Time Travel

When my father retired, he built an office in our back yard called “The Supplement” in which there was a pipe organ, harpsicord, and piano. I remember liking the place as a child and remember the many gatherings there, many of which were concerts. 

The Supplement is long gone, the instruments given to others to play, but my sister recently sent me the guest book my father persistently had everyone sign. In it are many names, some famous others not, but he also included the programs from each concert. I have taken those programs and created a playlist of every piece performed in The Supplement*. Closing my eyes as I listen, I try to imagine the music being played in that special place. I take my seat beside the other guests and listen (and try to sit still, which was always a challenge for me). Most of all, I try to picture the performers, particularly my father, who died many years ago. 

It’s a form of time travel, I suppose, fueled by a longing deep within to go back and be with my father and the others and to listen as if the music is being performed for the first time. I guess it’s why people read the Bible - to go back, to sit beside those who heard the words when they were first spoken, and, most of all, to be with the one who first uttered them.

*“The Supplement” can be found on Spotify. (The first two concerts are assembled. The others will be coming soon.)

Anyone Can Win

“That should be your next Brushstroke,” my wife said after I sat trying to make sense of what had just happened. A team that shouldn’t have won, did. Despite all the odds, the hours of commentary before the game, they somehow pulled it off and returned to the locker room victors. I sat in my chair shaking my head. “Anyone can win,” was all I could say.

That’s going to be my spiritual mantra for awhile. Reminding myself that anyone can win somehow changes my outlook. A life based on the commentary that surrounds me, living by the odds, constricts my soul. More important, it constricts God. 

I’m not sure how all this God thing works, how God is involved in the world. I’m not sure God cares much about the outcome of a game, but I do believe God cares a lot about each player and coach, just as God cares about each banker and janitor, each homemaker and homeless soul. I believe in God’s very soul (If God has a soul. It sounds redundant.) is the belief that anyone can win. Defying the odds seems to be what God does best. Proving pundits wrong must make God smile.

Give God a murderer, and watch him burn bushes. Give God someone who thinks her time is all but over, and watch a child be born. Give God a broken-hearted husband, and watch God create a prophet. Give God a bunch of frustrated fishermen and watch the nets overflow.

The next time I hold back because someone says it won’t work, the next time I beat myself up for trying and failing, I hope I remember what I said last night. Anyone can win. All things are possible. Just remembering that causes me to take a deep breath and smile before walking out the door to begin another game, oops, I mean day. 

Adopted Mutts

We adopted two puppies from the local shelter this Christmas. They’re mutts, to be sure, with spots and stripes that, at first, were the only ways we could tell them apart. Brother and sister, she is more reserved, but will destroy any book or pair of glasses I leave within her reach. He is bulkier and a bit of a bully who will try to take away anything his sister finds. 

When I am not cleaning up messes, I look at them and think about how their lives changed when we came to the shelter. No longer in cages, they have soft beds and plenty of food and toys. Watching them run around our property, I can tell they love their new life. They’re growing up quickly. I have no idea what they will become, or how our relationship will grow, but that’s the wonder of it all.

It's Sunday, and I can’t help but look at them this morning with a more theologically reflective gaze. When I think about our coming to the shelter and bending down and opening our arms, I think of God coming to get us. Like the puppies, we did nothing to deserve God’s coming to get us. All we did was run to the open arms. That’s enough, I think. Suddenly, we no longer have to live in cages. We can run free and enjoy our new life. Yes, we, too, are mutts. No matter how hard we try to look or act otherwise, we are covered with spots and stripes that make us unique. We make messes of one kind or another, but that’s to be expected. Who knows where this new life will lead, what the relationship will bring out in us, but that’s the wonder of it all.

My wife is working with girls preparing for confirmation, and this morning’s topic is salvation. It’s a big word. People have wrestled with what salvation is and when it happened (or happens) for centuries. I believe it happened two thousand years ago, and I had nothing to do with it. God came, bent down, and opened his arms and adopted us. Because of that, we were given new lives. Who knows where the new lives will lead, how the relationship will God will change us, but that’s the joy, and wonder of this thing called faith. 

It’s enough to make me want to wag my tail.