A Song in My Heart

     They say that music soothes the savage beast...and I would agree that music readily touches my soul, perhaps even more quickly than the written or spoken word. Music is a language all its own, and I wish I knew more about neuropsychology and the way music operates on the brain...wait, no I don't...that would only feed my life-long obsession with the acquisition of knowledge. All I need to know is that music calls to me, music ministers to me, music touches me. Music also ushers me into the presence of God. And there is no more glorious music than the music surrounding the Passion of Christ.
     Like many of you older folk, I grew up with The Old Rugged Cross. My grandparents loved it, my husband's grandparents loved it, and my mother-in-law wanted it played at her memorial service. It was.
          On a hill far away stood an Old Rugged Cross, the emblem of suffering and shame; 
          and I love that old cross where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain.
     I remember as a child wondering why I should love that old cross, for the death that the One died upon it seemed so terrifying and horrible to me, but as I grow older, I have come to value the sacrifice and to see the cross for its terrible and enduring beauty. For in it or upon it, lies the means of grace. The Way to the Father. My way to the Father. The cross represents my adoption record. Fully paid. Fully satisfied. And because of that cross I am afforded the privilege of being the daughter of the Most High, His child. And He is my Abba, my Papa. It still seems unbelievable to me.
     Yet my all-time favorite Easter hymn is the more modern Easter Song written by Keith Greene,
           Hear the bells ringing, they're singing that you can be born again
           Hear the bells ringing, they're singing Christ is risen from the dead.
           The angel up on the tombstone said, "He is risen just as he said. 
           Quickly now, go tell his disciples that Jesus Christ is no longer dead."
           Joy to the World, He has risen, Hallelujah
           He is risen, Hallelujah...
      Without fail, I always cry when I sing this song. I love that it brings Christmas, The Cross, and the Empty Tomb together in such a wonderful way. Joy to the World. Yes! I can seemingly never get enough of all that Christ offers me. Daily I find myself in sore need of His redemption, His grace, and His mercy. I am ever thankful that He freely offers me this and more. I scarce can take it in.

      Be Thou My Vision is not an Easter hymn per se, but this ancient church melody is the cry of my heart today:
          Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
          Naught be all else to me, save that thou art -
          Thou my best thought by day or by night,
          Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
           
          Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
          Thou mine inheritance, now and always
          Thou and thou only, first in my heart,
          High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.
    
          High King of Heaven, my victory won,
          May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'n's sun!
          Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
          Still be my vision, O Ruler of All. 

     Without a doubt, I am so very thankful to be His.

Grandbabies Galore

   It was the week for grandbabies. Little One and Little Two filled my cup to perfection. One of them was a tad bit under the weather, but it didn't make any difference to me. It just gave me an excuse to hug and cuddle all the more. Here are some pics of my budding spring beauties who make my heart sing!

Little One and I took a stroll around East Nashville one morning. She and her BlaBa Tiger Lily doll
got so tired they both had to close their eyes for just a minute. But it didn't last long,
 Little One and Tiger Lily did not want to miss ANYTHING!

Little Two and Nonna read lots of books when she came to spend the day, but this colorful book
 is by far her favorite. Little Two tried very hard to turn the pages all by herself. Her great-grandmother who
is a retired librarian (do librarians ever really retire?) would be so proud!

Getting the Nest Ready

     The envelope arrived with a little bird stamp on the back; inside was a graphic illustration of a nest with a tiny egg. The beautifully designed and handcrafted baby shower invitations set the stage for the event honoring this momma-to-be who, unlike so many today, will not find out the sex of her baby until he or she is born later this spring. The hostesses chose accents of green and white and scattered cloches filled with nests throughout the house along with a bright clutch of green and white balloons at the front door to welcome the guests. The table was artfully laden with moss interspersed with flowers and featured a lighted tree branch with...yes, a bird's nest or two. Doors and windows were thrown open to bring the warm spring sunshine inside and antique china, silver goblets, a silver swinging tea kettle, and yummy brunch food helped to make the occasion a memorable one for this lovely momma and her much anticipated little one. It was a happy, happy day!

Another view of the moss-laden table

                                                                            

Enjoying the brunch

Hostesses with the Mom-to-Be (she's in the bright blue!)

An Extraordinary Ability

   You might be familiar with Bob the Builder, but in our family Bob has been eclipsed by my humble brother-in-law. This brother-in-law is a man who can take sand and mortar, steel, glass, and wood and turn these ordinary materials into something magnificent. I recently toured a home that he had completed in the Panhandle of Florida. It stretched my imagination and fueled my own desire to explore any possible untapped fields of creativity that might be lurking within (not that I could EVER build a house). I don't know how he does it. I don't know where he learned to do it. I only know he does.
   There are houses peppered all over the Panhandle (in Watercolor, Watersound, Sandestin, and Seaside to name a few), that bear this man's stamp along with countless commercial buildings, as well. And thank the Good Lord, all are sold and occupied. In case you have been asleep the past five years, the Gulf Coast of Florida has gone belly up with real estate development. It just ain't happening any more. But there is always a place for a man who does an honest day's work at a fair price. And that's my brother-in-law. He has trimmed back, scaled back, and chooses his projects with care. He no longer has five building superintendents working around the clock or 25 projects underway at a time; he no longer builds "spec" houses, but he still builds from scratch and remodels and refurbishes and can take it down to the studs and then back up if you want him to. A long time ago he learned the secret of being happy in times of plenty as well as times of want, and it has served him in good stead.
   This recently completed home has totally captured my imagination. It is not a house the likes of which I will ever call home. It's on the Gulf, for one, and secondly, I would probably build more of a cottage than this elegant soaring space, if ever given the unlikely chance. Yet this house still stirs my soul and intrigues me. Primarily because it has so much possibility. So much ingenuity. I guess that's why I like it so much. I hope you will enjoy the glimpse of this special place that someone who dared to dream will soon be calling home.
   Oh, and if you want an-honest-as-the-day-is-long man who can make your very own dream come to life, then email me. I'll be happy to pass along the name of my brother-in-law's company along with the highest of references. I am absolutely 100% certain his wife, my sister, would vouch for him, as will the rest of us.

Windows that soar to let in the light

Curved wall of windows

The priceless view

Looking out from the adjacent terrace

Third story great room with dining room
 light fixture in foreground

Exquisitely beautiful ceilings with uplighting 

I don't normally think ceilings are gorgeous,
 but these left me with my mouth hanging open

Top two floors are hardwood; lowest level is
stained natural concrete

Kitchen with stainless steel backsplash tiles, stone counters,
and matte finish stainless island

Fireplace with matte finish stainless steel ledge

There are 26 paint colors in this house, and
this is the fun combo for the office and the elevator

Detail of stacked and layered molding (entry to office closet)

Laundry room gray and taupe stone floor

Guest bath on third level

Second floor landing with door to streetside porch

Second floor den with built ins and floating shelves

Staircase ledge on second story

Stair detail from ground floor;
wooden cubbies on background wall;
stained natural concrete floors on ground level

All wood in house has limed green wash

Ground floor wet bar with Thermador refrigerator

Tile detail for lowest level bath

Pool and spa on lowest level of house;
outdoor kitchen to the left under covered porch.

The Sweet Scent of Spring

   As I made my way South to visit Momma, I drove with my windows down. It made it that much easier to inhale the smell of spring unfolding before me. The pollen laden air was fragrant with the scent of newly turned earth underlaid with tones of fertilizer, occasionally accented by the pungent whiff of manure. All about me were the signs of cultivation. Farmers were taking advantage of the demise of the ageless sleep of winter and embracing the glorious rebirth that spring affords. There were tractors everywhere and many a field boasted newly plowed rows and some fine terracing work. By the looks of it, Mr. John Deere is having a mighty good year.

   The grancy greybeards were also in full bloom, "just showing off" as my grandmother used to say. Their lacy arms swayed in greeting as I passed. I even tooted my horn at a couple of the most beautiful. My sisters laugh at me, but I felt I had to do something to say howdy and thank you in one fell swoop.  Sadly,  I was a little too late to see the magnificent display of spring azaleas, but the woods were still full of English dogwoods and the roadside phlox were jumping out everywhere just like a pink welcome mat.

Mr. Grancy Greybeard, thank you m'am.

     When heading down, some folks stay on the Interstate as long as possible to avoid the two-lane country roads, but not this girl (a loosely held appellation, I fear.) I can tolerate the Interstate, but put me on Hwy 189, good ole 331South or Rte 85 and I know I am home. Snodoun, Highland Home, Luverne, Brantley, Opp, Kingston, Gaskin, and Glendale are the sing-song towns as familiar to me as the back of my hand. They are old friends. From their surrounding environs I can judge whether times are good and whether times are hard, and I daresay these rural hamlets afford me a much better sense of the state of the American economy than the New York Stock Exchange ever could. Through the years I have watched the houses go up and the houses fall down. I have seen fortunes rise and fall by observing the strength of the fencepost, the state of the fields and which houses in town need a new coat of paint. We are in recovery, but barely. Good hard-working folks are still hurting out there. So as I wend my way down the ribbon of highway, I send up more than a few prayers for those who look ahead to the God in heaven for a good harvest even before they faithfully till and plant the fields. As they plow, they trust the rains will come in due season. As they sow, they trust the yield will be plentiful and full.  
   The prime interest rate and state of the dollar are secondary here, for it is the scent of the earth and the promise of spring that call to these folks. The farmers I know are more often than not people of faith. They know whom to trust. They know whom to ask. They know the One who is ever faithful. Dollars come and dollars go, but the Lord and His ways are unchanging ... yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It's a good thing to remember when driving the highways and smelling the spring. It's just a very good thing to remember...no matter what.

Let Them Eat Dirt

     I didn't believe in raising my children in an ultra-clean environment. I bathed them nearly every day out of necessity and trust me, the neighborhood, their teachers, and the other mothers all thanked me for this. We also washed our hands, brushed our teeth, and shampooed our hair on a regular basis. But nonetheless, we reveled in more than our fair share of dirt. I try to be a good grandmother and keep Little One away from harmful things that she might like to put in her mouth, but when it comes to rocks, sticks, and dirt, I am fighting a losing battle. The girl is a sneak with a capital "S". And sometimes she doesn't even try to hide the fact that she is sampling the finest that nature has to offer. If you look closely in these pictures, you will see what I mean. I have documented proof.

                          

I am seriously thinking about it...

Just a little taste...

Uh oh...that is definitely NOT chocolate!

Oh well, I am none the worse for wear.

Metaphors That Work for Me

   I made a new friend yesterday. I had a wonderful girl I met online through her blog come over and give me some design and color advice. I think it might possibly be some of the best money I have ever spent. She tweaked a few things in two rooms and gave me some great suggestions. She was also very complimentary while helping me to move in a different direction in a couple of areas. I would recommend The Decorologist to anyone!
   Because she inspired me to do a paint and glazing treatment on a piece of furniture that I have disliked forever, I have been sanding away this morning. I talk to the Lord about anything and everything. It makes for some interesting conversations at times. I dragged the piece of furniture out to the backporch, put down a drop cloth, found some steel wool and a fine grain of sandpaper and went to work. I had been instructed to get the shine off the furniture so that the primer and then the paint would adhere properly. I immediately started thinking about my spiritual life. I am always trying to spit, polish, and shine myself up. I don't do this for God as much as I do it for the benefit of others. I have always been approval based, so one of my weaknesses is that I want others to think highly of me. It is an area in which I am moving toward freedom, but I still find that I have the need to put the proverbial lip gloss on my life, especially when I am under scrutiny.
   The steel wool didn't cut it for me. Even with all the elbow grease behind my rubbing, the steel wool was simply too soft. I set it aside and pulled out the sandpaper. I knew it would work, but I also knew that the process would be much messier and more difficult. It was. I started with the big piece of sandpaper and quickly learned that I had to move with the grain of the wood. I chuckled when I began to make the spiritual connections again. So God moves with the grain of my personality. He does not seek to willingly afflict or grieve my spirit any more than is absolutely necessary, but He knows that the character that lies underneath the shine must be vulnerable to His touch in order for His purposes to prevail. The shine of the finish represents my own attempts to achieve holiness or goodness or my desire to hide the imperfections and the flaws that I find so unattractive in myself.
   Guess what? As I continued to sand, the glossy finish disappeared and something wonderful began to happen: the natural grain and beauty of the wood began to emerge. Yes, there were imperfections, but under the sanding they began to take on a different aspect; they actually began to add to the character of the piece. Even though the table and I were all too soon covered in dust, debris, and detritus, I could see the true beauty beginning to shine forth. It was nothing like the glossy finish of before --the artificiality of canned perfection had disappeared and the underlying nature of the wood was revealed.
   After the sanding was completed, I took slightly dampened paper towels and wiped the piece down. I took my time. I didn't rush through the process. Once again, I went with the grain of the wood and removed as much of the dust as I possibly could. The work was satisfying. If you gave a cursory look at the piece, it looked clean but I knew that there were still grains of dust that I could not remove.
   Are we not like this with our sin? We shrink from the sanding process. We want to be bathed in God's mercy all of the time and not experience any difficulty whatsoever. But those who are born and conceived in sin do not readily become Holy. It requires transformation: a rebirth and a continuing cycle of sanctification. We would do well to remember that the birthing process is always painful or at least every one of mine were. And sanctification. Well sanctification can look very much like the sanding process. But it has a purpose. An important purpose. We are being made anew into the image of the Firstborn Son.
   I should be thankful that sanding furniture is my spiritual lesson for the day. It puts me in mind of one of my favorite Frederick Buechner quotes,
            "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less
            than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it,
             because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." 
                                         — Frederick Buechner (Now and Then: A Memoir of Vocation)
   So the long and the short of it is that I found mystery and grace in the midst of my sanding. And an admonition as well: I definitely don't want to get sidetracked with the whitewashing. I do not want to end up with anything remotely resembling a whited sepulchre. My erstwhile shiny self already resembles a Pharisee all too often as it is. But then again...there is grace. Sandpaper grace. But transformative grace nonetheless. And for that I say, thank you, dear Lord.