Giggling Grace...

Giggling Grace...

My friend Cara Pollard sent me an Advent meditation she wrote for her church devotional book. Cara writes beautifully about our need for grace. As I read, my mind went spinning back through time and I remembered Cara and our daughters Megan and Alison as children. The sound track for this memory video is giggles. Giggles and more giggles... They giggled at ghost stories, at who did what to whom and when, at and with each other, at adults who tickled their funny bones. They giggled for no reason at all sometimes except for the sheer joy of being together. The sound of grace for me is embodied in the laughter and giggles of children.
Somewhere along the way as we “grow up”, most of us lose our giggle. Not all of us do, though. Our friend Grady Nutt lives in my heart as a giggle. Out of the mouth of this tall, dapper Texan, a professional humorist who was a Baptist Will Rogers, would bubble up this giggle that would rope you in and you would giggle, too. I miss his giggle and I miss the laughing heart that was the home for his humor.
Children, and the occasional adult, visiting the farm always giggle. They giggle when the donkeys soft noses tickle their fingers as they feed them treats. They giggle as they swing high under the oak tree out front. Running down the hill or around the deck, they giggle and laugh. When a cow slobbers on them as they feed them cow jelly beans (alfalfa cubes), they giggle and go yuk! The sight of Rufus the basset hound brings on giggles.
Sarah, Abraham’s wife, laughed (or giggled) when the angels told them she would bear a son as an old woman. She tried to keep her laughter to herself but the angels caught her laughing and called her out. Later she worried that her name would be a joke all over the neighborhood when folks found out that she was having a baby. She would be the cause of giggles and a giggles first cousin, snorts. Sarah took herself much too seriously as do most grownups. It is impossible to giggle and remain dignified.
Grace is neither dignified nor deserved. It, like giggles, comes unbidden and to all whether you want it or not, whether you believe it or not. Somewhere deep in the heart of God, grace bubbles up and overflows covering us all with the loving assurance of our worth. We can let go of our illusions of control, our need to be seen as responsible adults, our fears of foolishness. We can giggle at the sheer absurdity of grace, marvelous grace, grace that is greater than all our sin. And when we do, perhaps God giggles along with us just as the girls did years ago. After all, giggles were made to be shared.

A new song...

Miz Vivian was sitting in her car, the early bird as usual, waiting for the rest of us to get to Wednesday night supper. She opened her door and called me over to sit and wait with her. “Just listen”, she said. A black gospel choir began to sing “Soon and Very Soon” with gusto. “My favorite song”, said Miz Vivian. As we sat and waited for the rest to show up, she played one song after another, all her favorites.
Ashley, a cute sixth grader and an accomplished dancer, sat with me in the sanctuary listening to possible music for her dance on Women’s Day at our church. Diane and I had chosen a variety of sacred music... folk, reggae, hymns, sacred harp and one song I happened to pick up on my way to church “I Believe I Can Fly” sung by an African American woman gospel singer. When she heard that song, Ashley’s face lit up and we were soon watching her leap and pirouette around the sanctuary, believing and flying.
We have two hymnals in our church... the traditional blue Presbyterian hymnal and a gospel hymnal with African American gospel and spirituals. We sing from both every Sunday and that is one of the reasons I love this gathering of Christians. There is a balance between proper “Presbyterianism” which is the history of this 109 year old congregation, and the cut loose and let it fly gospel spirit which is also a part of the church’s story.
Miss Winnie, our eighty seven year old pianist, fell recently and as so often happens, began a gentle descent towards death. The first Sunday she was absent, Pastor Pat asked me to accompany the congregation on the piano. Our community is small and we all have to pitch in whatever our gifts may be. I was the only in house option. It is the first time I have played the piano regularly for worship since college. Not only are my fingers slower than they used to be but I am having to learn new rhythms, new songs, new ways of singing old standards. Each congregation has its own musical history, its own tempo and its own versions of songs.
My southern religious musical upbringing has much in common with black gospel but there are some major differences. The first Sunday I played “Soon and Very Soon” I got lost in the repeats and codas. Afterward, one older man said “We sang more of ‘Soon and Very Soon’ than we have ever sung before!” We laughed, hugged and I resolved to practice more. Maybe that is why Miz Vivian wanted me to hear her favorite song sung right.
Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous!...Sing to him a new song, play skillfully on the strings with loud shouts. The Psalmist reminds me that I am a part of a musical tradition that stretches back thousands of years. My search for connection to the One who gave me a song to sing has led me through many different ways of singing and playing new music. I am equally at home with Just a Little Talk With Jesus, The Messiah, Soon and Very Soon, Just As I Am, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God and Amazing Grace. I love it all and do not worry overmuch about the theological implications of when we meet our King.
We do the best we can to put words to our beliefs but even the most learned among us can only present a partial and flawed word picture of God. Music with words transforms the imperfect word pictures and creates a place where the Spirit can sing with us a new song that praises and prays, perfect harmony. Our past, our present and our future as Christians can be found in our music.
On Women’s Sunday our girl’s and women’s chorus sang a hymn arrangement new to the congregation, The Hymn of Promise, one of my favorites, written in 1985 by Natalie Sleeth. It was dedicated to her husband Ronald who died after she wrote it. The second verse is my prayer for today. “ There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody; there’s a dawn for every darkness, bringing hope to you and me. From the past will come a future; what it holds a mystery, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.”

I will be missing you...

I will be missing you, Nana...

It had been a busy day with Matthew, Mason and Mead. Their mother was away at a training program and I was support staff during her absence. School, tutoring for Mason, homework, meals, and now it was bedtime. Bedtime with three boys is not tidy nor neat but it is full of laughter and love. Baths and shampoos are followed by pajamas and bedtime books. Matthew stays up a little later than the two youngest since his ADHD meds make it more difficult for him to wind down. Mason climbed into bed and “read” while I tucked Mead in.
I would be leaving to go home in the morning after I helped with school transportation. Mason, who has a form of autism that is focused on sensory processing issues, had been trying to deal with my leaving all day. His sad face looked up at me on the ride home from school as he said, “ You go to the farm tomorrow, Nana?” This question was repeated several times through the evening as he struggled to incorporate the information and deal with his sad feelings. As I bent down to snuggle and kiss him good night, his cheek, wet with tear tracks, undid me. He looked up at me and through eyes filled with sad love, he said, “I will be missing you, Nana.”
There are many things Mason cannot do as well as typically developing children but he has one gift that is beyond compare. He knows how to love and be loved. He lives in a world where he expects others to love him and offers his love freely to others. “They will be missing me,” he tells his mother when he is late for his school program. His self affirmations are “Barney loves me, Nana... Pop loves me, Nana... My brothers love me, Nana. Love is the center of Mason’s soul. And in a world that often does not see beneath the surface, Mason’s loving heart draws other children and adults to him.
When I lie awake at night worrying about Mason, praying for those teachers who work with him, praying for his parents who struggle to do their best for him, I remember “I will be missing you, Nana”. The Heart of God, Love Incarnate, lives in Mason’s heart. And I hear the echo of God’s voice saying “I will be missing you, Peggy” while I feel far away from Heart of God.
A new hymn written by Hal Hopson puts words to my longing. “Though I may speak with bravest fire, and have the gift to all inspire, and have not love, my words are vain as sounding brass and hopeless gain. Though I may give all I possess, and striving so my love profess, but not be given by love within, the profit soon turns strangely thin. Come, Spirit, come, our hearts control. Our spirits long to be made whole. Let inward love guide every deed. By this we worship and are freed.” Oh Dear One, make my spirit whole and grant me a loving heart. Help me see the world as Mason sees it, full of loving souls yearning to be loved and loving in return. I will be loving you, Lord even as you are loving me.