Beautiful music

You know, for all the technological advances that have infiltrated modern worship, there is really nothing to compare to the voices of the saints, especially if those saints know how to sing.

I go to a church where we try to be up-to-date in our worship style. We have one of those full-length keyboards that can play anything from classical piano to choirs of people laughing. We have speakers and wires and amps and monitors, a guitar, a drum set, and a powerpoint system. We sing all our songs from the screen. The only reason we have hymnals is to read the creeds and occasionally the forms of office.


Now, I'm not protesting that. I'm on the worship team, and I like the way we function. It suits us. There are a lot of wonderful songs that just aren't available in even the most modern hymnals. Our pianist writes her own songs, and the flexibility of the powerpoint lets us teach them to the congregation. The powerpoint slides are often beautiful or even evocative.

Plus, we're a small church, and not all of us were raised in singing backgrounds. So singing is easier for some people if they have the strong voice of someone musical leading them. But sometimes it feels like I, as a worship leader, am trying to create an experience for people instead of letting them reflect on their experiences with God's faithfulness, which after all is what worship is.


Last night, I attended my parents' church, which is a bit more old-fashioned than mine. In the evening service, they sing only from the hymnal and are accompanied only by the piano. Most of the people who attend the evening service have been singing from the hymnal for decades, and many of them know how to sing parts. The song leader chose familiar songs like "Fill Thou my Life, O Lord My God" and "Trust and Obey."


And I was practically lifted out of my skin by the sound of the voices. Strong, heartfelt voices singing beautiful melodies and harmonies and words they knew well (CRC churches are notorious for using only 20% of their hymnals). I felt like I could lean back on them and be supported. I was carried up and into an appreciation of what God does, not by the prowess of a music team, but by the voices of the saints, the consensus of those present that God is good. Singing took no effort; it was a natural experience.


I'm not sure where this reflection is going, but I'm going to keep my ears open.

Boogaloo makes a new friend.

Yesterday was so gorgeous that we spent most of it outside. Boogaloo is fascinated by all kinds of creeping things. She loves snails especially. Our storage unit is full of them, and she likes to prop open the lid and count them.

All in all, I wasn't entirely surprised to look out the door and see her holding a snail, talking to it, even stroking its foot (no squeamish people here, right?). I was surprised that the snail wasn't scared of her. It just bided its time until she put it down, and then it tried to run away. Poor snail. It didn't realize that snails aren't built for hasty retreats, or maybe it hadn't realized the size of the creature carrying it.

Anyway, I ran back and got the camera in time to see Boogaloo trying to make the snail "comfortable" on a leaf. Here are the results.

My first argument with my daughter

I had my first argument with my daughter today. Tantrums and wrestling matches don't count, obviously, and neither do one line replies like "I don' want it." No, she was actually trying to persuade me that naptime was done before it was done.

I put her down for a nap around 12:30 because she refused to eat lunch, but I didn't get a chance to rest until about 2, so about the time I closed my eyes, she had had enough.

"Shoes and socks. . . . Mommy, shoes and socks."

"No, Boogaloo. You're not going outside. It's still naptime."

"Shoes and socks, Mommy."

"Naptime, Boogaloo."

"I doh want naptime. Go ou'side."

"Mommy wants naptime. Mommy hasn't gotten a nap yet."

Thoughtful pause. "Mommy, enough naptime. I get out. . . . Mommy, naptime finished."

"No, Sweetpea, naptime just started."

I won, I think. She stopped trying to go outside, but I did have to make several trips to her room during the time I had hoped to be sleeping. It's our usual compromise, I guess. But look at that sentence structure. Look at the thought process. I'm so proud of her. It's ridiculous.