The Unsung Anthem

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.

O say, does that Star-spangled Banner still wave

O're the land of the free and the home of the brave?

We correctly remove our hats and place our right hands over our hearts. We look at our flag and remember the freedoms that those colors symbolize.

Then twenty-five percent of the way through this tribute, we place each cap back on its head and walk away.

How many have heard these words sung at sporting events, at a funeral, or in church?

On the shore dimly seen, thro' the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream;

'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner, Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

For the sake of each fallen soldier from 1776 until now, follow the story of the song. 

In 1814, Francis Scott Key boarded a British ship to negotiate the release of his friend, the Dr. William Beanes. He was forced to wait on the ship and watch the British attack Fort McHenry through the night. Through the first verse, Key has wondered, desperately, whether that flag still waves. Now his breath catches and he stiffens slightly - defiantly. There on the shore, scarcely discernable in the predawn gloom, crowded as it is with the smoky atmosphere of bloodshed, there were glimpses of red, white and blue.

But it wasn't morning yet.

And then innocent, beautiful light twisted the dark horizon into a rainbow. The flag stood.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Key gives us the foundation suitably placed at the end. A country defended itself before his eyes. He lived and breathed the struggle of keeping America free. And he must forcibly remind us of the Help that aided each one in that struggle.

Oh, thus be it ever when free men shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust"
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

God bless America.

Oh Happy Day!

It's amazing how theology happens to you sometimes.

I've been to rock concerts before. You buy a ticket, find your seat (sometimes - usually you don't) and spend the rest of the evening plugging your ears and jumping up and down. I've been to worship concerts too. You stand there feeling like you should raise your hands and look dedicated, but you think everyone's looking at you (they aren't) so you don’t.

This was a worship rock concert. I was confused. We bought tickets and found our seats. We performed the whole pre-concert crowd roar; people were leaning over railings, standing in their rows, running out to the bathroom and back, finding tee-shirts, or sitting in their seats – and everyone was talking to someone. We all knew the drill and played out the same scenario that’s happened at every concert I’ve been to. It was when the music started that I was confused.

All the worship I’ve been too has had a toned down beat and gentle lyrics. This worship concert was different. The drums and the lead guitar didn’t sound nice anymore, they sounded wild. Party wild. Kinda took my breath away. But after all, they’re the opening band. Guess that’s what you’d expect. I shrugged and smiled, moving a little to the beat. And then the lead band came out.

Music ripped through the air and battered our willing ear drums. Vibrations shoved themselves up through the cement floor and rattled my feet, like laughter. Lights flashed on their rotary stands, stabbing into my eyes for a millisecond before beaming at the next eager face.

Thoughts tumbled slowly and thickly through my mind.

The idea of worship left me and I began to just sing. There was no hope of hearing my own voice above the roar, but I opened my mouth and joined with hundreds of others to let the band know that we were singing too, however unnoticeably.

The pointlessness of trying to make noise turned my mind back to the words I was singing. “Sing, sing sing, and make music to the heavens! I will sing, sing, sing, Grateful that you hear us. As we shout your praise, lift high the name, Of Jesus!” I began to feel them. I stopped trying to sing well and sang to God. I lifted my face and closed my eyes. “Grateful that you hear us…” Almost without my consent, my arms lifted and I reached for the God I was singing to. I was no longer thinking about who was watching, because God was watching, and taking pleasure.

Finally the rumbling beneath my feet and the drum beat rattled me back to the auditorium. I began jumping with the rest of the crowd. And I wondered where the worship had gone. Here we are, having a celebration, I thought with something bordering on fear, but this is a worship concert! What were we doing wrong?

Nothing. We’re not doing anything wrong! We’re celebrating GOD! Call it a thunderbolt moment if you will, but I think that’s an understatement. I found myself unable to stop bouncing and singing and reaching up. I had so much praise inside, and it kept coming out in action and song.

Realizations demand thinking time, which there was not a lot of during a rock and worship concert. I simply discovered that God enjoys a celebration. And that it doesn’t take a degree in theology to discover something like that.

It was a second incident that completed my lesson. I took up my usual evening stance – sitting cross legged on the bed with my Bible and journal in my lap, enjoying the silence of my family asleep. Tomorrow was Bible Study with a few girls from youth group. My brain slapped me to point out that perhaps I should actually read the chapter we’ll be studying tomorrow.

John 2:2- “Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples. When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” …Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water… and take [some] to the master of the feast.” So they took it. When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine…” (Bold mine)

And I stopped. Jesus’ statement caught me. “My hour has not yet come.” Before this night, my question always remained: If Jesus’ hour to do miracles had not come, why did he do a miracle? An answer dropped into my head. “To let the party continue.”

What?!  “Yes. To let the party continue.” I shook my head and read further, waiting for a testimony of somebody’s life changed, a soul given new life through this incident. There was none.

And gradually, the concept merged with my experience. God enjoys celebrating.

My first, fleeting thought was Could it be? And then I wondered, more accurately, Would I want it any other way?

It’s a bigger lesson in theology than I’ve had in a while. And I’m still celebrating it.

Something Beautiful

I think I have an inverted hole in me somewhere. Probably in the region of my heart, seeing as those things are generally located in that area. It's a hole because I have a need - I need to make something beautiful. It's inverted because it's not something I need to receive but something I need to do. Inverted hole.

I tried to do that singing.

I think I'll leave the singing to someone else. It's not that I don't like singing. I love music, and I love choir. But when I perform, I blank out technique (while words - Italian though they be - remain rooted stubbornly in my mind.) I don't think I'm cut out to be a soloist. It's fun when I do it right, but it takes a lot of work. And then I'm focusing on technique, not beautiful.

I want make beautiful. So I have to go somewhere else, try some other voice. I think my fingers speak better than my vocal chords sometimes. Make that all the time. It must be why I've always liked loved writing. When I write, I put something together that's never been put together before. I can choose my words, my tools, and I can sit and play them until they sing to me.

A singing mosaic. That's the goal. Each word a piece of glass?! - and each synonym, however close in color, never quite the same shade. And when you want a subtle, alluring shadow, you have to take the darkly shimmering bit of clearness that is exactly that color. Too dark and it's menacing. Too light and you don't need to explore it because you can see through it from across the courtyard.

Words are like that. Each gathering of letters, syllables and emphases has it's own personality. The more alike one is to the next in the thesaurus, the more vital it is that you know which one you want. Which one will tint that shadow with perfect justice, perfectly despised rightness.

Not for the reader - for me.

I want a mosaic that will stun me. I want to look at the beauty, created by words - chosen, sprinkled, cast out, placed with care. I want something so beautiful, it chains my hands when it looks I look it in the eye.

When my fingers can procreate that beauty, then I will be a writer.

*Deep breath* You choose the title!

...is something I love to do. I had to write a paragraph using setting to insinuate mood. And not just any setting or mood...I had to choose from a list of settings and mood.

Settings: City in the Rain; Midnight on the Farm; 1890, in the Parlor; High Noon on the River; A Spring Morning; In the Bar, After Hours; The Dusty Road; Dawn in a Foreign Place.

Mood: sinister, sick with love, full of promise, suicidal, dangerous, suspense, happy-go-lucky, lonely.

Sooooo...here be the paragraph, and you see if you can determine which I chose from each list! Leave a comment with your guess before I tell you!

Droplets made music in puddles. Singing water filled damp air, thrusting out delight and receiving its delight thrust unceremoniously back, leaving ripples. There was work to do: high rises and business men with newspapers, Hyundai Sonatas honked angrily, afraid of spoiling their polish on the wet city freeway – uncheery, all. Rain’s embodiment, wearing mother-enforced galoshes and brown ringlets, mad the weary water smile by leaving vanishing footprints on the drowned sidewalks and kissing the raindrops with green eyes wide in wonder. Rain fell, surer of its task of joy, and bathed the world in sweet dancing sorrow.

This is a Secret.

So don't tell my dad please.

Aren't I a good child?

My dad loves the song Music Box Dancer. At first, it threw me for a loop. I heard him playing it on the computer one night, and my train of thought was, Dad? What up? You runnin a fever? You like hunting, dogs, orange and camouflage, you like farting for crying out loud!!! What are you doing? He was listening to Music Box Dancer.


And enjoying himself. Something I hadn't known was possible. I mean, my dad doesn't like classical, even contemporary piano music. He comes to every one of my recitals, but that's 'cause he loves me, not the music. I showed him my Rachmaninoff piece...he was impressed but he doesn't like it, really.

Anyway, after that night years ago, I pulled out my copy of the music and learned it. Occasionally if I ended up practicing piano when Dad came home, I'd play through it without saying anything. He'd come over and sit by me and just listen. I still found it comical, though! I mean, Really Dad?

So I asked him.

"Well," he trailed off. I was confused. It was just a song...right? It felt like something serious - talking about it with him. "You know how my dad was," he said slowly. "I guess this song was always something peaceful that I could listen to. I always liked hearing it." He looked back up at me with something vulnerable in his eyes that I'd never seen before. "Oh." I had nothing to say.

After that, I started playing the song more, and I'd purposely practice when I knew when Dad was coming home. It gave both of us something special to look forward to, I think. He appreciated the music and every time I played, he'd thank me for learning it.

After last year, I kind of forgot to do that for him. A few weeks ago, I got tired of playing all the pieces I'm working on for my Piano recital and again, I pulled out Music Box Dancer. And I had a really random idea. I remembered how much Dad had liked the song before, so why not add it to my recital? It was something beautiful I could do for my dad. Something that would make him appreciate the recital, and would let him know that I loved when he came, and that I love him.

So I texted my piano teacher and added the piece to my repertoire.

*Tear*

I love you Daddy.

Today I Did

Today I...

9.6.11 Decided to not do any more ho****rk (it is a bad word to say in my presence). At 6 p.m. unfortunately.

9.4.11 Played night games. I actually tagged the fast fellow - you know the kind who are about 9 feet tall and run..oh, maybe 47 mph faster than I do. Yeah. I caught him, legit!

9.6.11 Read my textbook outside.

9.6.11 Ate lunch while sitting on a swing with a friend. That was a blast. I dropped my pear in the gravel though. Oops.

9.5.11 Cranked the tunes on my way to dump the recycables in town. Cruising in '94 truck, wearing my work clothes, window down, singing to the radio (and passers-by) never felt so good.

9.6.11 Emailed my friend not a paragraph, but a list. Something like this. Only numbered. Fun stuff.

9.4.11 Saw a black bear. I was out walking down a road near our home (with me dog and me phone) and saw something big walking up the side of the drainage ditch. I knew it wasn't a dog because it was big and it was walking smoothly; the ditch is steep enough that dogs usually take it in leaps. It was probably 50 yards in front of me, so I turned around, called my mother, and tore off down the road at a slightly accelerated walk. Mom came to get me right away, so we turned around (with the car) and went to see if we could find it, but it had gone into the woods.

9.6.11 Ate hamburger pizza. For supper. A whole pizza. (It was little, ok? Stop looking at me like that.)

9.3.11 Went outside and ran around the house and across the lawn for no particular reason.

9.6.11 Turned around three times and slapped my legs all the way down to my ankles. Ask my choir teacher about that one.

9.3.11 Wrote a letter to a friend.

9.6.11 Listened to a modern love song in which the only line was "Sweetheart, after the dance is over, I'll take you home in my one-eyed Ford." Bahahahaha!

9.5.11 Rejoiced that autumn has come! Yayayayaya! Oh! Beautiful season! I love the cool air that caresses me when I step outside without a coat. I love the way the mist slips over the meadows and twines gently with the trees and grasses. I love the way the honking of the geese adds a layer of musical beauty to the singing colors of fall.

What did you do today?

Joy Indescribeable

Yesterday I was given a gift. I was flipping backwards through Psalms on my way to Psalm 19, a chapter I love, when something grabbed me. It wasn't a word I noticed, and it wasn't that I'd underlined something there before, I just stopped flipping and started to read. It had to have been the Holy Spirit.

"Sing joyfully to the Lord, you righteous; it is fitting for the upright to praise him. Praise the Lord with the hapr; make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre. Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy. For the word of the Lord is right and true; he is faithful in all he does. The lord loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love."

I read it mentally in breathless tones. Joy lit up my mind! Go back and re-read that, but this time picture somebody reading it with so much energy that they're bouncing on their toes, grinning ear to ear, raising their eyebrows and waving their arms, because of a joy that cannot be contained!

Does that not make you want to dance?

*Murmurs* "If I but knew the steps..."

I love watching Scotch dancers.

This is a 10 stringed lyre. I wonder if only 10 notes can be played or if somehow you can play more...?

This is a tempting picture. I love to play! O! to know that playing is glorious to God! What better news?