Psalm 23 - Part 3 - Serenade

When last we left off, we were waiting for my dad to wake up after a super big and complicated (and successful) brain surgery.

During that first month, I brought my violin to the ICU a lot.  I filled the evening hours with everything from bluegrass to Beethoven, from ancient hymns to modern hallelujahs.

I thought about how David would be summoned to come and play for King Saul. 

The scriptures say when David played for Saul, his mood would miraculously change. Each time I would play for my dad, his blood pressure and vital signs would improve.  He might not have been able to show it, but I think on some small level he was aware I was there. 

And isn’t that one of the deepest comforts of Psalm 23?  That we’re not alone? 

Whether it’s God’s declaration to be with us in the valley of the shadow of death, his pledge to make a table for us in the presence of our enemies, or his assurance of dwelling in his house forever…his presence is the consistent promise. 

My musical offering was my way of showing the same thing:  I’m here with you.  I might not be able to do much, but I can do this one thing. 

My humble and sincere prayer was for the anointing God has placed my talent to help bring healing to my dad’s spirit, even as the medical staff was doing everything in their power to help bring healing to his body. 

Through this small thing, I was praying and believing the truth: “He restores my soul.”

Psalm 23 - Part 2 - Surgery

In January of this year, my dad underwent a major surgery to remove a brain tumor.  If ever I saw a valley of the shadow of death, that's it. The uncertainty leading up to it, the recognition of the seriousness of the surgery itself, and the incredible journey of recovery we are still walking.

The tumor was about the size of a golf ball, compressing his brain stem, and beginning to severely affect everything from his ability to balance, to speak, to swallow, and even to stay awake.  Praise God, it was not cancerous, but it certainly wasn’t benign. It was also in the most complicated and hard-to-reach part of his brain.

An extraordinary team of surgeons, 2 major procedures, and 23 hours of surgery later…the lead neurosurgeon used the word “elegant” to describe the outcome.  I’ll never forget that.  He said he couldn’t be happier with what he had seen and experienced in the operating room.  Actually, after seeing the post-op MRIs and observing just how much the tumor had worked itself into the critical parts of my dad’s brain, he was surprised my dad had been functioning at all.  (That’s my dad for you, stubborn and resilient).

All of that sounds really great.  And it is.  So where does Psalm 23 come into the mix?  After the surgery, it took my dad almost a month to wake up.  That first month in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit, when things were more touch and go than anyone really wanted to admit...there was Psalm 23. Reminding me that He is with me. He restores. He comforts. He promised goodness and mercy. I will fear no evil.

...more about that first month tomorrow.

Psalm 23 - Part 1 - Opening Thoughts

Last Sunday, I had the wonderful privilege to share with my church family about what Psalm 23 means to me. I'd like to share with you too. I talked for about 10 minutes, which is way to much to put in one post, so stay tuned over the next few days.  I'll break it down into bite-sized chunks. :-)


Psalm 23

Psalm 23 is one of those passages I don't think about all the time, but when I need it (or when God wants to remind me of the truths in it), it bubbles up to the surface. It is part of the fabric of my life -- part of the roots and rhythm and legacy of faith given to me by my parents and church family.

• When I get too busy or chaotic:  “He makes me lie down.”

• When I am jealous or feeling forgotten:  He reminds me these are “green pastures,” “my cup overflows,” and He leads me “for His name's sake”...not my own.

• When I am convicted:  “His rod and staff comfort me.”

• When I am worried, affronted, or afraid:  “He is with me, I will fear no evil.”

• When my life seems to run counter to everything my culture says is important: “He is my shepherd,” “He anoints me,” “He leads.”

• When I want to focus on here: I remember “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Because it's not about here, it’s about there.

As meaningful and true as those thoughts are, they are kind of general too.  As I continued to meditate about what Psalm 23 means to me, some very recent and specific things came to mind.

...more on that tomorrow!

Cherished

Ok.  Technically, this is a "Five Minute Friday" post.  I realize I'm a day late, but I figure you'll forgive me.  After all, this is the first time I've actually followed through on the "I should blog about this" impulse since August.  Is blogging about blogging a faux pas?  I'm hoping you'll forgive me about that too.

The reason I finally made it through the entire blogging process (It varies, but often goes as follows: inspiration --> mull over an idea --> wrestle the right words out of my head and onto the page --> rearrange said words to be somewhat cohesive --> post and try not to check back too often to see if anyone commented) is because the "Five Minute Friday" was just too perfect for me.  I suppose I've already been free writing on it, but here it goes.  Five minutes.

Cherished

I read this word and immediately thought of blogging.  There was a time (perhaps when I was more in practice) when hitting "publish" was a cherished act.  It felt so good to work through the discipline of thinking through and writing something that inspired or challenged me.  It made me feel like a good steward of those little "a-ha" moments.  Somewhere in my history I learned that you don't really own something until you can give it away.  So putting my thoughts out there in cyberspace is a way of saying "I get the message."  I'll try to live by it and to pass it on.

I forget when exactly it happened, but life got stressful, I started expecting epiphanies and perfection from myself, and I slowly but surely lost my discipline and rhythm for writing.  (What a horribly constructed sentence!  Don't go back, Regina.  It's against the Five Minute Friday rules.  Uncensored.  Bad grammar.  Keep going.)

This week's word cut through all those feelings and reminded me of why I started this blog 5 years (5 years!) ago.  Because I cherish this.  I cherish the inspiration.  Despite the complaining, I cherish the process.  But most of all, I cherish the chance to share and to be part of...this.  People living and writing and sharing with each other.

Times up.

And I'm at the part of the writing process that is always the most difficult.  How do I wrap this up?  Perhaps in the spirit of unedited roughness I'll just leave it here...

I cherish this.

I'll write again soon.

Ron Weasley

He's easy to overlook.  He's the only character you can't buy as a single Lego.  His picture is the one in the crease of the magazine.  But he's a faithful friend.  He sticks through the bobbles and trials that come with years of friendship, and without him, the trio just doesn't work.

Like him, I may struggle with my role.  (Who doesn't want to be the hero? To have their own lego? To not be the "other guy" in the picture spread?)  I may not always feel like a hero, but I just may be someone's Ron.  And when all is said and done, I hope I can be like him and stick it out to the end. 

Yep, I kinda want to be a Ron Weasley.

Old Bay

I know I'm supposed to be the salt of the earth, but I think I would rather be the Old Bay.  There's no seasoning quite like it.  (And if you're from Maryland like I am...it just tastes like home.)  Old Bay stays with you. It warms your mouth and lingers long after the food is gone. That's the impression I want to leave with people.

That's how Jesus is with me.

Refresh

I love the Olympics.  LOVE them.

I love the huge triumph. The crushing defeat. The fact that 1/100 of a second "is apparently a huge crapload of time." (Thank you Jimmy Fallon.) The heartwarming human interest story. The world coming together for 17 days. A parent cheering. A coach looking proud. A record broken. An athlete looking terrified (or proud or bold or happy or humbled). National anthems. Camaraderie between competitors. The antics of Mary Carillo. Familiar heroes. Emerging stars. Inspirational commercials. The Olympic spirit.

I love it all.

The 2008 summer games were a lot of fun because I could watch so many of the events live.  (Including my favorite moment from Beijing -- Jason Lezak's anchor leg in the men's 4x100 relay.  I'll never forget that.)  The 2012 games have been different.  Between the time difference, my lack of cable at home, and NBC's broadcast strategy, I haven't had the opportunity to watch many things (especially "headline events") unfold live.  So I haven't been as addicted to the TV during daylight hours.

But then there's NBCOlympics.com. 

A section on the front page that lists all the medal events of the day.  And as each event occurs in London, the page is updated in the USA.  Even more awesome, if it's an event like gymnastics you can open the event page and it updates after each competitor completes their routine.

Last week I spent a lot of time watching that page.  Counting down the hours and minutes to the events.  Anxiously hitting "refresh" every few moments so I could get the results as soon as technologically possible.

And let me tell you, when Michael Phelps won his 18th medal I screamed "YES!" just as loudly as I would have if I could have watched it live.  (When he won his 19th an hour later, I gazed at my computer quiet pride that wasn't any less keen because all I saw was text on a monitor.)

When Danell Leyva and John Orozco were vying for men's all around gold, I felt my heart drop just as much for their pommel horse scores as I would have if I had seen their routines on screen.  (Does it mean I watch too much when I can tell that much from a simple 13.5 and 12.566?  On second thought, don't answer that.) 

Those are just two examples.

Even though I knew I would get a chance to watch the video, even though I knew WTOP would inform me as soon as I got in the car, I felt...compelled...to stay connected to the web page.  If a race was scheduled for 3:37, I was hitting refresh every minute by 3:38.  (Every 30 seconds by 3:39). If the gymnastics scores didn't update every minute, I wondered what was going on. 

I just had to know!

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

It got me thinking.  When was the last time I felt that driven to connect to God?  Sure, the connection is there. But when was the last time I hit "refresh"? What if I was that passionate about being as up-to-the-second with what he was doing?   

How might my life change?