I Wanna Put On My Boogie Shoes

My blogs have been full of deep thoughts as of late, so I decided to offer a lighter note.

It took me over a year, but for the little girl in me who adored the movie The Wizard of Oz in her formative years, I went outside of my typical conservative box...

...and finally bought a pair of red shoes.

I am not used to being silly over something like a pair of shoes, but sometimes you have to embrace the silliness. Thank you, once again, for indulging my inner child.

Blog title from "Boogie Shoes," KC & The Sunshine Band.

Name Calling

Yes, it's another pun. Really, I do hate puns.

Since Pastor Jon's sermon on the beautiful struggle of Jacob/Israel with God, I went on this obsessive research on anything about this particular story in the Bible. (No, I don't obsess much). Some commentators talked about the blessings of the limp, the beauty of struggle. Others talked about Jacob's character, God's strengthening of a boy who was yet to become a man. And others talked about the significance of the changing of names.

I do have a fascination with names. What they mean, how they were chosen, if it fits the person it was given to. I bought a baby name book once--a $4.00 find at Target--and combed through it to find the etymology of numerous names. I used that book when I used to write stories. I don't write stories any longer, and I have no idea where that book is now. (I must have misplaced it along the many moves between houses, dorms, and apartments). Yet, names still fascinate me.

Although this may seem to be another reason for me to bring up Rob Bell, I do want to share something from his offering on the Jacob/Israel story. It isn't anything new, but worth pondering:

In the ancient Near East your name was more than just words. Name was identity. Your name was reflective of your character, your substance, I mean the very fiber that made you, you. Your name told you who you are.

--Rob Bell, "Name"

Names brought a calling to your life. Rob Bell contends that during Jacob/Israel's time, when someone asked you "What is your name?" they are essentially asking you, "Who are you?"

What I love about the Jacob/Israel story was that he was given a new name. He was no longer the "deceiver," but "he who strives with God." He is a conqueror. He has become more than the name he has been given. He was called to something greater than that.

Now, I happen to like what my name means (source of joy). I often don't believe I live up to it, but it's a comfort to know that I am not limited or defined by my name. I am called to something more.

And you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will give...

--Isaiah, about Jerusalem/Zion, Isaiah 62:3 (ESV)

Answering the question "What is your name?" is easier than providing an explanation of "Who are you?" However, I am learning to love this process of finding out the answer to that question. I've provided many answers to that question. Some answers I've liked, some I wish I never had been, some I have yet to become. Our answers can change because we change.

We are more than the names we have been called.

Reformation Day

When I was young, I knew everything.

--The Verve Pipe, "The Freshmen"

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

--Paul, Romans 12:2 (ESV)

I'm not quite sure what happened this week, but somewhere, I snapped.

Do you ever take a look at your life and wonder, "This isn't working. Something's got to change"?

And then, for all of your thinking, you realize that the thing that had to change was you?

I needed a fresh perspective, to look at things differently instead of the way that it always...well, was. And I feared that if I didn't see things differently, I will remain stuck, spinning my tires in the muck and mire, going nowhere fast.

In my last entry, I said that I had shared my story about my limp. For some reason, the story still bothered me--but not in the way that I had expected. The story hadn't changed, but somewhere in the telling of it, I realized that I was the one who had changed. I am not that broken little girl or that scared young teenager any longer. So, if I am different, shouldn't the story change, too?

I pondered on this notion for a few days and a sudden revelation hit me. I had been trying for so long to make those in my story less like the villains and monsters I had feared, but rather, people. Like you. Like me. All in need of grace. Forgiveness. Hope.

Love.

The problem was, I didn't know how. I had to change my mind about them, about who they are as human beings and not mere characters in the story of my life.

We, including those who hurt us, are far more interesting than we give them credit for. Their story goes on, and mine should, too. And holding onto my fearful perspective of them will not lead to the freedom I so desperately seek.

Because your story is not over. The last word has not been spoken. And there may be way more going on here than any of us realize. So may you be released from always having to understand why everything happens the way that it does. May this freedom open you up to all sorts of new perspective. And may you have the wisdom to say, 'I spoke once, but now I will say no more.'

--Rob Bell, "Whirlwind"

My mind and heart is a mess of emotions because my perspective on the two specific people changed. I wanted to mete out judgment and punishment, but now, with a renewed heart and mind, I see them with the grace that only God can provide.

And that, I'm finding, is making all the difference.

Happy Reformation Day, everyone.

Walking Joyfully With a Limp

We should walk joyfully with a limp.

--Jon Fredricks

I really wish I had made up this phrase. Excellent job, Pastor Jon.

Today's offering was based on the story in Genesis of Jacob wrestling with God. He demanded a blessing, and instead received a limp and a new name.

I will not be able to give today's sermon justice, and there are so many great lessons that they all couldn't possibly fit into one blog. However, one of the lessons that stayed with me was about Jacob's limp. Jacob/Israel's limp was a reminder that beauty can come from ashes. Weakness doesn't have to mean defeat. We can struggle with God and overcome. We can prevail even if we walk away joyfully with a limp.

A year has passed since I shared my story of my "limp," so to speak. Despite the freedom and blessing I found after sharing the whole truth, I never spoke of it again. I often elude to it in conversation. I keep the story vague, but never get into details.

Yes, I'm hiding.

And so I offered the story. It was still difficult, but it's getting easier. I'm not dancing on rooftops over what I had gone through and what I hope to become--that joy is still yet to be found.

But at least the limp isn't as painful as it used to be.

Legacy

One of the most inspiring people in my life is my high school choir director.

Giles (er, Tony--I'm sorry, Giles, it's going to take me awhile to get used to calling you Tony) played a huge part of my life, specifically in my junior and senior years of high school. He saved my life more than once and he shared with me how I was instrumental in his. While he and I reminisced and reconnected during the KR Choir Reunion this past weekend, I realized that if asked to do my senior year over again in the same manner, I would.

But maybe that time around, I would remember to sleep every once in awhile.

During our day of rehearsal for the following concert that night, I was struck with joyful memories of choir rehearsals in high school. Giles is still a bundle of energy, always teaching and seeking to connect with his students--or in this case, his colleagues--through music. Although a decade (or more, for some) had passed since we were in his classroom, it did not take long for us to respond to his direction and teaching.

We were, in essence, well-trained.

As I watched him conduct and teach, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the numerous mannerisms I had adopted from him. I direct in the same way. I tilt my head when the notes are a little flat. I break into little teaching speeches of the importance of music, the composer or arranger, the history of the piece, and the musical (technical and artistic) elements at play. I am found frantically running around to address the last minute details right before a performance. I double-book myself and am busy with numerous obligations (I'm sorry, Giles, I ended up doing the very thing you warned me not to do. I'll try to do better). I also arrange a set list in the same way.

However, this isn't just my story. Everyone in that room that day had been affected by Giles or another former director, Don Barrows. Giles had been influenced by Mr. Barrows, and so essentially, everyone in the room was part of Mr. Barrows's legacy. All of us were touched by their passion for music and that passion continues with us.

As Giles often said during our reunion, it wasn't the music that brought us back. We came back because of the connections we had made while creating beautiful music together.

At least for me, I wanted to thank Giles for everything he did for me in my musical and personal life. He was one of the few that stood up for me during my junior year, and he was the one who challenged me to find my way back to music after a seven year absence. It was a joy to sing with him in school and it is a huge honor to have a chance to sing with him as an adult.

I know he was touched by this first of hopefully many reunion concerts. I couldn't imagine what it was like for him to see those he had taught throughout the years come back and sing with him, but I do know that he was overwhelmed to see his legacy and passion for music continue. In our conversation at the Homecoming game, he said he felt blessed to have so many of us to come back and still enjoy each other and the music.

In reality, Tony, we were the blessed ones.

Script Change

I've been praying for something specific for a few weeks now.

In the past few days, a few questions have crept into my mind, altering my static perspective. I can't possibly articulate the numerous questions that plague my mind as of late, but this particular question has surfaced:

Have I become too comfortable with my life that if asked to change it all, would I obey?

I hadn't realized that things I have been praying for would result in dramatic changes in my life. As much as I look forward to see how God will answer my prayers, I wonder if the time came, would I leave the comfort of the status quo of my life and step into the unknown?

I'm not good when the script changes and the scene I had expected to come next is no longer there or has been completely rewritten. But then again, our lives are not scripted. They are dynamic. They are fluid. They can change.

We can change.

I suppose that's the beauty and strain of having faith in a God who is both good and sovereign. To trust God is to trust Him with his good plans and that he is sovereign over the details.

Especially when the script changes.

And in my experience, what he creates is better than what I could ever imagine.

We must be willing to be rid of the life we had planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

--Joseph Campbell

The Last Time I Sang in a Choir

This weekend, I will be attending my high school choir reunion.

Contrary to popular belief, I am quite excited about this venture. I am looking forward to singing in a choir again, learning new choral pieces, reading new music. I'm excited to meet alumni from other years than my own. And yes, I will also have to hold myself back from running to the piano to plunk out parts and take the lead. (I was always the bossy one...that shouldn't surprise anyone...)

And when I see my former choir director, I won't be ashamed that I had dropped out of music. I will have a better story to share with him.

In true Abby-fashion, it didn't occur to to me to tell anyone--friends, family, or circle of influence--about the free concert at the end of the reunion. I never put two-and-two together until I received an e-mail from the reunion committee to encourage the attendees to invite their family and friends to our free concert. I didn't feel guilty about my silence until today when my mother asked me what I was doing this weekend.

When I was talking with my mother, I remembered that sometime during my high school career, I had stopped inviting my family and friends to my choir concerts. I always figured that they were

1. Not interested in attending.

2. Not expecting anything different from my other numerous concerts.

Then again, I have always been known for keeping things close to the chest.

Which brings me to the last time I sang in a choir. It was my senior concert; the last high school concert of the year. Not only was it the last choir concert, it was also supposed to be the last musical performance of which I would take part. For these reasons, my mother and sister chose to attend the end of my musical performing career.

I will never forget their faces when Giles handed me my award for the night. When he had finished, they stared at me in shock and disbelief as the audience around them rose to their feet for a truly shocking and unexpected standing ovation. In that strange mix of humility and delight, messy tears and smiles, I felt guilty that the only two people who didn't understand why I was being honored were the two people in the audience I was related to.

It was a strange sense of betrayal. While people congratulated me after the concert, my mother and sister had to endure pretending to know what was happening while they awkwardly accepted the accolades that were extended to them.

Like I mentioned before, I'm a private person, especially with things that mean a lot to me.

Apparently, some things haven't changed in the ten years since I last sang in a choir. However, I am confident that things can change. I want to learn how to share the things that are important to me with those I love.

I may still keep things close to the chest, but what I take joy in shouldn't be one of them.