful SCREAM! Dad laughed and so did the rest of us. Of course, the visitor came out knowing full-well who to blame for that mirror-mirror gaff.

          But, despite his antics, Dad taught us an invaluable lesson.

          Love unconditionally.

          Treat everyone like special books because there’s beauty inside their “pages.” Books worth keeping even though they’ve been discarded.

          In this way, Dad showed the “discards” Jesus. Made them know someone saw value in them—simply through the gift of moments spent with them and kind words.

          They experienced unconditional love—maybe the only time they’d seen it. Maybe not. I don’t know.

          I also don’t know what’s happened to these neighbors over the 30+ years since. I wonder if they remember the man who gifted them with kindness.

          I wonder if I show unconditional love. Live it out. Treat everyone as treasured books, no matter what condition they’re in.

          May I show Jesus to others as our father did—and in this way reassure them that, as they “write their life pages,” they hold value and may even see their “stories” transform.

“Let the beauty of Jesus be seen in me,

All His wonderful passion and purity.

O Thou Spirit divine, all my nature refine,

Till the beauty of Jesus be seen in me.”

 

(from the hymn, Let the Beauty of Jesus Be Seen in Me, by Albert W. T. Orsborn—1916,

public domain—also attributed to George L. Johnson)

 

#librarydiscards #unconditionallove #mischievous #Jesus #FathersDay #Dad #valueineveryone

King of the Broken-Hearted

             In the Kingdom of Snowdenia in the universe of Real lived a tiny princess.*

            Now, to be a princess in and of itself bears a specialness as well as great responsibility. But this particular subject carried a heavy load, which was not easy for one so small.

            Princess of Snowdenia, you see, entered the universe of Real with a broken heart. In fact, much of her heart was missing! So, carrying out her royal duties was so much more difficult for one this size. And oh, how hard it was for the princess to understand the load she must carry and never lay down! Sometimes this made her stomp her foot and pout—even scream and cry!

            Oh dear!

            But this princess was blessed with family who loved her and wanted her to live life to the full. They would do anything for her, even wishing to carry the load of a broken heart because for them, even though loads are heavy, their princess is not. Not to them anyway.

            But the family needed lots of help, for Princess required so many things others never do. Most of all the family needed prayer warriors. An army worth! Those who’d pray for the princess when she went to the place called Hospital for the Small, where she must go and stay sometimes more sleeps than she was able to count.

            Oh yes, many in this army were tall, but some smaller—much akin to the princess. And one mustn’t be fooled into thinking the tot-sized warriors** cannot reach Heaven with their prayers. For these who bowed before the King of the universe did so believing full-heartedly that this benevolent One listens to them, just as He does the tall.

            Thus again, the Snowdenian princess will go through what is called Open Heart Surgery—this her third—so that the princess can continue to grow, play, learn, and journey through life with as much as can be fixed.

            But, dear me, she will always carry her load—this very fragile heart!

            So, prayer warriors in the universe of Real, this one who writes comes to you with a most important assignment as you request of the King on the princess’s behalf. For ’tis the King of Real, all created beings, and things Who truly brings the miracles of each day to the princess.

            And it is He Who knows full well about her very broken heart and all she needs as she journeys each day throughout Snowdenia and beyond. He loves her and knew the load she’d carry before she was born, and He cares greatly for this one He created and calls perfect, good, child.

            Sometimes, though, princes’ and princesses’ families ache with a tall-sized hurt for their small ones in ways no others in the kingdom can understand. They weep, they fear, and they wonder if their royal one will see the dreams blossom that their prince or princess planted.*

            Oh, how it helps to know the King, to cry out to Him, and to read the Book He’s authored and given to help them and all who hurt for the fragile little princess! Yes, this wonderful Book speaks to their hearts, which are also breaking. Yet, they know deep, deep down inside the King of Real—of all living creatures and things—speaks to them, cares about them, carries them—just as they carry their little princess.

            You see, this King understands the issue of broken hearts because He had one. He also understands what it’s like to carry such a heavy load—for all who journey this treacherous path. So, He most excellently cares for them. (Psalm 147:3)

            And the King whispers and tells them they can cast all their cares and anxieties on Him because He cares about them and loves them beyond what they can fully understand. (I Peter 5:7)

            The King is ready to carry all our cares. So, this one in another kingdom who writes to you today asks you to close your eyes and picture yourself dumping whatever load you carry at the feet of the King—leaving it there and letting Him do with it what He shall.

I Cast All My Cares by Maranatha Music ( lyric Video ) Pls. support the artists (youtube.com)

            Now, back to the princess of Snowdenia!

            She cannot lay down her load as she wakes up each day with a broken heart and especially this week when she climbs into her royal coach and journeys to the place called Hospital for the Small for her very long stay—longer than she can count sleeps. Parents, grandparents, other family too, doctors, nurses, and more will come to her aid.

            This week and beyond in your particular kingdom in the universe, as this little princess comes to mind, will you join the prayer army of tall and small on the princess’s behalf? For her parents, sibling, grandparents, doctors, nurses, and all who attend to the needs of this tiny royal one?

            Will you ask the King—Maker of all and mighty Healer—to help this family with the anticipation, nervousness, fears, worry? For it’s not easy to place their child in the hands of others. Yet sometimes they must, even if it’s oh so hard.

            On behalf of the princess and all her royal subjects, thank you for carrying this very difficult load to the King, Healer of broken hearts—and for faithfully doing so for more sleeps than you can count.

 

“Come, my soul, with ev’ry care, Jesus loves to answer prayer;

He Himself has bid thee pray, therefore will not turn away.

 

Thou art coming to a King, large petitions with thee bring;

For His grace and pow’r are such none can ever ask too much…”

 

(from the hymn Come, My Soul, with Every Care by John Newton, c. 1779, public domain)

 

JULY 2nd, 2024

THIS PRECIOUS PRINCESS STEPPED INTO HEAVEN.

Please keep her family & all who loved her in prayer.

Thank you so much!

#heartwarrior #openheartsurgery #HLHS #Fontan #brokenhearts

#GodtheHealer #Bible #childrenshospital

#parentingchronicallyillchildren

 

Photo credits:

*D&M Snowden—

**Cori Ausenhus

(used with permission)

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