Shepherds

   I had an odd thought today about the Christmas story.  I was listening to a song that a friend of mine has written about the shepherds who were the first to hear about Jesus the night He was born.  We all know the story; we've heard the Scriptures many times before.  There were some shepherds out in the fields watching their sheep the night that Jesus was born.  An angel of the LORD suddenly appears in front of them, and the Scripture says they were terrified.

   In our culture, and especially around Christmas time, we see angels depicted for us as a man with wings and a cute little halo hovering over his head.  They usually have a very human sort of expression on their face, a nice smile.  Or, what's worse, they are depicted as beautiful females with long curly hair and mouths open in song.  I don't think that's anything like what the shepherds saw. 

   Angels are unlike anything we run across visually in this fallen world.  They are unfallen creatures who stand before the living God singing and crying out praises to Him ceaselessly.  They have a white-hot passion for the glory of God.  They are powerful creatures.  Have you ever noticed that whenever they show up in the Bible, the natural response is terror?  Their very appearance is so overwhelming that the humans who see them are tempted to worship them.  Let's not kid ourselves.  If a messenger from the throne room of Heaven suddenly appeared in front of us in a blaze of light, we'd all fall down and drop our eyes. 

   We know the story.  The angel first tells them not to be afraid, and tells them that the long-awaited Messiah and Savior of Israel is finally born, and he tells them where they can find Him.  And it goes on to say that a multitude of God's angels suddenly appear with the first angel crying out praises to God together in one voice.  Praising God for His favor and kindness toward men.  He's sending one who will pay the price for their sins and reconcile them to their Creator again.  I don't really know what that was like to witness that, but it must have been breathtaking. 

   I love the shepherds' response.  The angels suddenly vanish all at once, and the normal, quiet dark of the night closes around them again.  They probably stare at one another's faces, awestruck, silently asking each other, "Did you see that?!" 

   They immediately say to each other, "The Messiah!  The One Israel has been waiting for is actually here!  We've got to find Him!  Let's go!  Let's go now!  The LORD actually told us about this!  I'm not waiting another minute, we're going to Bethlehem!!" 

   Oh, what I would give to be able to eavesdrop in on that conversation!  I can just imagine them hurriedly putting out the fire and gathering their things together.  "We can leave the sheep alone for a while.  Yeah, they're our livelihood but this is the Messiah we're talking about!  I bet if God told us to go find Him than He'll keep an eye on our sheep for us!" 

   And then they go "with haste," to Bethlehem.  I wonder how far it was and how many doors they had to bang on in the middle of the night.  People probably thought they were crazy.

   "What in the world do you want?!"

   "Please, sir, was there a child born here tonight?" 

   "What?  No!  Of course not!  What are you talking about?"

   "It's the Messiah!  He's born!  He's here, somewhere!  In Bethlehem!  You'll never believe what happened tonight!  We've seen messengers of the Lord and they told us to look for a child laying in a manger."

   "Well, you won't find your child in a manger here, now if you'll excuse me--!"  *slam* 

   "Who was that, dear?  Is there trouble?"

   "Oh, it's unbelievable.  Those ridiculous shepherds have gone completely crazy!" 


   They keep searching until they find Him.  It says they "spread the word," everywhere, so I guess that means they told every innkeeper what had happened, and by the next day the rumors were flying.  They found Him that night, and they worshiped Him.  They went back to their fields singing and praising God and talking excitedly all the way.  For so many years there has been no revelation from the Lord.  No prophet, no Man of God, no judge to rule the people.  They've been crushed under the Roman Empire, and now, as every one in the nation is wondering in the back of their minds if God has forgotten them, all of a sudden He's here!  He's come!  The Savior has come, even though they probably didn't understand what kind of Savior He was going to be.  

   Someone once told me that the shepherds of that day and age were known for their dishonesty.  They were the low-life, the riff-raff, and they weren't even allowed to testify in a court of law!  These were not the nice, God-fearing people that I tend to picture them being.  Not to mention they lived outside with sheep.  Dirty, smelly, sketchy people. 

   I'd never thought of the word "sketchy" to describe them until today.  Dirty, smelly, dishonest, yes.  But when I thought "sketchy characters," to myself, something clicked. 

   God and His angels are rejoicing in Heaven.  The Incarnation has actually taken place.  The Prophet, Priest, and King is now on the earth on His rescue mission.  It's almost as if the news is so good, He didn't want to keep it to Himself. 

   The heavenly messenger is sent, and not to the king's court.  Not to the Pharisees and the Scribes and the council.  Not even to the High Priest of Israel.  He was sent to the outcasts, the low-life, the dishonest, dirty, smelly shepherds. 

   That's because Jesus wasn't sent to save the self-sufficient, self-satisfied, "nice" people.  He was sent to save those who know that they're bad and need help.  Praise the Lord that He opens the eyes of the self-satisfied and shows them their need of Him!  Else, I wouldn't be writing this now. 

   And here's another thought: the shepherds responded rightly.  They ran to see.  When they saw, they worshipped, they praised God, and then they went out and told everyone who would listen all that they had seen, whether they would believe it or not.  How many of us can say that today? 

   I thought it was ironic that as I was shopping today, I turned off my radio playing cheery Christmas music about cozy, happy family scenes, immediately to walk into a crowded store where there were no smiles to be seen.  Decorations, sure.  Music, sure.  Light, sure.  Even a few, "Happy Holidays to ya,"---spoken in a tired voice.  Everyone's tired.  Everyone's rushed, everyone is zoned out.  So much to do, and so little time.  That's not the way Christmas is supposed to be!  

   I thought of the Roman Census that was decreed when Mary was almost ready to have the baby.  Not a good time to attempt a long, dusty, dangerous journey.  And everyone was forced to return to their city, and many of them were poor and didn't have much money for a long journey.  Imagine the hassle, the inconvenience, and of course the dangers on the road.  Robbers, wild animals, fatigue.  You couldn't just pull off the road and grab something to eat.  Everybody was stressed out, worried, fatigued then, just like---in an imperfect sort of analogy,---like everyone is today when Christmas draws near. 

   When they get there, none of the inns have any vacancy, and her precious little baby is born on a cold, nasty stable floor.  The King of the Universe lies in a feeding trough, while the busy, unhappy, bustling world goes on like usual outside.  

   I couldn't help but see the connection.  There's no cheer.  Everyone is always so busy.  And in first-world countries, everybody is grumpy at Christmas time.  Or just tired out buying the latest electronics for the "not-yet-tweenagers," at home, and the coolest new toys for the little ones, and the really big gifts for the discontented teenagers with the long wish lists.  I think our priorities are sadly---ridiculously---messed-up.  We're so consumed with our materialism and discontent.  It's awful.  It grieves my heart.  Some people that I know don't even have enough clothes to keep out the cold this time of year.  They're busy too...busy trying to keep their children warm, trying to stretch their food and money and small resources.  I think we, in L.M. Montgomery's words, "have too much Christmas."  The real spirit of Christmas is in giving, not receiving.  The joy of giving exceeds what we get.  Yeah, I know.  Sounds cliché.  But ever give it a try?  I mean, Christ Himself said it was more blessed to give than to receive. 

   Do we have room in our hearts for Christ this Christmas?  Or are we too busy?  Or too stressed with things that really don't matter so much?  Or, like me, are we just too distracted by our own clamoring needs that we don't take the time to rest in Jesus and enjoy His deliverance over our sins?   

   The "riff-raff" of the shepherds puts us to shame.  They praised God with breathless wonder and spread the good news to everyone.  

   And then there were the learned in their ivory towers, watching the skies.  They knew by the stars that something huge and incredible and good was coming into their lifetime.  They watched the Star appear, and they saw it rise, and they knew a King---a very great and special King---had been born.  They were so convinced that they prepared kingly gifts, and took horse and rode all the way across the desert to Israel, and into Herod's throne room to seek the Child.  A journey of two years or so. 

   These are the "pagans" outside of the fold of Israel!  But they studied the skies, and they so they knew when the Great King was born, and they had faith to seek Him, though they lived countries away.  When they found Him, they rejoiced and worshiped the Child.  They gave Him gold, because they knew He was a Great King.  They gave Him incense, because they had some measure of understanding of His Divinity.  And myrrh.  A spice used to embalm the dead.  Symbolizing sorrow, death, and love.  Somehow they knew that this Child was God and King, and yet that He would know man's sorrow, and share in his pain.  

   When Herod heard the Magi's news, he was disturbed, and you know about his cunning and his slaughter of the innocents. 

   When Herod asked the chief priests and the scribes, they could quote the Scripture glibly and tell exactly where He was to be born.  But none of them went to go see and to adore the Child.  They didn't bring extravagant gifts and thank God for sending them a Deliverer. 

   Let us not forget to seek Him.  He came to us first.  He came to pay our ransom, and He took all of the Father's wrath that was intended for our crimes, sins, and breaking of His laws.  Let us not be too busy or too greedy to give our hearts to the One who came to save us. 

   Give Him your heart this Christmas. 

~Cadenza
    

NaNoWriMo

   Hey, everyone! 

   Just thought I should let you know that this November I am participating in National Novel Writing Month; aka NaNoWriMo. 

   So, I'm going to write a novel this month, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to blog for the next four weeks or so. 

   Of course, I'm nervous about the whole thing.  I can journal for hours on end, but I haven't really tried to write a real story before.  I'm supposed to start typing at midnight tonight, and I still don't really know what the plotline of my story will be. 

   Yeah.  So.  Wish me luck.  And prayers would definitely be welcome! 

   Happy November!

~Cadenza

Tired

   I'm tired, and I'm not sure why.  Technically I got more hours of sleep last night than I usually get in two or three nights put together.  And then I just napped for most of the afternoon.  What is going on with me?

   You may be asking the same thing.  I haven't posted in forever, and I know it.  I just decided I wanted to post today without waiting to be inspired or happy or whatever. 

   These last few weeks have been hard on me.  I've taken a few nanny jobs, and everything was going fairly well until last week.  I came home and had an all-out meltdown.

   Sometimes being single and counter-cultural feels like being on a ship adrift out on the ocean.  Sometimes it's stormy, sometimes I feel becalmed.  Both are horrible.  There are always questions hounding me; the same questions that have been hounding me since high school.  I still don't know how to answer them.  Some days I'm trying to steer my ship in a heavy fog.  I don't know where I'm going, I don't know if I'm about to run aground or run up against rocks.  And on days that I have visibility, I only see sky and water in every direction. 

   What am I supposed to be doing?  I mean, obviously I have to scrub the deck, fix meals, adjust the sails, and whatever.  But where am I supposed to be going?  I have a chart, but it's just suggestions.  I don't know what my mission is.  I'm not on some dramatic Hollywood quest in search of a lost treasure.  I'm just---here. 

   Gee, I wish I was on some quest!  Sometimes I think it'd be easier if life were a bit more like the movies.  Because then there'd be purpose and adventure and an amazing score playing while I just happen to catch that rope that's conveniently hanging down and swing myself over onto...but that's not how it works.  I'm coming home from bedlam which I call nannying, straight onto a becalmed ship.  Sure, I can mess around with my belongings in my cabin, or I can read interesting books, but on the inside, I'm miserable and lonely and scared.

   I want my readers to see me on days like this as well as on the days that I'm chattering about the weather.  Last night I was so tired I could barely function.  Today I'm in the fog.  Maybe I should be screaming and panicking, or maybe I should be madly rushing around filling my time with activities.  When I feel like this, it's like nothing matters.  Why bother?  The stupid sails will just need to be adjusted later.  That ridiculous kitchen will always have to be cleaned.  Get some other crew member to scrub that deck, they're the ones tracking all over it anyway.

   Sometimes when I tell people about what I'm feeling, they get all in my face and start trying to fix me.  I've even seen people get to the point of anger with me as they pound "solutions," in my face.  I probably don't see how they'll help anything, and what are they expecting me to do?  Start jumping up and down and saying, "Oh goody-goody-gumdrops!!"

   I suspect I've struggled with depression (off and on) for a long time now.  I don't mean I've been diagnosed by a doctor, I'm just thinking about most of my life, starting in my young teen years.  My natural response to trouble is to run, to hide.  I've been running from things for most of my life.  I know in my brain that if you face things, most of what makes them scary turns out to be shadows.  I know that running doesn't solve anything.  I know it in my head, but everyone knows it's hard to follow your head knowledge when your heart is pounding, adrenaline rushing, and sweat trickling down your back.  But running isn't doing me any good.  It's only bottling up anger and resentment inside of me.  I've kept my problems so well-hidden that when people find out, it's a battle not to just blow up in anger. 

   But, if you think about it, what's one thing about a ship that I failed to mention?  The compass.  When a ship gets surrounded by fog, you trust the instruments.  You follow the map; you use the compass to steer the ship, no matter how you feel.  And in a howling storm, when the ship is falling apart and about to sink, what's the one thing all sailors do?  They cry out to God.  In moments like that it's crystal clear to us that there must be a God, and He's the last thing to fall on. 

   What I forget is that the God who controls the wind and the waves is my heavenly Father.  Gee, have I forgotten to preach the Gospel to myself?  He loves me, and He steers me because ever since He made me His child, I'm on His adventure. 

   I may not know which port to steer for, but I have a Compass that tells me which way to steer my intentions, my thoughts, my loves, and of course my actions.  I can think I'm "choosing" a destination, but He has already mapped out my course and is going to make sure I get there.

   I'd like to share a song that's grown dear to me over the past few years.

  "Jesus, Savior, pilot me over life's tempestuous sea
   Unknown waves before me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
   Chart and compass come from Thee,
   Jesus, Savior, pilot me. 
   Wondrous Sovereign of the sea,
   Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

   Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly,
   While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high.
   May I hear Him say to me, "Fear not, I will pilot thee."
   Gracious Sovereign of the sea,
   Jesus, Savior, pilot me." 


   That's my prayer for this week.

~Cadenza

A Spoonful of Memories

   Not ready for a post about England.  Getting there, but not yet. 

   The movie "Mary Poppins" has been on my mind recently.  Last time I saw it was as I was flying with my friends on my way to India.  D. had the movie on his ipad and the kiddos were watching it with earphones.  Eventually one of them fell asleep, so like the considerate person I am, I pounced to take out the earphones and to place mine in the Y-clip.  I hadn't watched that movie in ages, and I really, really wanted to see it again.

   I grew up with Mary Poppins.  This will reveal my age when I say that I grew up watching it on VHS.  Not that old, but not exactly born yesterday.  When I say that I grew up with it, I don't mean that it was my favorite.  As I watched it that night on the plane, I had the strange experience of knowing nearly every line of it, yet feeling as if I were seeing it for the first time.  It was one of those movies that was a significant part of my childhood, yet I never understood any of it. 

   As bizarre as it may sound, I think that I understand the movie, "Inception," better than I understand "Mary Poppins."  Perhaps even more bizarre, (sounding) I have this idea that if I write a blog post about it, it'll help me think it through and understand it.  That's because that's what I usually do in my journals.  I turn it over in my mind, and as I write, clarity comes.  So that's what I'm going to do.

   As a child, I couldn't understand most of the conversations between the characters.  All I could really gather was the feel of the story.  They were just images, and not much of it made any sense.  Some things stuck with me, but I'll get to that later.

   Honestly, I didn't like the movie for a very long time.  One reason was because the story line made no sense to me.  Another reason was because I didn't like the grownups in the story, excepting Mary Poppins and Bert, and perhaps the absurd Uncle Albert.  I'm getting ahead of myself again.  I should start at the beginning.

   Watching it on the plane, I had a chance to understand the story.  We are ushered to a prim house on the streets of London that appears to be a normal household.  But as we come inside, we find it is a house full of trouble.  George Banks, the father of the house, is a successful man who works at the bank.  His head is full of money and numbers and pride in his accomplishments.  He does love his wife, but he is somewhat cold and a little distant from her.  Toward his children he is very cold and very distant.  He has no time for them; they don't really fit in with the his agenda and the life that he is living, so he pays no attention to them at all unless they have done something wrong.

   Then we have Mrs. Winifred Banks, the mother.  As a child, I didn't have anything against her, except a vague feeling that she didn't feel like a "mommy."  But again, perhaps that's because in that culture, a nanny always took care of the children.  Watching it this time I saw and appreciated her like I never have before.  She does not work, nor does she take care of her children.  Her husband is at work all the time, so she has her own agenda and her own way that she spends her time.  She is working with other women to earn votes and rights for women, and she is very taken up with it!  Not wrong, in and of itself, of course.  I also noticed that not only does she love Mr. Banks, she respects and supports him.  She wants him to take leadership, and she builds him up and follows his lead.  I like that about her.    

   The children, Jane and Michael, are about 7 and 5, I should think.  They are not getting attention or discipline from their parents, and so, being normal children, this encourages them to be mischievous and wild, which is trying to their nannies.  The children don't like how cross their nannies always are with them.  They want to be loved and listened to.  And they're not getting that from anyone. 

   Several nannies have recently left the house in a huff, and then the servants are cross because they have to take care of the children instead of doing their own work. 

   The story begins with Mr. Banks writing an advertisement for a new nanny; requesting someone brisk, sharp, and no-nonsense.  The children come with an advertisement of their own that they've written for a nanny that they would like to have.  Someone kind, pretty, and fun.  Mr. Banks dismisses them coldly off to bed and tears up their letter in disgust and throws it in the fireplace.  The pieces of the letter fly away, and while many nannies gather in a "queue," outside the Banks' house, a strong wind blows them all away and ushers in the perfect nanny:  Mary Poppins.  She's so brisk that she whisks herself into the new position, and the children have their new nanny.  She gives them her undivided attention when they speak, but she is dignified and must be obeyed.  Yet she's fun and cheerful, and she plays games, sings songs, and takes them on adventures.

   It was from Mary Poppins that I first heard that every job can be fun.  You can make it fun if your attitude is cheerful.  One of my favorite scenes to watch as a child was when the children are tidying up the nursery.  For years afterwards I would hum the song and snap my fingers at work, and then quickly do it, pretending it was doing itself. 

   We meet Bert, a chimney-sweep, who is poor but happy.  He lives his life working at what he likes to do, and he finds joy in every day.  As a child, I loved his character and wanted to be like him.  The image of him dancing away in the rain after the "jolly holiday," always moved me deeply as a child.  His little song that he always sings was both cheerful and melancholy.  I felt both emotions when I heard it, and though I couldn't understand why, I always longed to run after him and go with him wherever he went.  It was as if his life was full of adventure that no one else could share, and I wanted to be like that.   

   With Mary Poppins in the house, every thing runs smoothly.  The children are happy and well-behaved, and that makes Mrs. Banks happy.  The servants are chipper because they no longer have to watch the children.  But Mr. Banks is still only concerned with his job and agenda to care about why everyone is so happy.  He stalks off to work. 

   I suppose Mary Poppins knows that Mr. Banks is not spending enough time with his children, so she suggests that he take them to his bank and show him what he does every day.  Mr. Banks likes the idea, and the children are glad to go anywhere with their father. 

   What makes me think that is something she says to the children as she's putting them to bed.  She says, "Sometimes someone we love, through no fault of his own can't see past the end of his nose.  Sometimes a little thing can be quite important."  She shows them her snowglobe of St. Paul's Cathedral, with the shapes of little birds flying about it, and begins to sing the song, "Feed the Birds."

   This is where the movie began to confuse me as a child.  Before I could always sort of follow along, but here things stopped making sense.  The song, with its haunting melody and melancholy words troubled me.  I couldn't understand what was so important about feeding wild birds, who could find food on their own.  But today I wonder if the birds were actually the only important thing about it.  The little old woman, with her ragged hat and torn clothing, apparently made her living selling bags of crumbs.  And only tuppence a bag meant that she didn't make very much money.  Having been in England recently, I think of all the people selling things on the streets, or even begging.  Most people, including myself, hurry past and often don't want to even make eye-contact.  There are several reasons for that, but the old woman in the story needs help.  She's working for her money, but she's relying on the time and kindness of other people.  She is important, but many people are just so used to seeing her that they don't bother.  Many of us, I think, go through life hardly looking past the end of our noses; our lives, our agendas, our wants.  Perhaps what Mary Poppins was trying to impress on the children was that they should look out for people who are in need, and should take time to help them.  It was veiled carefully in a haunting melody and bittersweet words, and it made an impression on the children. 

   The next day on the way to the bank, Michael brings along tuppence so that he can feed the birds.  They ask their father if they can.  Mr. Banks sees no use in wasting time and money on birds, and he decides that with that tuppence, Michael can open an account of his own once they get to the bank.  So he forbids feeding the birds, and hurries them on.

   When I watched the movie as a child, the scenes at the bank scared me.  All the tall old men bustling about in their black suits and with their creaky voices frightened me.  The bank itself was so huge, cold, and colorless.  I hated it.  It made a very strong impression on me.  When my father took me to open my first savings account at the bank, he couldn't understand why I was so nervous.  I didn't want to admit that the reason my stomach was in knots was because of the impression of banks I'd gotten from Mary Poppins.  That one that I first opened my account in is dreary inside; all brown and black, with all those cameras and jail-like bars between you and the tellers.  To this day, I dislike going to banks.      

   It got worse, nightmarish.  To an adult, it is amusing to see all those old men singing a song about the wisdom of investing money from an early age, but to a child it is scary.  The ridiculous song with all its long words sounds so impressive, but all I or the children in the movie could understand of it is that all these people wanted Michael's money.  They don't understand why they want it; their father didn't explain it to them beforehand.  They are intimidating and their eyes are wide and urgent.  Their father is only trying to help, but he's only applying more pressure, and the children feel they have no protection.  Plus, they are remembering what Mary Poppins told them about feeding the birds, newly stamped on their minds as something important.  As the song comes to its climax, the men close in on the children until they are backed against the wall.  Michael reluctantly opens his hand with the tuppence in it, and the president of the bank snatches it away.  Michael's nerve breaks, and his stubbornness kicks in and he demands his money back in a shout.  He rushes forward and begins to struggle with the old man, and loyal Jane jumps to his side.  All the old men and Mr. Banks try to interfere, resulting only in confusion.

   The confusion turns to chaos when the people hear the shouts of, "Give me back my money!" and panic, each demanding all of their money, and a run begins.  Adults are running everywhere and crowding into the doors.  Money spills, the music races, the police arrive and are trying to control the mob, and then in the midst of all the confusion, Michael retrieves his money, and he and Jane run wildly out of the bank and get lost in the alleys.  They run into Bert and he manages to calm them down and find out why they're running away. 

   (This is a very long post...I promise that when I talk about another movie I won't do it like this.)

   As Bert sits them down and talks to them, his conversation never made much sense to me as a child.  I sensed it was important, but I didn't know why or how.  Watching it now, so many years later, I was impressed at how Bert speaks to them.  He defends their father, and shows them that while they have lots of people to look out for them, Mr. Banks has no one looking after him.  He just presses on with his job and doesn't complain.  He tells them that every father needs help from his children, and that their father loves them very much.  Then he takes them home.

   The Romp on the rooftop I will summarize by saying that it is one of the most delightful scenes Disney ever made.  I love Romps in stories.  The whole dance is such an expression of childlike joy, wild and yet structured.  Everyone in the household joins in, except the shocked Mr. Banks.  At a whistle from Bert, they all tip their hats to Mr. Banks and disappear into the night. 

   Mr. Banks receives a call, summoning him to the bank at 9 o'clock, undoubtedly to be fired.  Bert, who stayed behind to gather his brushes, talks with Mr. Banks, reminding him of his responsibility to be there for his children, and pointing out that they won't be children for long.  He gives him a cheery goodnight, and leaves.  Mr. Banks is still mulling that over when the children come and apologize for the trouble at the bank, and Michael gives him the tuppence. 

   As Mr. Banks walks towards the bank, he stops at the steps of St. Paul's and looks toward where the bird woman sits during the day.  I wonder what goes through his mind right there.  I wonder if he was thinking that if he had taken a bit of time for his children---and so for the bird woman---and so for the birds---he wouldn't be on his way to be fired from his job. 

   That whole scene of Mr. Banks being discharged was another frightening scene to me as a child.  I was always afraid they were going to kill him or something.  And I still have no idea why Mr. Banks starts giggling hysterically in the middle of it all and says "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," when he can't think of anything to say.  I'm completely guessing here,...maybe he saw how ridiculous the whole thing was?  A bank failing because of a mere two pence?  They smack a hole in his hat, tear a bit from the flower on his suit and turn his umbrella inside out and are being so deadly serious about it!  They can't do anything else to him, and for once he can't think of anything to say, so he says Mary Poppins' word for that situation.  Maybe he feels all the pressure from his job off his shoulders?  I have no idea!! 

   And then everything begins to resolve.  He mends the children's kite and goes out with them to fly it, and he is actually rehired into the bank by Mr. Dawes Jr., who, with all the rest of the bank men, are out flying kites, too! 

   Mary Poppins knows that the family is happy now, so she quietly leaves, and Bert waves goodbye to her from the ground. 

   Hmm, so now, I feel that most of it makes sense.  Now I'm dying to see it again!  It's such a good, strong movie, even if it is a little strange.  I always enjoyed the score, the songs, and the dances.  Much of that element of colorful make-believe and of adventure helped to make me who I am today.  It helped me begin to understand that adults can be joyful and young at heart.  That's something that I've always clung to.  I will never be too old for a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine of life go down. 

   Congratulations if you've made it this far!  Again, I promise my next movie review won't be so detailed or so rambling.  I hope you enjoyed it.  Every kid should watch Mary Poppins.


~Cadenza

The Return to England

   I haven't posted in a good while.  I really am sorry, people.  It's not that I've been frightfully busy, or particularly that I have been lazy; I have thought of posting several times.  Even wanted to.  The trouble is that I'm in one of those stages where everything important happening to me is strictly personal.  I mean, even more personal than I usually am.  So, not wanting to betray anyone's confidence, or expose any secrets, I've simply stayed away.  Maybe not the best thing to do, but hey, I don't think anyone wants a boring post as I try to scrape up other things going on around me that may or may not be interesting. 

   I have something to report now!  I am flying out tonight with my brother for the aforementioned two week trip to England!!  We're going for the Inklings' conference, held at Oxford University.  The first week will be the conference, but then my brother and I are going to spend the next week gallivanting about sightseeing and shopping and browsing in book shops!  (Know what I mean by "browsing?"  It means he goes through all of them and maybe buys fourteen.)  Yeah, well.  I like bookshops, too.  It's going to be SO much fun.

   And guess what!  I bought a new camera!  Yeah, so I promise I'll put pictures on here.  Long overdue.  I'll try to make it worthwhile. 

   We're visiting the most beautiful place I've ever been:  an old manor named Tortworth, made into a gorgeous hotel.  The grounds are the most storybookish, most romantic place.  I will bring back pictures of some of its splendors.  Including, I hope, the mysterious gazebo.  It's mysterious because I saw it when I first entered with our group, but the next morning when my brother and sister and I made a thorough search, we couldn't find it.  I'd like to find it and take a picture---just because.  I have a thing for gazebos. 

   Last February as I was flying home from India I had a short layover in Heathrow.  I don't know how it was, but I kept getting turned around in that place!  I thought I was headed one way, and then I'd walk down huge long hallways until it got quiet, close, and rather creepy, and then I headed back to where I'd started from.  I got in the wrong line once, and had waited in it for a good while before I realized my mistake.  I had to ask directions at least five times, and in some wacky way I kept ending up in the same stupid area I'd started in.  It was terrible! 

   But then the elevators!!  I'm usually not scared of elevators.  Childish fear, right?  I don't know.  I got on one and the doors shut very, very slowly.  When they met, everything grew very still.  I was already a bit high strung after what I'd been going through, so now I got nervous for real. 

   "Is this thing going to move?"  I wondered.  "What if I get stuck in here?" 

   It began moving, but very slowly, as if it wasn't sure it could make it.  Then the lights, and the lit up ads on the walls began flickering!!

   "Oh, gosh!!"  I thought.  "This is not good.  Lord, just get me out of here, please!!" 

   Yeah, I had to ride the creepy elevators a couple of times.  At least this time I'll have my brother with me!! 

   Well, I'd better wrap this up.  My flight leaves in a few hours, so I've got to cut this short. 

   "Well, goodbye Jim.  So long, Ted; have a nice trip---I mean, yeah, thanks, I will!!" 
Quote from Holiday Inn.  Love that movie!  Take care, people!

~Cadenza

Fireflies

   Every season has its own heralds.  In spring we watch for the robins to return.  In autumn we watch the leaves begin to change and the geese flying across the sky in their V formation.  In winter we wait for the frost and snow and all the heralds of Christmas time.  I think fireflies are one of the heralds for summer.

   I just drove home with my windows down.  The sun had gone down, and all that remained of the hot day was a mellow warmth.  The wind in my car blew in the earthy scents and sounds of the night.  I breathed deeply and did not speak. 

   Summer is bewitching.  The first stars peeping through the misty clouds.  The smell of warm grass, the flickering, swaying shadows of the trees.  The song of the crickets, and the warm, mild breezes.  As I turned into my neighborhood I heard the clicking and spraying of a water sprinkler.  Its rhythm added to the charm of the evening. 

   "But where are the fireflies?"  I wondered.  "I don't think I've seen one yet!"  I was just commenting on this to my sister when mid-sentence, I saw a flicker in my rearview mirror from someone's yard.  "---Wait, I think I saw one!"  I cried. 

   I looked into the people's yards as I passed them.  There was another!  And another!  A twinkle here, a flash there, a glimmer out of the corner of my eye.  Good heavens, they were everywhere!  Had I just not seen them because I wasn't looking for them? 

   People say it's the little things that make life special, and I'm inclined to believe it.  Often the big things turn out to be disappointing.  It's the little things that peek out and surprise you that brighten your days, and our whole lives it's the same way.  That smile from a stranger, or that note from a friend, or a cup of hot tea on a rainy morning.  

   Life is fleeting.  The older I become, the faster the seasons fly by.  I become so wrapped up in what's happening just ahead of me that I fail to look around and enjoy where I am, right here, right now.  Things are always changing, and you can't stop the changes.  Some are wonderful, some are heart-wrenching.  In this strange world we live in, grief intermingles with joy, and tragedy with comedy.  

   I wonder.  As a child of my heavenly King, this world is not my home.  This world cannot satisfy me.  Only He can.  I must be on my guard against keeping this world in my daily focus.  Life is so short.  We only have so much time, and I don't want to spend most of it wrangling with problems that seem big at the time, but end up not really mattering.  I need to enjoy where I am, and notice and take time to soak in all the delightful "little" joys that my Father sends my way.  They are like the fireflies.  Sometimes they surround you, but sometimes you have to be looking for them to see them.  You don't notice fireflies during the day.  They must be there, but we don't see them.  God gives us countless "little" blessings throughout each day, but we often don't take time to notice them, or perhaps we take them for granted.  Or even worse, we complain about them in our ingratitude.  Sometimes it takes a dark time for us to remember to look for the little firefly blessings that light up our lives. 

   So, look for the fireflies!  And remember to enjoy and to thank the Lord for all the blessings He gives us every day. 


~Cadenza 
  

Summer

   Hullo, peoples! 
   
   Summer is here!  For a couple of reasons, Summer seems to have arrived early this year.  And thankfully one of those reasons is NOT the temperature.  Look, I'm not exactly a sissy when it comes to hot weather, really I'm not.  I live in a place where summer temperatures get into the high nineties and triple digits...coupled with air that you can wade through. 

   My family would tell you I am a wimp when it comes to hot temperatures because I tend to stay inside.  It's true I've never been a particularly "outdoorsy" person.  The way I see it, there needs to be a reason for going out in the miserable heat.  If there is yard work that needs to be done, or if there are errands to run, then yes, I'll get out in it.  But you have to ask for my help in the yard.  I'm not the type that automatically thinks, "Hmm, I wonder what I can do out in the blistering heat today?"  No, I'm inside reading or writing or even working hard in the air-conditioning.  Or cooking, or whatever.  There needs to be a good reason to step out and plow through that muggy air.  I'm not gonna wander aimlessly around in the intense heat just for the heck of it.  They might be surprised if they were to ask me to do something with them in the heat.  "Hey, do you want to go hiking?" or, "Would you like to watch me practice my archery?" or even, "Could you help me with some yard work?  I need to get it done and I could use another set of hands."  I'd be like, "All right, sure!  Let me get my shoes and put my hair up."  I mean, come on!  I did survive a month and a half of the hot season of India with no air-conditioning.  Give me a break. 

   What kind of things make you think, "This is what summer is made of"?  A few weeks ago I was making a list of some things that I associate with Summertime. 

   To me, Summer smells like: 

   Hamburgers grilling...don't you love that moment when you suddenly get a whiff of the smoke from a grill?  Ahh!  Smells like summer to me!

   The smell of freshly-cut grass. 

   This is going to sound weird, but have you ever noticed the smell of spray-on sunscreen?  I absolutely love that scent.  Probably because I first used it on mission trips, or on the way to the pool.  To me that is one of the best smells of summer, steeped in memories, and full of hopes for the future.  Strange, but true. 

   But probably my favorite smell of Summer is the smell of chlorine.  That intoxicating fragrance of a nearby pool.  Enough said.

   Moving on to tastes.  I have two that just shout Summer to me. 

   The first is orange sherbet.  There's just nothing like it.  No summer is complete without tasting its simple pleasure.

   The second is lemonade.  I don't mean Country Time or Gatorade or Hawaiian Punch.  I mean real lemonade, the kind made with fresh lemons, real sugar, and with just a hint of pulp.  And crushed ice.  In essence, Chick-Fil-A lemonade.  

   I'm a hopeless addict to this stuff.  I can hardly go shopping without securing a glass of it.  It's like drinking sunshine.  The only thing is I have to tell them not to put any of that wonderful crushed ice in it.  Well, they dump huge scoops of it into each glass, and that waters it down before I can slurp every drop of its tart sweetness!!  And when I order it with "light ice," they never quite make it right.  I'd prefer it with light ice if I could just show them how I like it, but oh, well.  I just ask for no ice.  It's cold enough, anyway. 

   And sounds!  There are dozens of sounds for Summer, but I'll only tell you my top four.

   Four: the sound of a lawnmower or edger.  (Accompanied by previously mentioned "smell of cut grass.") 

   Three:  The Owl City album, "All Things Bright and Beautiful."  It would take too long to explain why, but one summer I lived on that album.  I ate, slept, and breathed each song.  It got me out of bed in the morning and helped me to keep going through each wearisome day.  It helped me to calm down and sleep each night.  I love that album for that, but it has its price.  See, when you pour yourself into music that much during a certain season of your life, it has a way of revenging itself on you.  Now forever embedded in each song is some of the grief and sting of that burning summer.  At times the emotion causes me to double over in pain.  But it is a price I pay gladly.  That album is forever a sound of Summer. 

   Two:  The soundtrack of "The Lion King."  This music has been a part of my life for almost as long as I can remember.  I didn't grow up watching it, though.  It's rather peculiar, actually. 

   The first time I heard it was when I staying at my grandparents' R.V. back when I was tiny.  One of the few feature length movies they owned that I could watch had a trailer (back then we called them "commercials") of The Lion King, opening with the famous musical moment of the sunrise and the Call.  I still think today that that is one of the finest opening scenes that Disney ever made.  I remember every time I heard it, goosebumps stood on my arms and legs, and I thrilled to the very core of my being.  A few years later, at a dance class, I always clamored the loudest for The Lion King to be played during ballet class.  I didn't actually see the movie until I was in my teens, and only just before an epoch in my life did I buy the soundtrack for myself.  I love that music.  It.  Is.  Summer.

   But perhaps the most wonderful sound of Summer is the sound of the crickets at dusk.  Dusk is my favorite time of the day anyway, and when I first step outside and hear their incessant, "eeeee-er-eeeee-er-eeeee," I know that Summer has truly come.  None of men's creations can equal God's Creation! 

   Come to think of it, I never did think of anything for the sense of touch.  I guess the shock of a first plunge into a pool.  Or the feel of grass underneath your feet.  Or the feel of the aforementioned dusky evening when the air is mild and breezy and just a little bit humid. 

   Now sights of Summer, that is easy!  I think of leaves and grass shining in the sun, shimmering in the wind in all their emerald glory.  Lovely.

   Secondly---FIREWORKS!  There's nothing like fireworks for a celebration!  They're so loud, so joyous, so dazzling!  Watching friends shoot off fireworks for Independence Day is definitely, positively, absolutely Summer.  "Ooh!  Ahh!  Wow!  Whoa!  Dude!  Sweetness!"  

   My favorite; well, it's hard to say, really.  But I guess I'll say this is my favorite, since God's Creation trumps man's creation every time.  (Including Gandalf's fireworks.)  The sight of fireflies in the evening.  Enough said.  Priceless. 

   I was intending to put lots of nice pictures on here, but I'm having a little trouble with it, and I'm overdue for a post anyway.  So I'm going to post this anyway.  Have a wonderful week!

~Cadenza

Owl City Blitz

   Hi, folks!  I'm back.  Yes, I know I'm really overdue for a post, and sadly, this one is not going to be very long.  I have some things going on that I need to get to, and I'm not in the---uh---I'm not feeling very---um---I don't feel the mood of inspiration on me at the moment.

   That doesn't sound good.  But I don't think it would've sounded good any way I said it.

   Oh, yes.  I've been meaning to revise something I mentioned in an earlier post.  Remember how I said that Adele's song, "Rumor Has It," has the perfect beat for a cha-cha step?  Well, I'm wrong.  I listened to it carefully.  Its driving beat is three booms before the ba-ba-boom, (or cha-cha-cha).  So it doesn't work for a cha-cha, which is "step, step, cha-cha-cha." 

   So:

   Boom, boom, boom, ba-ba-boom...
   Rock-  step,  cha-cha-cha...

   It doesn't match up rhythmically.  Yeah, so.  There you have it.  

   I've noticed that the East Coast Swing works with lots of Owl City songs.  East Coast Swing is a triple step to the side, triple step to the other side, then a rock step back, and repeat.  It works with lots of Owl City songs!

   Like "Super Honeymoon":  

   
   Or "Good Time":

  
   (Which happens to be my personal song for Summer 2012.) 

   Also, "Swimming In Miami," works well for East Coast Swing, too.  "The Technicolor Phase," makes a perfect foxtrot.  "If My Heart Was A House," is a waltz, of course.  So is "Plant Life"; probably a Viennese waltz because it's so fast!  "This Is The Future," makes a good bolero or rumba. 

   Okay, okay, so I'm an Owl City fan!  Now you know!  I still haven't listened to his new album, "The Midsummer Station," yet, since I was in India when it came out, but I need to get it soon! 

   One more thing.  I guess the reason I'm on an Owl City kick is because I've adopted one of his new songs as my song for Summer 2013.  It's the credit song he wrote for "Wreck-It Ralph," called, "When Can I See You Again?"  I love it!

    Right.  I told you I wasn't feeling particularly inspired.  Huh!  I just realized something.  This summer makes three summers in a row that Owl City has been part of my personal summer experience.  2011 the whole album, "All Things Bright and Beautiful," was what I was listening to all the time.  Last summer was his single, "Good Time," and now "When Can I See You Again," is my song for this summer! 

   Maybe my brain is just fried or something.  I can't even make any witticisms about what that says about me.  I guess I have little spirals where my pupils should be.  Maybe that means I need to go do something constructive. 

   Right, then!  Take care y'all!  Thanks for hanging in there with my irregular posts.  Hope you enjoyed this one!

~Cadenza

Uplifting (part 2)

   I said most of what I intended to say in my last post.  But I still want to touch on the subject of beauty.
   Most of the music that we hear on the radio is easy listening, or pleasing to our ears.  Most of the time, it's catchy.  All the hit songs have melodies or phrases that stick in our minds and are easy to remember.  It's designed to reach out and grab your attention, and it nearly always does just that.  Everything about it is right there on the surface. 

   Now songs have lots of ways of doing that, so let me choose one.  Bridgit Mendler's "Ready Or Not." 

   When I heard this song, I immediately liked it.  I love the peppy sound of it.  It has a pleasing, interesting melody that is written well enough that it sounds good if you sing it by yourself.  I always like those things in a song.  And the girl can sing fairly well.  She does kind of support her voice and sing properly. 
   But the trouble is, when I starting singing it to myself once it was firmly stuck in my head, I listened to what I was singing.  What is the message of the words?  "You see a boy you like, then don't be shy, go find him!  Pursue him!" 
   Huh.  You know, actually I don't believe that girls should do that.  Not that I think girls should be shy and never introduce themselves or be friendly.  Girls should, but is that what the song is about?  No, it's all about getting things started so that a relationship can form ASAP.  Why does she want it so fast?  She's never seen him before, evidently, but she's wanting to swoop right in and make him her boyfriend.  She doesn't know anything about his character, or even if he's friendly.  The only thing that makes him eligible is that she likes his outward appearance.  She "likes his face."  Dang, he's cute, I want him! 
   Really?  How shallow.  How pathetic.  And yet how easily I took the whole thing in with its peppy, happy sound and catchy little melody.  If I'm singing it, I'm repeating, "ready or not, boy, I'm coming after you!"  Is that what I want people to hear me singing?  I don't believe that's right, but people will think that I do if I'm singing that song around them.  What's more, if I get too used to hearing/singing a song with that message, it's making me more likely to act on that.  That's not who I want to be!
   I know, it sounds cute and fun and innocent.  Guess what; that's how they made it to sound.  The messages of the world are always packaged in an appealing way.  As a girl, it tickles my ears.  Yeah, I'm confident, I can have anybody I want!"  It just tickles my pride and my vanity, and it makes me feel like it's okay to be forward and flirtatious.  But that doesn't make it right. 
   Question.  Is the music to that song beautiful?  Not really.  Fun, yes, but beautiful?  No. 
   Now don't crack down on me.  I like fun music as much as anyone.  The reason I'm concerned is that we Westerners are losing our taste for beauty.  We prefer our catchy hip-hop or pop or whatever.  Take a listen to this.

  
   Totally different, isn't it?  It's beautiful.  It's not in your face demanding your attention.  It's almost as if it's offering to take you on a journey, and it's your choice to accept or decline.  It's peaceful, quiet, lovely.  It's reverent, and yet it doesn't sound unhappy or too serious.  I like to be taken where this song takes me.
   Now again, please don't misunderstand me.  I'm not trying to tell you that one is "right," and the other is "wrong."  I'm asking you to consider the contrast between beauty and what we usually listen to.  
   How did each song make you feel?  You experienced two very different kinds of music.  Try to pin down the experience with some words.  Could you not make it through one of them?  Did it make you happy, thoughtful, aggravated, maybe? 
  
   What I'm driving at is a truth that is universal and cannot be argued or explained away.  During all my years of struggling to understand if certain kinds of music was "right," or "wrong," or whether it was a "gray," issue, there was always one truth that I kept coming back to, and that is this:  Music is its own message.

   Music is inextricably linked to our feelings.  Our minds, our emotions, even our bodies.  Music always expresses a feeling, sometimes many feelings.  Music has a power that breaks through all communication barriers.  It is more poignant than words, and it slips into our minds and hearts with its message that often cannot be put into words.  Yet we all understand.  We all respond in some way.  Music is subtle and can be used for infinite good and healing.  But it is also evasive and is used by the evil one, too.  It can increase or decrease mental, emotional, or spiritual sensitivity.  We take care that the message of the words and the music go together, or the song doesn't fit.  We couldn't plug some great theological truths into Bridgit Mendler's song.  It wouldn't fit.  That bouncy, mischievous, carefree feeling would be out of place.  And to put a worldly message or a breakup story into John Rutter's tranquil Requiem would be laughable.  The music gives its own message. 

   So I challenge you to ask yourselves, "What does the music I listen to say about me?  What messages am I constantly feeding into my mind?" 

   Is it helping you walk down the middle of the two extremes, or is it dragging you toward one of them?  Does the music you listen to cause you to think about God and meditate on His character?  Or does it absorb you in your own cares in this life?  In a nutshell, does my music uplift me and my soul closer to the Great King in all His majesty and goodness, or does it weigh you down in the messages of the world? 

   Is it uplifting? 

~Cadenza     

Uplifting (part 1)

   This is some summer that I have planned ahead of me!  June I'm going on a local mission trip.  July my brother and I are off to Oxford, England for two weeks!  Yeah, this is looking like a really good summer.  Most of my summers end up being boring, but I'm thinking this year is gonna be an incredible exception! 

   We had our first big missions meeting on Sunday.  Many things about it challenged me, but the one that I've been thinking about in particular is what I want to share with you.  Our pastor proposed that in preparation we choose very carefully what we put into our minds, namely our music.  He proposed we listen to "uplifting" music.  Uplifting?

   That's actually a very helpful word.  These days in Christian circles, you're not allowed to refer to different kinds of music as "good," or "bad."  Let's face it.  Music is the civil war in our American churches.  If we're honest, we all admit it's a tricky subject, and no one wants to wade through all its mental, spiritual, and emotional levels.  So what do we do?  We don't speak about it.  It's a taboo subject.  We label it a "gray," issue and just say, "Aw, let 'em do what they want.  We're free in Christ.  Do what you like, and don't judge anybody else!" 

   Believe me, I understand why people react that way.  There's wisdom in that decision.  I certainly hate mean nitpicking among brothers and sisters in Christ.  The devil must laugh at us.  But, I know.  Sometimes it seems like there can't be peace any other way. 

   The truth is, there is no easy answer.  It's a wisdom issue.  I like to call it that rather than a "gray" issue.  Gray is what happens when black and white flow into each other with no discernible line between them.  To me that corresponds with the well-meaning people who just say, "We're free in Christ, so just listen to whatever you want."  It's true we're free in Christ.  Paul had a lot to say about that freedom in his letters.  But he also had a lot to say about "strong," Christians deferring to more sensitive Christians.  He said things like, "Do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh."  (Gal. 5:13b emphasis mine)  I'm concerned that Christians are so on their guard against the dangers of legalism that we are leaning to the other extreme: spiritual liberalism and relativity.

   That's why I prefer to say it's a wisdom issue.  C.S. Lewis once said that every issue has two extremes, and get this, that both are equally wrong!  The Christian's job is to walk down the middle, resisting the pull of each.  Wisdom means you listen to your conscience and draw the line somewhere.  Maybe I'm unique in this, but the term "gray issue," sort of implies that there is no line needed.  It all just fades together, and as long as you're in the gray, you're good.  The trouble with thinking there are no lines needed is that when you set no lines, you'll slide further and further toward one of the two extremes.    

   1 Corinthians 6:12 says, " 'All things are lawful for me,' but not all things are helpful.  'All things are lawful for me,' but I will not be enslaved to anything. " 

   You may be thinking, "Wait a minute.  I'm not enslaved to the music I listen to.  That's ridiculous." 

   Are you sure?  In America, we have changed from music producers to music consumers.  When I came back from India, I saw things here like I've never seen them before.  Everybody listens to music.  Many people listen to it continually.  Radios constantly on in cars.  Music played in stores.  All kinds of apps for music, countless artists and albums.  Everyone is being bombarded with music and the messages it contains.  Earbuds in everyone's ears, as if they're permanently attached.  All the people I see in public with their eyes glued to a screen.  Their phone, their ipod, their ipad.  What perhaps grieves me most is seeing all the children not even in their teens, toddlers, even infants, mesmerized by colors on a screen.  I see all the glazed eyes.  I drive through the streets and look at all the faces.  In India I was distressed to see so much despair and hopelessness in every face.  Here I'm horrified to find that everyone looks half-asleep; lulled, seduced by Media, the goddess of the West.  In India I saw idols and shrines in every crooked street.  I can't help but see a connection with all the gadgets and gizmos we Americans carry on our persons all the time. 

   I know it may be hard to grasp, but music can be extremely enslaving.  I'm not putting on "holier than thou," airs here; I'll give you an example.  A few years ago, I started listening to country music in my car.  I'd grown up in a household where that genre was unknown.  It was summertime when a friend introduced me to it, and I found myself liking it for its rustic charm.  It seemed to fit with the feel of summer.  I liked it, and soon that was all I was listening to in my car driving to and from work.  Now country music ranges anywhere between a sweet "family man," song to, "my-boyfriend-cheated-on-me,-I'm-going-to-kill-him."  But as I listened to it more and more, songs like the latter stopped bothering me because I was used to the song.  Sometimes I found myself singing along without even thinking about what I was saying.  The worldly, or even horrible message of the words slipped right in with a charming drawl and a well-tuned fiddle.  

   Even after the first craze was over, I found myself wanting to listen to country more and more.  My appetite for all the other genres I like began to dwindle.  I just wanted that tang, that summertime, feel-good feeling.  I didn't know it, but I was enslaved. 

   These last few days, I've been more careful about what I listen to.  I've chosen classical music, or Christian music, or soundtracks instead.  You would not believe how much happier and more free I've felt!  I feel like I've gotten rid of emotional baggage.  It's bizarre because I never knew I was carrying it until it was gone!  To be reminded of the Truth and God's promises to me in a song is so refreshing!  It turns my thoughts toward my Heavenly Father, and---would you believe it?---it makes me feel like I'm actually awake.  As if I've been sleeping, trapped in dull or frightening dreams; but now I'm wide awake, and I realize that those things are just dreams.  My Creator and King loves me and is taking care of me.  He's going to take me home, so why should I be afraid?          

   Again, this is ground where no one wants to tread because no one these days wants to be accused of "meddling."  I'm not trying to meddle; I'm challenging you to meddle with yourself.  Think about the music you listen to.  Listen to the words that you jam to.  What are they really saying?  What's the message behind the song?  If an unbeliever were to see/hear you jamming to that, would it hinder your witness to him or her?   Ask yourself, "Is this helpful?"  "Is this uplifting?" 

   To be continued, folks.  But for now, just take time to think about it. 

~Cadenza   

The Deadly Strands

   Hi, peoples!  Sorry it's taken me over a week to post.  Sunday night is not a good time to write a post, so I thought I'd wait until later.  It's later.

   Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, the reason why there have been no pictures on here is simply because my camera died in India, and I haven't gotten a new one yet.  Maybe I should find pictures on the internet.  What, pictures on the internet?  Reeeally? 

   Springtime is such a wonderful time of year.  I say that kind of tongue-in-cheek because that's what everyone else says.  Again, don't get me wrong.  These last two weeks have been absolutely gorgeous.  The Bradford Pear trees have shed their snowy blossoms and are now clothed in a rich, shimmering emerald.  Some other trees are still blooming.  And all of them have new, tender leaves of a golden green.  It's a breathtaking sight in a golden afternoon.  I love seeing all the tulips planted in bunches by the business signs in town.  It's delicious to have green again. 

   The catch is, I can never be quite as part of spring as I can of the other three.  I wish I could, but it's just---the pollen.  Look, I know pollen kind of bothers everyone, and that it isn't Nice to look at, but it's so much worse than that.  For those of you who have really bad allergies, you'll understand.  For those of you who don't, let me describe it a little. 

   The moment those deadly strands appear on the trees, you know it's coming.  You feel the impending disaster, but there's nothing you can do.  The sweet breezes of spring blow and the yellow powder puffs out into the air and right into your nose and mouth.  Your lungs protest and somewhere inside you a red light starts flashing.  The sirens go off, and there's an announcement from High Command.  "MUCAS SWITCH ON.  NO, PUT IT IN HIGH GEAR." 

   Immediately your body goes, "Yes, sir, right away sir!"  Then your eyes and nose start running.  You feel a stinging, burning sensation in both.  Oh, and then comes my favorite part.  The pollen has gone down your throat and the mucas your body is making is trying to get rid of it.  Result: Stinging, burning sensation in throat!  So now you're coughing, sneezing, and stinging all at once! 

   Oh, yes, Spring is a lovely time of year.  I love it through a window.  Once the pollen takes its full strength, the minute you step outside you feel your body responding.  Sinuses are blocked, throat starts stinging from the pollen going into it, eyes watering, nose burning.  I wish I could enjoy and be part of springtime, but for the first weeks of it, I have to hide inside with the air-conditioning.  Once there are some good rains that wash the beastly stuff down the gutters, I'm all for spring.  That's the real reason I couldn't write as Nice a tribute to Spring at first.  I was thinking, "But the pollen---!!" 

   Yeah, so.  Not so nice post this time.  I'll post again soon with something nicer, but I need to leave now...Till next time then!

~Cadenza 

A Sky Sailing Waltz

   Okay, guys...so I have a new interest---dancing!  In one sense it's not new at all.  For as long as I can remember, dancing was my natural response when I felt delighted with music, or just when I was suddenly happy or excited.  Dancing has always been part of who I am, but having long outgrown the age of prancing joyously in public, I have had to suppress it for a long time.  Except in the privacy of my room with my earbuds in of course. 

   A friend of mine told me about this place right in town where they teach three kinds of dance every Friday:  Ballroom, Latin, and Swing.  Last Friday was my second time to go, and I had an absolute blast!  I know, vaguely, that there are lots of places around where people go to "dance" on weekend nights, but to me a public place to go dance is an absolute novelty.  I've always kind of envied the characters in stories like Pride and Prejudice where a ball was something of a normality.  Where people of all ages dressed up and went to dance and socialize.  Going to the place last night is something of a dream come true for me.  There's a lesson at the beginning, and then they play all kinds of songs, and men of all ages were asking me to dance!  They're really nice about teaching you the basic steps.  The important thing is to keep moving your feet in rhythm with the song, and since I'm a lady, to follow when the gentleman leads.  It takes concentration and practice, but it's also fun.  I love the whole aspect of making moves up together.  I've noticed in lots of modern music these days, "dancing," is when you stand with a group and just kind of wiggle around the best you can.  Ballroom dancing isn't choreographed, it's spontaneous; but you're making it up with someone else.  To me, that's just amazing. 

   So, I'm learning the basic steps to the foxtrot, rumba, bolero, cha-cha, salsa, swing, and of course the waltz.  So far the foxtrot and the waltz are my favorites, but that may change.  They play a few tangos, too, but I haven't worked up the nerve to try one of those yet.  But I'll get there. 

   I would be just fine if they only played classics and oldies, but actually they don't.  Dancing is about the rhythm of a song, and you might be surprised at how well a stuffy-sounding step fits in with a popular song.  For example, Adele's song, "Rumor Has It," is a perfect song for a cha-cha.  The cha-cha is basically "rock step, cha-cha-cha, rock step, cha-cha-cha..."  Now if you know that song, think of the driving beat in it:  Boom, boom, ba-ba-boom, boom, boom, ba-ba-boom.  Absolutely perfect for a cha-cha! 

   I've only gone twice, and it feels as if I've discovered a new world.  It's strange to be in such close contact with perfect strangers, but it's respectful.  Learning to follow where they lead requires trust, and yet as I trust them, I find myself feeling more confident.  It sounds crazy, but it's true.  When a gentleman asks me to dance, I feel like a lady.  Not an awkward, shy girl, a lady.  He escorts me to the dance floor and we meet as individuals and equals.  We dance together, and it's friendly and fun and respectful.  He escorts me to my seat, and I sit down to wait for the next song.  Courtesy.  Respect.  Ladies and gentlemen.  Polite, but not stuffy society.  Well-dressed, but unpretentious people, all doing something that they find enjoyment in: dancing. 

   What's more, as my feet begin to learn, my senses are freed to enjoy the excitement of moving my body in time to a song.  When I play an instrument, or sing a song, my mind and part of my body is lost inside it.  But dancing is your whole body lost in a song.  Last Friday night I had some really good dances...I cha-chaed better than I ever had before, but of course that was because my partner was extremely good at leading. 

   One really tall fellow asked me to dance the Viennese waltz, which is a fast waltz.  I'd never danced one before, but I was eager to try.  Especially because the first few words into the song I recognized Adam Young's voice from Owl City.  So my first Viennese waltz was to the song, "Brielle." 

   Now I'm going to do the unthinkable.  I'm going to quote my journal to describe it. 

   "...Next thing I knew, we were waltzing, then gliding effortlessly across the floor that had only a few couples on it...to a beautiful waltz by Adam Young that I think was called, 'Dear Brielle.'  It was a sweet song, but I couldn't listen to the words."

   "And then suddenly we were whirling round and round and round and round.  The walls, the crystal chandeliers, and the other people became a blur, and all I could focus on was his face and his arm.  And though I was concentrating hard so I could follow him, I almost felt as if the room was spinning around us.  I could enjoy how wonderful it was, and I tried to soak in the moment of that dance.  I felt graceful, as graceful as a bird, as lithe as a sylph, and as joyful as a dolphin." 

   "I love to dance.  During that waltz, I felt somehow really me, yet I wasn't thinking of myself at all.  I felt joyful, at peace, and beautiful.  I was in harmony with the music and my partner.  I felt gloriously free.  Free from my past mistakes, my bitterness, my anger, my pride.  It was just gone, and joy was flowing through me.  I've always known the ability was in me just waiting to be wakened and called to life.  And here I was!  Dancing!" 

   That pretty much sums it up.  Sorry I'm late for a new post, but thanks for the views, people!  You made my day. 

   Here's the song, "Brielle," from Adam Young's "Sky Sailing."  Enjoy!

  
~Cadenza 

Maybe You Should Fly A Jet...

   You know one thing I've always wondered?  There's this one question that grownups ask children from the time that they're tiny.  "So what do you want to be when you grow up?" 

   Yeah, yeah, I mean, it's interesting and fun if you ask them when they're tiny because sometimes they say something really cute.  "Uh, I want to be a shark."  ???  But grownups asked me that all up into high school, and then it changed to, "Where are you going to college?" 

   I don't know about you, but I always feel sorry for the poor 10 year old who is being asked that question and understands the significance of it.  What if they Don't Know?  Or maybe they know what they would like to do, but think nobody will take them seriously?  Why do grownups do that?  Don't they know it's awkward?   

   When I was old enough to understand the significance of that question, I always tried to evade it.  There were three things that I wanted to be, but I never could really decide between them.  My conscience told me that I should be a "Missionary," but I could never be completely enthusiastic about it.  I didn't understand at the time that we are all to be missionaries, wherever we are.  What my heart truly yearned for was to be an actress.  But how do you say that to one of your parents' friends who's asking you this in front of your family?  "I want to be a movie star."  They would've laughed at me!  Plus I felt my parents would be ashamed, if not scandalized if I said such a thing.

   Perhaps there's some reason for that.  I know I was a drama queen when I was little.  I probably embarrassed my parents on more than one occasion out in public.  Truth is, I love the spotlight.  I always have.  When I hit my teen years, I began to think the amount of spotlight you had in anything was directly proportional to how selfish you were.  So I became a shy, insecure wallflower.  But that desire has never gone away.  I would love to be an actress, on the stage or on the screen.  I've always felt sure that I have what it takes.  And, to tell you the truth, if I wasn't so afraid to be myself, I would be a tiger.  But right now, you'd never know it, and I'd be afraid to show you.

   I've always loved choreography and songs from musicals.  The more I learn about the theater, the more I'm enchanted by it.  I love movie magic, but when I learn too much about it, it spoils it for me.  So I just observe things like the camera angles, the effects, the scenery, the music of course, and the mannerisms and gestures of the actors.  I watch the underdogs and the people in the background.  How do they manage to communicate to the audience what the character is really thinking without giving it all away in their tone of voice?  That tilt of the head, that flash of their eyes, that little movement of their finger.  I always watch and learn, even if I never have the chance to use it.

   It's not that I think all Christians should shrink back from the arts these days.  In fact, I wish more Christians would get involved in them.  We have more important things to communicate, and it could be portrayed in fact or fiction or fantasy...or..perhaps even in science fiction?  I wouldn't be the mind behind that, but I believe it can be done.  C.S. Lewis did it in his Space Trilogy.  (Yeah...did you know C.S. Lewis wrote some science fiction?  He does it masterfully.  Go read 'em!!!)  It's just that I don't think God is calling me to be an actress.  It's a cut-throat world, and it drips with the filth and grime of the World.  And yet I must admit, I often ache inside wondering why God ever gave me those desires if He doesn't want me to use them for His glory.  I don't want to be selfish, and I don't want the glory, though it would be great to be appreciated for something I love to do...

   When I played my violin in a secular youth orchestra, I used to go on stage and pray, "Lord, this is for You.  Tonight I'm playing for Your glory.  I give you every note, I give you my fingers, and I give you my soul.  Let this be pleasing to You, and let me worship You as I play."  I think that's what God wants from us what ever we do.  I'll never forget feeling God's pleasure on me as I lost myself in the music and in His glory.  I just wish with all my heart that I could give Him pleasure in all the things I do or long to do!  Acting, singing, dancing...and writing. 

   But more of that later! 

~Cadenza