Music

This was part of this weeks Stepping Up Bible Study.  I loved this.  But it made me think a lot about how much music means to me, when I am learning about God.  Music is so very important in my spiritual life and to some people (like me) I couldn’t go through life without all the daily music that I listen to.

Beth Moore has a way with words.  Her gift of words and her gift of the Holy Spirit will keep you interested in her books and Bible Studies.

Music always lifts my spirits and can bring me up when I’ve lost a spirit of happiness in my life.  Music is a way of bringing God’s word into my heart immediately.  Sometimes I am not capable, of being able to understand what I just read on a page because of my inability to settle down, but when I can hear the same words in a song, I can focus on it and hear God’s word.

I love lifting God up in music.  Whether it’s a learning disability or just a way of life or just whatever, it is what it is and it works for me.  And no one way is right or wrong, but be sure and take what ever way that you use to draw closer to the Lord as serious as you can.

Use it only to glorify God, and ask God to strengthen you as you go to Him through it each day!

I’m not saying this is all the time.  But when I can’t focus on the written word, I know I can get it if it’s being said/sung to me.

Love you all

Laura

Enjoy this by Beth Moore!  I really laughed at this!

Reference:  Beth Moore: Get Out Of That Pit:  Straight Talk About God’s Deliverance

It’s true music of all kinds can get to you.  Even intoxicate you when you’re not one iota the drinking kind.  I found that out for myself a year or so ago.  I was invited to speak at a gathering in Washington, D.C., and since my firstborn had never been there, I grabbed her and took her along.  We were invited to go to the symphony at the prestigious Kennedy Center with once-in-a-lifetime seats in a bird’s-eye box.  We put on our fanciest duds and mingled with some of Washington’s finest as we made our way through the wide corridors to our coveted seats.  I was so excited I could hardly hold myself together.  The musicians were all tuning and practicing their own instruments, oblivious to the ones beside them as that marvelously untamed and indistinguishable sound filled the house.  It was thrilling.  The whole affair was just like something you’d see in the movies.  Something Audrey Hepburn would have attended, dressed just so.

I tried to read my program but none of the songs had normal titles like “Cheeseburger in Paradise “ or “Did I shave My Legs For This” I wanted so much to lean toward the person sitting next to me, point and say, “Oh, I can hardly wait for this piece!” The trouble was the person sitting next to me was Amanda, and she knew that my usual idea of “a piece” was a piece of fried chicken.  So I sat on the edge of my seat and practiced my own well-honed skill:  I people watched.  And what a watch it was!  I’d never been more impressed with people, nor had I ever been more certain they were equally impressed with themselves.

I wish I could tell you that I am an experienced patron of the arts but, truthfully, I’m not even and experienced patron of arts and crafts.  I love music, books, movies, and theaters, but at my own unsophisticated level. That night Ellie May Clampet had gone to the symphony and she was sitting in my seat and wearing my hair.  I was just sorry Jethro hadn’t come wearing Keith’s duds.

Just before the clock struck the hour, the audience began to cheer, and many of them stood to their feet.  I searched the stage for the conductor, but he was nowhere to be found!  Noting my obvious confusion, our experienced friend who had accompanied us explained, “the first chair violinist is making her entrance.”

Then I saw her.  She was a vision.  Her hair was pulled back in a bun.  Her long black skirt flowed like billows of dark, mysterious clouds as she made her way across the stage.  She looked just like a ballerina to me.  She seemed to waltz her way to her seat as the crowd welcomed her with great fanfare.  I was spellbound.  Every woman in the room wanted to be her.  I hardly noticed the conductor’s entrance.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the exquisite violinist in the first chair. Most of the time I didn’t know what song we were on. Nor could I appreciate the guest pianist introduced in the middle of the evening but I knew he was special.  The crowd went absolutely wild.  He would play several bards (just in case you know even less about music than I do, that’s a musical term, not a place of business) then throw his head back and swing his arm behind him with trememendous drama.  You might be impressed to know that I am actually a patron of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, and the way the guest pianist played wildly with one hand reminded me of some bull riders I’d seen.  I tried to relate as best I could.

As we neared the end of the evening the songs heightened in a crescendo almost unbearable to the soul.  Beethoven came back from the dead, kidnapped my emotions, and held me captive until I felt like crying.  The last note burst like fireworks, and the conductor’s wide-stretched hands hung in the air for what seemed like minutes as if they’d been caught on the tip of a huge treble clef.

For a few seconds nobody could breathe.  Breaking the silence, the woman just in front of me stood up and began yelling at the top of her lungs, “Bravo!  Bravo!”  I was astounded.  I mean, let’s face it.  We all know what the word means, but how many of us have ever been in a place where they actually used it?  In my usual settings, we more often yell something like, “Whoop! There it is!”  This was my maiden voyage into Bravo-ville., and I was bug eyed.  Then one by one people throughout the audience stood and cheered.  “Bravo!  Bravo!”  Finally everyone in the great house was on their feet clapping their hands raw, and I, right there with them, screamed, “Bravo!   Bravo!”

In just minutes we made our way into the hallowed halls where every face shone with artistic satisfaction.  Indeed, we felt more excellent for having come.  As for me, I waltzed out of the Kennedy Center in my black dress just like the ballerina making her way to the first chair.  I couldn’t help myself.  I was totally intoxicated.  Throughout our fashionably late night dinner in D.C., I used sophisticated language befitting a ballerina who plays the violin in the first chair.  I ate light.  You can’t play an instrument like that with a full stomach.  I acted like I knew things I don’t.  I felt lofty High.

Close to midnight Amanda and I fell in the pillowy beds of our beautiful hotel room and silently took in our evening.  Suddenly something come over me.  It was my old self.  I looked at Amanda and in my characteristically country tone yelled. “What the heck was that?”  We laughed until we cried.  We rolled back and forth, kicking our legs in the air, sides splitting until we hollered with pain.  Right about then, Cinderella turned back into Ellie May, saddled her horse and headed back to Texas

As good as the symphony was, a God-song in the simples man’s soul is more than that.  It’s not just a moment.  It’s not just an emotional intoxication.  It’s the unleashed anthem of a freed soul.  A song expresses something no amount of spoken words can articulate.  No amount of nonverbal affection can demonstrate.  Music is its own thing, especially when instruments and voices respond to the tap of the divine Conductor.

Reference:  Beth Moore:  Get Out Of That Pit:  Straight Talk About God’s Deliverance

Chapter 9: Singing A New Song



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