Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 32

Tags

apple blossoms, dear diary, family, food, humour, music, nature, summer, trees, worship

Dear Diary – I knew all those games of Operation would pay off one day!

On Friday morning, after I dropped my car off to deal with the whistle-wonk sounds my car’s been making for weeks, I got ambitious. I dusted and swept the main floor, backed up and updated my laptop, caught up with an old friend on the phone, and emptied the shredder for the next round.

But I emptied the bin into the green bin (compost) on the counter, and wouldn’t you know, one tiny slip of paper drifted into an open vent on the base of my new air fryer.

Thus ensued a sick and sweaty 20 minute game of Operation, with not one, but 3 tweezers. I didn’t leave the air fryer plugged in though, you know, to make it more authentic. 😉

Dear Diary – The other day, Mr. Cardinal was pipping furiously. I think it was Morse code.

..-. . . -.. / — .

Feed Me

Dear Diary – I led worship a couple Sundays ago and vainly attempted to look slender in my new dress. Our pastors are currently speaking a series on the Armour of God. I have also shared from the same passage in Ephesians at a ladies’ event, but I used my own humourous twist in my examples of armour. Only this morning, my “armour” (aka corset) was not holding up!

It wasn’t the only thing.

Something had happened to the headset mic purchased to capture my itty-bitty intoning, so I had to use a boom stand. I don’t like them because there’s no happy middle ground. Either the A/V guys are unhappy because they can’t hear me…or I’m unhappy because there’s a mic stand blocking my view of either the sheet music or the piano keys.

Accomplished pianists play from memory. I am not an accomplished pianist.

Hubby was doing sound and together we found that comfortable middle ground…rather unharmoniously.

Something happened between rehearsal and service time. My mic was attached to a sinking stand, and was nearly resting on my clinging cleavage. Not only would it make it incredibly difficult for Hubby to pick up my crooning, but it also blocked both the keyboard and the bottom half of my sheetmusic, and in my mind, accentuated the straining lingerie. I knew it was straining because I could feel the bent boning digging into my ribcage.

With a sweet smile, I started talking and reached up to return the arm of the stand back where it belonged. In addition to bent boning, I could feel sweat welling up in my underarms. But while I managed to secure the mic higher, it refused to remain in position and the bolt to tighten it was immoveable. So was my determination. The service had started. I was going to keep smiling (and sweating) and we were going to sing.

I played and sang again this past Sunday. Someone took pity on me…and the saggy stand has become someone else’s problem.

Dear Diary – It has been a summer of firsts. Well, a couple firsts. Earlier in July, I sang at my first wedding. This past weekend, I played at my first funeral. I even broke out my little black dress. I can still zip it up but the lines hug some of my curves differently. It went well, from my perspective. I greatly appreciated the tall flower displays that partially hid me, as I felt very self-conscious standing on the platform without teammates. And I am very thankful I didn’t fall up or down the stairs.

I even wore heels. Just not to the funeral…or out of the bedroom.

I miss my heels.

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.

Marilyn Monroe

Dear Diary – I have definitely raised a city kid. This week we braved the heat to pick up rotting apples from our back yard. It’s the downside to owning an apple tree, but I love the blossoms in the Spring. And every tree deserves to live!

In past years, Youngest Son has used a stick to stab them. Unfortunately, these apples have sat longer than they should have, so while they may look solid, picking them up with anything but a feather touch spells disaster. The stick was useless. Rather than argue, I told him to pick up the fresh, red ones and I would deal with the goopy ones.

There was something satisfying about the “splat” they made as I tossed into recycle bins and old garbage cans. For every one he picked up, I picked up more than a dozen. He objected to the smell; it reminded me of apple cider. He slipped and slid once; I laughed. I got apple on my leggings. He thought that was gross.

He would not survive on a farm. Not even a hobby farm!

But he could muscle the barely filled bins and cans to the curb for me, and we nearly completed clearing the yard of the apples that were not soup.

I slept in a bit the following morning. The sun was shining when I got up. I pulled on my robe and opened the curtains. I laughed.

I laughed hard.

The yard truck crew had left me a surprise… again!

Only at our house.

Not only was it perfectly balanced…it was perfectly balanced over my head.

I left it, hoping it would last until I could drag Youngest Son from his slumber to take a photo. But, alas! Some “mean kid” punched it on his way by and it collapsed into the street. I had to retrieve them, close-mouthed, to avoid ingesting the cloud of fruit flies.

We don’t stop playing because we grow old.
We grow old because we stop playing.

G.B. Shaw

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 14

Tags

chocolate, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour, music, worship

Dear Diary – Who says you have to have alcohol to have fun? Just add chocolate!

One evening this week, Youngest Son asked me if I wanted to share his chocolate bomb. He was given a beautiful, handcrafted, semi-circular, dark chocolate bomb, drizzled in white chocolate, at Christmas. How this large, gorgeous chocolate piece remained under my radar for so long is truly a mystery!

Hubby recorded the transformation, and the hilarity that ensued after it was made…but I can’t post videos on WordPress. I can post it on Facebook but only my friends can see it, and I’m not changing the permissions because the world does not need to see what I did!

First I plunked the chocolate bomb in a clear mug and warmed the milk in the microwave. I used my lactose-free milk to minimize the…ah, negative effects on my body. My family thanks me. Pouring from a deep bowl into a mug was messy, and 1/3 of the milk dribbled on the counter. Hubby just rolled his eyes.

We watched in silent anticipation for something to happen. It didn’t. So I started gently submerging the bomb in the milk. Suddenly, hot chocolate powder started to spray across the top. After a couple more dunks, powder and marshmallows bubbled to the surface.

It was delicious. We split it 3 ways.

No weeping for shed milk.

James Howard

My 2L carton of lactose-free milk costs more than a 4L bag, so before Hubby could mop up the counter, I leaned it and started slurping. Except the sound wasn’t what you would expect. It was more like the high-pitched whine of a small engine, or as Oldest Son described it, “screws in a squeaky dryer”. Yes, Hubby recorded that too.

I didn’t realize he was recording until the second video where he stuck his phone by my face. I was laughing so hard, I had to turn my face away a couple of times before I could suck. I’d love to post the videos, not because I’d enjoy the humiliation, but to share the fun. The three of us watched it over and over and laughed so hard, we had tears running down our faces and I thought I was going to bust a gut. I’m not sure if they were laughing at the video or laughing at me, but we were laughing together. And that’s priceless.

Dear Diary – I’m not sure why, but it’s kind of reassuring that I’m still bendy enough to pee in the car. I went with Hubby to his second MRI (at the hospital where I just had my own fun experience), but with covid restrictions, I had to wait in the car. For an hour and a half.

Hubby kindly parked in the corner of the parking garage so I could have a view of the amusement park across the road. Too bad the roller coaster wasn’t running. It also meant I had natural light on 2 sides of the car so I could read or play on my phone. There was even free wifi. But there was no loo (and with my sore foot, I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital anyway)!

I had been so careful, even skipping my morning pot of tea. In theory, nothing went in so nothing should need to go out. Right? I was doing well at ignoring my bodily urges when Hubby texted that they were running late. Suddenly the prospect of waiting longer was too much and my body overruled my mind.

Trying to look casual, as in “nothing to see here” and covered in a blanket (because it’s still winter in Canada), I precariously perched over my empty Tim Horton’s coffee cup. Mission accomplished.

Hubby swung by Tim Horton’s on the way home. Empty coffee cup replaced. 😉

When I have to go, I have to go!

Dear Diary – We lost our phone connection Sunday evening and began the arduous task of getting it repaired. On the plus side, since Hubby had to remove the lattice on the back porch anyway, it was a good time for him to climb under and retrieve the butter knife I dropped last October. I was having an outside tea party with a friend. Three and a half hours after the phone was restored, the phone company texted to say the technician was on his way.

Dear Diary – The new sewing machine is working like a dream. I’m just scared to adjust any of the settings.

Almost finished

Dear Diary – Our covid numbers continue to climb, even without regular testing to document it accurately. Today a local doctor was recommending masks be mandated in public places and schools, and that bi-weekly rapid tests be conducted in schools. It’s news we’re not sharing with Youngest Son.

By today, we have to inform the school if he will spend Grade 12 in virtual school or in-person. If we don’t say, they will assume in-person. Youngest Son would prefer virtual school, but only the required courses will be offered online. It means he has to change 5 of the courses he has chosen, and he hasn’t found 5 courses he’d like to take instead. After being so careful for 2 years, we understand his concern. Hubby has also been summoned back to the office before the end of the month. With the mask mandates lifted and close quarters, he’s nervous too.

At the beginning of covid, we were suddenly thrust into living in close quarters. With Hubby taking over the dining room (which is also part of our living room), the main floor felt “off limits” during working hours. I had to tip-toe around the kitchen, and find things to do upstairs. Converting Youngest Son’s bedroom into my office/craft room was a great project. It also forced me to purge craft supplies, although I think there still a half ton of paper and stamps that could safely go.

I understand the importance of getting back to “normal” but this alternate lifestyle has become “normal”. At the beginning, it was like a new marriage as we rubbed against each other like two pieces of sandpaper, but once the hard work of adjusting was over, it wasn’t so bad. I will actually miss it.

After more than 2 years, I’ve grown accustomed to our routines. I like it when Hubby randomly “pops in” to say “hi”. I like having someone else around to answer questions, fill the bird feeder, and deal with spiders. Every time he yelled “Honey I’m home” from 12 feet away, I smiled. We ate on time. We had time for walks and quick kisses (& minecraft). I’m not sure my office will be used as much because being upstairs alone will feel, well, lonely. It will be another adjustment. When Youngest Son heads to university, it will be another adjustment. And when Hubby retires (if he ever can), it will be yet another adjustment. I guess it’s true – the only thing that stays the same is that nothing stays the same.

Dear Diary – You should always listen to your wife. After all the MRIs and other tests conducted on Hubby since his bizarre sleepwalking accident early in March, it was the CT scan done on his head the night of his accident that actually gives the clue as to why he continues to suffer with a nasty burning sensation in his forearms. That night, I called an ambulance. That night, the EMS asked Hubby if he wanted to go the hospital. He wasn’t sure. I said yes.

Sure, it’s very likely that tests would have led to this discovery, but it might have taken longer. I’m taking credit for this. Always. listen. to. your. wife. 😉

Dear Diary – Am I allowed to do some self-promotion?

I am, by no means, a gifted singer. I am not, nor have I been, nor shall I ever be the “cool kid”. But I was given the opportunity to work with some amazing musicians and technical folks at my church, and our music video has been posted publicly… so no one can really complain if I share it here. The song I led starts around 6 minutes, but I think you should check out the whole thing!

I felt awkward at the time. I feel awkward now. But it was never about looking “hot” or sounding “groovy”. It was about worship. I’ve heard there are plans in the works to record more, and I’m excited!

Dear Diary – I learned a new word, and with covid restrictions lifting and people leaving their houses again, it’s an action I’ll have to employ again. Actually, once Hubby goes back to work, I need to do a serious Spring cleaning!

Scurryfunge: A hasty tidying of the house when a last minute guest is coming to visit, as in:
“I scurryfunge every time my mother-in-law announces she’s popping round”.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #39

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, humour, worship

Dear Diary – My alarm clock went psycho this week. It started beeping a single bip at 6:30 one morning, every 20 seconds. I counted. It woke me up and in my fog-induced mind, it took awhile to deduce that the clock was the infernal source of noise. At first I was genuinely confused – did I actually hear a beep – and I froze under the blankets and waited for the intruder. When the high-pitched bip went again, my mind started mentally checking off the list of devices and their known “sounds” but none of them sounded the same. My next thought was the carbon monoxide detector in the basement, and fearing for Little Guy, I roared from bed and stubbed my toe. The pain reminded me that if it were the detector, everyone in a 10 mile radius would be pain, serious ear pain. It didn’t sound like a smoke detector, having been rudely awakened and tormented at various hours of the night in the past. So I stood there in the dark and willed the source to bip at me again.

What I found happening with the clock was truly confusing because the red digital numbers were counting the hours and minutes, all 24 of them, and singing a bip every time it hit 12 a.m. Nothing was pressed up against the buttons on the back. Neither sliding the alarm on and off, or turning on the radio, stopped it’s manic countdown and infuriating bip. I felt like I was in the midst of a cheesy Twilight Zone episode. Chills ran down my spine; the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was probably because it was cool in the room and the fan was blowing cold air on me, so I unplugged it and crawled back in bed. Hubby woke me around 9, worried I was ill. “No,” I said, rolling over, “my clock went psycho”.

Speaking of psycho, I nearly ended up in a padded room, weaving baskets and singing kumbaya on the weekend. When I mentioned last week that unless you’ve done it, it’s hard to comprehend what’s involved in handmade goods. I forgot to mention time. When I cut out my pieces, they are identical and should fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Instead, they fit together more like a store-bought car model. It all fits together except one or two pieces inevitably don’t! I was working on a buffalo plaid bag for a friend (one for which I won’t get paid) and I got stuck on 1 seam for 2 hours. I was so hot, and frustrated…and hot. I ripped and sewed, and ripped again. I shortened the strap multiple times. I ended up with 3 raw edges, and there should only ever have been 2. I knew I should just walk away and start fresh in the morning, but I stubbornly forged ahead. I refused to be bested (yet again) by a piece of fabric. By the time I pinned it at the end of those 2 hours, I was exhausted but elated. They stitched together effortlessly the next day and the stupid bag has been delivered. Every member in my household rejoiced.

Dear Diary – Hubby was off last week and I asked him to tackle one of the jobs on the expanding “to-do” list for our home. I’d be happy to tackle some of the projects if I had a clue how to do so. I don’t mind heights but would probably struggle to lift shingles on the roof. And I’m scared to clean his room. He chose to regrout around our 1959 seafoam green bathroom. The grout was textured and mildew adhered to it as if it were velcro. I couldn’t scrub it away. It took him a few days, which meant we were without a tub and fighting for a position upwind. By the third day, I had to take action. At some point, sponge baths aren’t enough. So I took matters into my own hands and I bribed my friend with Tim Horton’s. I used her shower and in my defence, I had to attend worship team practice that evening and I’m having a hard time making friends. Showing up smelling anything less than like roses was not going to help. I left her place imagining this is how it feels after time in a spa.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to help in time of need.

Proverbs 17:17a

Dear Diary – Yesterday was National Son Day. I couldn’t post any photos because Little Guy refuses to have his photo taken. I managed to talk him into the obligatory first day of school pic, but it’s literally his hand waving behind a closing door. I’ve been told it’s just a phase but I’m beginning to wonder

Dear Diary – I was explaining to Little Guy, again, why I would like to get a cat. Both Hubby and Little Guy are anti-cat. Actually, they’re both kind of anti-pet. Anyway, as I was explaining, Hubby leaned over and licked me. A wet, sloppy full-cheeked lick. He thought it was hilarious. I thought I was going to throw up. I have serious spit issues. I will not use anyone else’s toothbrush. I will not share my toothbrush. Only when I am feeling brave will I wipe the edge before sipping from someone else’s glass. I did not share ice cream cones with my kids. If it melted and ran down the sides, they got sticky. No child has ever died from being sticky. It’s just the way I am. Were the licks from a cat, however, I would be fine. I want a cat that much! 🙂

Dear Diary – I received the initial paperwork for jury duty selection. It’s not that I object to performing my civic duty, it’s the thought of rising early in the morning and traipsing into the city in the dead of winter, which takes over an hour, to sit all day knowing I can only use the restroom when they tell me I can use the restroom. And that’s not taking covid into account. I’ve sat in court numerous times, taking notes of testimony as part of my job. Unlike television, there are no dramatic courtroom reveals, surprise witnesses, or last minute additions of evidence. It’s very dry and detailed. I’ve been part of the jury selection process too, and it’s dry and detailed too. Thankfully, I was rejected on the grounds that I worked in the legal field. I’m not sure my new job title, “keeper of the home fires” is going to make me ineligible.

Plus, they’ve changed the system.

I wish they’d pick on someone else. I’ve filled out the initial forms for jury duty at least 3 times in my life. Hubby has never been asked, and he’d like to be. Maybe we should trade names.

Dear Diary – A serious search ensued this morning. I woke up around 8 and popped out my malicious mouthguard, and shoved it under my pillow. I was going to enjoy my final 20 minutes in peace. It’s been 6 months since I started wearing it and some nights it keeps me awake fearing that I will die in my sleep…by drowning in my own spit. All’s well until I pop that plastic in and I become Pavolov’s dog without the bell. Or the yummy reward. But I digress. When I got up, I stuck my hand under the pillow to grab the guard and put it in its case. But it wasn’t there. I lifted the pillow and started smoothing the sheets with my sheets. Still no stinky plastic. I moved the bedraggled pile of bedding. I reached into the pillowcase, both sides. But no guard. I checked the floor, under the bed, even the case, just in case I was dreaming it had been in my mouth all night. It had vanished. Frustrated to be so frustrated so early, and severely decaffeinated, I went on with my day.

Later that morning, another serious search ensued. It had glued itself to the underside of my pillowcase.

Dear Diary – My clock is still weird. Today, the alarm came on and it had changed the radio station. I like classical music but not as much as my 80’s tunes. It took several attempts to find my station again. It was really in the mood for country. This clock may have to die!!!

Dear Diary – The excitement was short-lived. The scales said I’d lost 10lbs, but I knew better. I have 6 pairs of jeans in 6 different sizes that say it isn’t so. I also know that moving the scales by 2″ can change the number that much. I put it in the usual spot and I’m down 3 lbs. Finally things are looking up, by moving down.

Dear Diary – I lead worship with a team on Sunday for the first time at our new church. It was an incredibly difficult and heartbreaking decision to leave. It’s also been incredibly difficult to start over in a new place. I’ve been disappointed with the lack of friendliness, but I know that covid has made us all wary of people in general, not just new people. It takes times and I’m not always very patient.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to select the songs for a Sunday, and I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the long conversation with God to select the songs that He most wants to hear. And, as always, I am blessed as He shows me threads between the songs that connect them. Sometimes He even whispers something I need to hear. This week it was simply the reminder that I belong to Him. That even though we are struggling to connect in a new church family, we are still part of His family.

Bonus: I could actually be heard. My short stature has meant my voice has a short range, and often my mouth is moving in the recording, but there’s no sound. And while I didn’t get any likes or comments when I posted the link (except for my friend who sang with me), I wasn’t leading for the likes or the comments. I was singing for my Father.

Who am I that the highest King
Would welcome me
I was lost but He brought me in
Oh His love for me

Ben Fielding, Rueben Morgan, Who You Say I Am

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #22

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, disasters, faith, humour, music, singing, worship

Dear Diary – My weekly Michael’s flyer arrived in my inbox today. It said “Summer is here!”. Meanwhile, it’s the end of May and I’m watching it snow outside! I took a video clip of the lilacs dancing in the breeze, as large snow globs fell from the sky, but I can’t seem to post it here. I took still photos as well, but they don’t begin to capture the horror! By the time it was thick enough for a good photo, I was too depressed. How did it go from deep summer temperatures to this?!? Good thing the cars’ snow tires are still on?

Dear Diary – On Saturday I attended a Worship Conference. I bounced out of bed early, showered, and put on a fresh pair of pjs. I threw my hair in a top-knot, applied some make-up and filled the kettle all the way to the top! From 9 to 5, I sat and swilled with other musicians, pastors and technical peeps worshipping and growing together.

This last year, it seems, has been a year of feast or famine, an extreme spectrum for us all. While some have grown weary from high expectations and great challenges to connect online with their congregations & beyond, others have grown weary from inactivity, loneliness and soul-searching. Both extremes are God’s way of challenging hearts, both in terms of who He is and who we are in Him.

I know that I have wrestled with self-doubt, especially in terms of my place and purpose in my own church home, and in the greater Church. I had left my job in October of 2019 and faced 2020 as a year of personal growth. I adopted the song, “Finish Line” to inspire me to run well. I would dig deeper in the Word. I would take steps to become healthier physically. I would write. And I would see where God was leading next. None of us had any idea that “next” would become an intense time of isolation, separation and mourning. I have dug deeper in Word and that has been my source of strength and joy. I know God is moving. Even in my life, as I continue to wait to see what’s “next”.

The second speaker, Christy Nockels, singer/songwriter, talked about life on the road. She was living “the dream” but also reaching a point of complete exhaustion. She just wanted to go “home”. It was during a time of rest that she realized that her fatigue was God’s way of rescuing her. She had everything she thought she wanted, but not what she needed most: Him. She talked about how a ready heart can look like an exhausted heart, because you have come to a place where you are ready to lay it all down and rest in Him. When we live from God, instead of for God, and when we learn to love and been seen by Him, we come home. The enemy keeps us busy so we are ineffective; God offers us rest so that He can propel us forward.

She also said “God unfolds dreams bigger than our own”. That just blows my mind, and it makes my heart ache. I don’t know what my dreams are…except to say they are to follow His dreams. And perhaps that is enough.

I also joined a break-out session for women in ministry called Boldness, with Leah Andrade. What a phenomenal woman! She said this: “You are chosen by God, divinely woven together to bring change to the world with your unmatchable story” and “your fabric is woven with God’s purpose”. O Diary…my story is pretty unremarkable, but it’s exciting to know that there is so much more going on that just what I see on the surface. To be reminded that I was chosen feels like a hug around all those places inside that hurt. I can feel the rejection and the longing to be loved melting away and being replaced by a sense of belonging. I feel hope and joy, and yes, peace. Even peace to wait. Something is coming and I want to be ready to run…

And me? I’m a mess. I’m nothing and have nothing: make something of me. You can do it; you’ve got what it takes – but God, don’t put it off.

Psalm 40:17

Dear Diary – I’m not gonna’ lie. Slipping from the softness of my bed at 6:30 Sunday morning was hard! It hurt! I wondered if it was worth it.

I had showered and laid out my clothes the night before. All I had to do was get dressed, fix my hair, apply make-up and make a large tea before heading out the door at 7:30 so I’d arrive for set-up on time. I had been asked to play with a worship team at another church. Services are still limited to 10 people so I felt comfortable in that environment. We were spread out and only 2 of us would be unmasked, and only while we were singing. I was going to get to sing and play, and not irritate anyone while doing it.

Set-up/rehearsal ran late and with 3 minutes until the start of the live service, I had to race to the restroom. I should have waited and slipped out during the sermon (sorry Pastor)! I had 20 seconds to get my in-ear monitors in. They had to be in place because, unlike the worship teams at my home church, this team played with tracks. That meant you can’t go off course or juggle your timing. You have to be precise. In addition, the only sound in the room came through the-in ear monitor…the vocals, drum, guitar and piano, which I was playing. And I was the first instrument to start with the song.

I felt like I was in a Mr. Bean skit. As the technician counted down from the back, I was scrambling to plug in my “ears”. I might have made it…had I remembered to take my face mask off first. The same thing happened at my home church 2 weeks before, as I wrestled with a face mask, 2 in-ear pieces, and a mic that clipped over one ear. I didn’t make it for the closing song, but I could hear the other musicians so I could manage. But with the only sound coming from in the in-ear, I was doomed!

I ripped the mask from my face and holding the plug by one ear, I counted. When it was time to start playing, I dropped the plug and played the first 4 bars. I could only hope that I played the correct ones! I spent the remainder of the first verse wrestling to get these things in, and praying it wasn’t all being caught on camera. I was horribly embarrassed; I’d never be able to face these people at the end of the service.

That’s when the hotflash started. It began with prickling around the back of my neck and spread into my armpits and up my face. Instead of looking like a pasty-white zombie, I was going to resemble a tomato! My hands started to shake as the back of my knees grew damp. And I wondered, what else can go wrong?

By the time we started the third song, the flush had died down. I was thankful we wouldn’t be sitting together because I was certain I no longer smelled like a rose. I allowed myself to set aside all the distractions and just worship.

As we moved into the interlude where would build toward the bridge by adding layers of complexity, our in-ear monitors went dead. I saw the lead singer stiffen and heat rising up the back of her neck. The guitarist stopped strumming. We knew the track was still playing live, and every note I was playing, but we had NOTHING! In 7 bars, the bridge would start. Would the lead singer keep going, hoping that our timing wasn’t off? Would she apologize and cite technical difficulties? Would it magically fix itself in time?

7 bars passed and I kept playing open chords. By now, the guitarist had indiscreetly turned to look at the drummer. The lead singer was madly communicating with the drummer with her eyeballs. So I glanced over too. By now, it was already past awkward. It had to be obvious to those watching that something was wrong!

But the lead singer was able to reset the track to the bridge and we had sound again. We continued on… we finished the song. The pastor prayed and introduced a short missions video. As soon as the video began, the drummer shouted “I’m so sorry”. One drumstick had gone flying (we watched it later on the video and it was hilarious) and he was preoccupied with how to discreetly pick it up. He knew he had lost the track but it wasn’t until the lead singer glanced over with fear in her eyes, that he realized he had hit the main power switch!

Needless to say, technology is great…when it works.

I picked up Tim Horton’s on the way home. I figure I deserved it after my early morning. And unlike 2 weeks ago when I treated myself to Tim’s, I got it home in one piece without spilling it and ruining my sweater! Too bad they gave me black coffee instead of black steeped tea!

I won’t be impressed with technology until it can download food.

2021 in a Word

Tags

faith, worship

Today, my talented friend, Marian Beaman, summed up her word for 2020, Beauty, before she shared her word for 2021: Beyond. Instead of focusing on what 2020 wasn’t, she masterfully looked at what it was. I encourage you to read it, for I believe there is always beauty if one chooses to look.

It’s about perspective.

Last year, I started the year with enthusiasm. Having quit my job two months earlier, I felt I was running toward something new and wonderful. A new job? Ministry opportunity? Wherever it was, I was running forward. I latched onto the concept of running with intensity, choosing “Finish line” as my “word of the year”. I even had a theme song.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize?
Run in such a way as to get the prize.

Corinthians 9:24

I spent the better part of January grieving for my job, and feeling a little lost. It’s hard to run when you’re heart is in your throat.

I began February strong, until the rug was pulled out from underneath me, and I ended up flat on my face. I crawled into God’s lap so He could hold me, and we fought fear in the dark.

In March, Covid hit and the lockdowns began.

Instead of running toward a finish line, I seemed to spend more time just sitting still. In retrospect though, I was running. I was just running to God. I ran to Him with hurts, large and small. I ran to Him with fears and insecurities, needs, questions (so many questions)! Sometimes I ran to Him because it was the sweetest place to be. I knew there was joy and peace, and beauty to sustain even the longest days.

Last Fall, I joined a Zoom Bible study, and I look forward to it resuming next week, even though it means daily homework. (Bonus: I get to see my Mom online!) This week, as I pondered my “word” for the week, the only one that came to mind was “lost”. Probably it was the best word to describe how I felt, but it isn’t the right word. I know that.

I started my homework for the study yesterday. It began in 1 Kings 9. King Solomon had completed his commission to build the Temple and his palace in Jerusalem. It took him 20 years. Perhaps after spending so many years focusing on such a great undertaking, King Solomon felt a little lost too.

There were a number of reasons that I felt it was time to leave my job, a job I loved. One of the reasons that I remained so long was that I had been given a commission, and I remained until its completion. I’m thankful it didn’t take 20 years.

Then God spoke to him, reminding him of the promise God had made 20 years earlier, if Solomon remained faithful and obedient.

Faithful ˈfāth-fəl
1. Steadfast in affection or allegiance; loyal
2: firm in adherence to promises or in observance of duty; conscientious
3: given with strong assurance; binding
4: true to the facts, to a standard, or to an original

merriam-webster.com

Solomon was never given such a large undertaking again. Instead, He lived His remaining days ruling His kingdom faithfully and wisely, according to God’s statutes. Perhaps 2021 will be filled with new opportunities and adventures. Or maybe just more challenges. Or perhaps nothing spectacular at all. My kingdom is small. My impact on the world is small. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing, but I know who I am called to be: faithful.

It’s a very good word.

And there’s a loyalty that’s deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes for the allegiance
I owe only to the Giver of all good things

So if I stand let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through
And if I can’t, let me fall on the grace that first brought me to You

Rich Mullins, If I Stand

Secret Fears of a Worship Leader

Tags

humour, speaking, worship

I recently left the morning worship service during the offering prayer, because I didn’t have the music for the offertory. You should have seen the looks on the A/V crews’ faces! I found the only copy in existence buried in the pastor’s office and made it back just in time…all the while hoofing it in heels! This past Sunday, our rehearsal was rough – our technical crew all showed up late and some of my worship team members were AWOL. It all gives new meaning to the expression “Grace Under Pressure”, and it’s certainly not the first time things have gone askew.

In a recent Facebook Post in a group for Worship Leaders, someone posed this question:

“What is your greatest, consistent (often irrational) fear when it comes to leading worship?”

Here are some of the predictable and unpredictable responses, not all born from irrational fear but from frightening realities:

• forgetting to set alarm clock at home
• no water – mouth so dry
• needing to pee in the middle of a set
• yawning, hiccuping or belching into the mic
• forgetting the lyrics/words on screen not matching what you’re singing
• chipping or breaking a tooth on the mic
• tripping over the stairs, the stand or each other
•  putting the guitar capo in the wrong spot
• getting so “into” worship results in a head butt to mic
• voice cracks/squeaks at the worst possible time
• meshing words together to create new ones (e.g., sin+shame=shilame, father+king=fahking)
• leading with eyes closed, arms raised…and fly down
• choking on own spit
• missing page 2 of music
• team member goes “rogue” in the middle of a song, and the other team members get that look of horror and confusion on their faces, and the congregation picks up on it
• breaking a G string
• messy sneeze all over mic
• getting the giggles when pastor is praying
• backing away from mic to let congregation sing only to be met with silence
• stuck in repetitive loop or worse, develops verbal diarrhea while praying
• starting a song in the wrong key from everyone else
• sneaking a sip of water and missing mouth – kersplash!
• dropping guitar and ripping pants while picking it up
• toilet paper stuck on shoe
• falling off the platform
• becoming tongue-tied, or worse, babbling incoherently with no end in sight
• fainting
• technical failure
• throwing one page too many on the floor
• dropping a cuss word
• singing off-key
• stockings fall down
• losing guitar pick
• accidentally bump mic stand and it bounces back and hits you again 3 stooges style
• stuck in a pre-service poop

One of my own personal fears happened two years ago, when a team member started the intro to a song…but not the right song. He ignored the lyrics on the screen in front of him, and the loud whispering of the pastor in the front seat, in front of him (as well as assorted hissing from the congregation). He finally stopped and apologized, saying he had the wrong song open on his stand. He then proceeded to start playing again…the same wrong song. Thanks to a quick thinking A/V crew, another pastor, and the other members of our team, we went with it. During the offertory, I took off like a shot to the back to tell the crew we would be doing the original song at the beginning of the next set. Yes, in heels! A few people chuckled when I announced the original song, and we went on from there. That team member had no clue what had happened until the end of the service. And now…every time we play together…I panic a little!

Ernest Hemingway wrote “Courage is grace under pressure”. It takes grace to round up a group of volunteers and stand together as a team, in front of people who are often all too happy to point out mistakes. Not always graciously I might add. It takes dedication to practice, to roll out of bed early to set up, and to stay late to clean up. It takes sensitivity to choose songs that will flow together musically and in their message. And it takes courage to face the fear and insecurity of speaking/singing in public, and yes, to laugh at the mistakesbtoo. Worship leaders do it, week after week, not because we’re gluttons for punishment or because we’re awesome. We love the Lord and He has asked us to share our gifts this way. God said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9 NIV).

CMS 2015

Tags

adventure, faith, music, worship

At 5 a.m. on Friday, the moon was partially full with clouds scuttling across it. The birds were singing in stereo. I know this because I was taking out the trash while I waited for my ride. I even watched the sunrise over the water Friday morning, and day-dreamed about my bed at home.

I spent Friday and Saturday at the Christian Musicians Summit, but I felt a bit out of place. The Summit included corporate worship times, as well as sessions for lead worshipers, musicians, technicians, songwriters, and artists. I didn’t realize what a big deal it was until I looked at the website Thursday afternoon. Some of the clinicians and worship leaders are well-respected in the industry, like Matthew West, Rebecca St. James, Lincoln Brewster, and Mia Fieldes. So I went emergency shopping – I needed snacks and clothes! I wanted to look cool, but not like mutton dressed up as lamb.

From 9-5, I attended intense workshops and experienced amazing worship times.

In the evenings, I danced at the rock concerts. I was among the oldest in my immediate group, and the most active. What can I say? I just wanted to have fun! (And I was extremely tired and had been without caffeine for more than 24 hours…) I think they thought I was nuts!

For the past year or more, I have had questions that weigh heavily on my mind. Someone had asked me if I was a worship leader, and I didn’t know how to answer. I’m not sure what my role is? Where I fit in? What I’m supposed to be doing, or how I can grow? There’s no rubric or job description when you’re involved in a ministry; no road map pointing out the direction to go. The “constructive criticism” (or the omission of comment) has been wearing away my confidence. I am often my own worst enemy as I wrestle with feelings of doubt and inadequacy. But I still want to give my best to God and be obedient, wherever, and however I may be called. I have so much from this weekend to digest. But I can say that as I watched the sun set over the water coming home Saturday night, I am feeling refreshed.

Leadership Conference

Tags

faith, leadership, midlife crisis, music, worship

Part of my mid-life crisis has involved contemplating what makes a person a leader. I have had a couple of people in positions of authority, and who I respect, hint that they see leadership potential in me. I don’t see it! That doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and I certainly don’t want to be my own obstacle in reaching and using what leadership skills may exist. I can be my own worst enemy.

A few months ago I received an email that said “you should go” with a link. The link was for a Lead Worship Conference with Paul Baloche (for those who don’t know who that is, he is a well-known Christian song writer and worship leader). It looked great, but I had some pretty lame excuses why I shouldn’t go…The next email came from someone higher up the food chain telling me “we want you to go and we’ll be paying for it”.

So Saturday morning, I woke at 6 a.m. to the sound of sleet hitting the windows. Lovely! I got dressed, curled my hair, put on my make-up, and was ready to go by 7:30. Long after our group arrived and registered, I felt like a poser – what was I doing here with all these talented people? But once the worship service started, I didn’t’ care any more. It was like being at a concert – light displays, cameras, and amazing sound. Cool factor: they were recording for a live album so my voice is in that crowd! And I got lost in the music…

While I learned a number of practical things, it was the affirmations, like the heart of a worship leader (so maybe their ideas aren’t so far off?). It wasn’t just in what they were teaching, but in how they demonstrated it– with humility and love for each person.

If I had to choose 3 key points, they would be:

1) The secret to being a worship leader is to be in the secret place. Our personal life reflects our commitment and our worship.

2) God calls us to occupy the place He has put us in and our worship will overflow into that place.

3) leading is a privilege because we are given the potential to bring about an explosion of God’s power in broken people’s lives.

I feel a little less like a poser, thought I still have many doubts about my abilities and my place. I’m curious to see just where it might be leading…

Hands and Feet

Tags

faith, worship

As part of our reflection time at the worship service this past Saturday night, we asked those in attendance to consider adding their hand print as a statement of their willingness to be God’s Hands and Feet in our world. It was such a blessing to see so many participate. It was both a personal and meaningful exercise.

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart…For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts’…. it is written: ‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love him.’ For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Therefore, “such confidence we have through Christ before God.  Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant…” The word “ministers” encompasses the entire realm of servanthood, not just pastors or deacons. God created us with a need to contribute and participate in His kingdom on earth. Our salvation is a free gift that demanded the work of Christ Jesus alone on the cross. But God requests that we join Him and be His active hands and feet in our hurting world. God has a ministry for you, and in Him, you are completely competent to receive and fulfill it. He can lead you on the adventure of a lifetime if you are willing to believe Him…

Jeremiah 29:11-13
Isaiah 55:8-9
1 Corinthians 1:9
Ephesians 2:8-10
2 Corinthians 3:4-6

Confidence

Tags

faith, music, worship

” For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” –Eph. 2:8b

Saturday’s evening worship service was supposed to begin with a short inspirational video clip from a professional baseball player. Instead, we had technical difficulties and I had to talk about the video off the top of my head. I hope I was eloquent…I really wanted to be able to use the opening I had prepared about the speaker’s two key words: passion and confidence. It seemed incredibly ironic talking about confidence, since I wasn’t feeling confident in my abilities. Passion was easy – I have passion for God, passion for worship, and passion for this service that I had helped to plan and had spent time preparing for and praying over. But confidence? Yikes! I did not feel confident sitting on a platform in front of a keyboard with a microphone practically shoved up my nose. I did not feel confident speaking or singing with a voice that had threatened to croak all week. Even in my sassy green boots, I did not feel confident that my feet wouldn’t trip on the stairs when I had to move to the piano and back. And I didn’t feel confident that my fingers would always find the right notes, or that I would sing the right words. But I did feel confident that I was right where I was supposed to be…so I started the evening by talking about confidence:

We have confidence that Jesus died for our sins and when we acknowledge Him as the Lord and Saviour of our lives, scripture tells us our sins are as far as from the east is from the west. We have confidence that He will never leave us or forsake us. We have confidence that He has a better plan and purpose for our lives. We have confidence that He loves unconditionally. And we have confidence that someday we will meet with Him face to face in eternity, and He will reign forever.

I prayed over our service for the night, asked everyone to stand…and we worshipped the Lord. Part way through the service, following a reading and time of reflection, we asked those who were willing, to participate in an exercise. Amazingly, every one did. I hope I can post a picture tomorrow so you can see our “handiwork”.

It was an amazing night, and I am so blessed to have been a part of it. Maybe one of these times, I will approach it with confidence. Then again, maybe it’s better if I don’t!