Solitude, Shepherds, and the Angels that Sang

I'm basking this morning, reliving a month of memories. Coffee sits on my nightstand with a glass of power juice. I need both. 

As of yesterday, I finished a marathon weekend - better yet, a marathon week. I cleaned an upstairs bedroom, bought a bed, and created a guest / writing room. I watched my oldest sit on the main stage at his college graduation, and later lead the coliseum full of attendees in the UGA Alma Mater. I hosted a family gathering, led my student's piano and voice recital, and accompanied a church choir for two services just yesterday morning.

My mind swirls with sounds and images that awaken all that is Christmas deep in my soul.  

Nathan leading the Alma Mater

The college graduate!

Baby in a Box on my living room floor!

Susu and Hazel who sang and played in my recital Saturday!

The entire Davis clan with me in PJ pants after a LONG day!

I started taking a supplemental vitamin product last August that provided an upswing in my energy level. Due to the cost, and some unexpected financial hits, I backed off the regimen in late October. My legs grew weaker through the month of November and a cold in early December left me extra weary this month. When I struggled to control my legs last weekend, I turned to Don and said, "I've got to double the dose again and see if it helps."

It did. In a remarkable way. And so, with a few naps thrown in, I more survived this crazy week. 

But the breakthrough came only after weeks of struggle.

As I hunkered down in early December, my mind traveled back to the dark, quiet hillside, where shepherds sat unsuspecting, just living another night of solitude. An article on the Ariel Ministries website explains:

"In a society fanatical about cleanliness, shepherds stood aside. They were never clean; it was impossible. They were constantly walking about in excrement and touching dead things, and both activities left them in a state of ritual impurity.
Because of their defiled conditions, shepherds were not allowed to go to the Temple, to offer sacrifices, or to go to the synagogues, so any religious experience a shepherd might enjoy had to be between himself and God."

(Read the insightful article here: The Real Shepherds of Bethlehem)

Before I read about their ritual impurity, I savored the notion that the angels burst forth from the heavens and sang to those separated from the masses. The divine, heavenly beings didn't shine over the town for all to see. They overflowed with joy to an audience of impure, dirty, smelly, isolated, few in number shepherds. 

Why does this matter so much to me? I've done 90% of my shopping on line. I slept through church last Sunday to rest for the week ahead.  I haven't gone to Monday night Bible study or spent my Wednesday evenings watching crime TV with Lu and Bonnie, my friend who suffers with ALS. I've hunkered down so I could accompany a church choir and indulge in family and the music of Christmas.

I have a lot of friends who have to make these kinds of choices. We may look put together when we're out amongst them, but behind the scenes, we battle solitude and isolation from what most consider the norm. 

To them I say, "Take heart, you chronically ill, the ones in pain whose lives are slowed and different. For the angels sang to the shepherds. The skies could have opened any where on the horizon. But they parted so the angels could sing to ones who lived alone, hidden away from the norm."

I love that. 

We have polished Christmas to the point we forget it was once just an earthy experience. A woman cried in labor. The new born king breathed in air rife with odors. And angels invited the dirty and impure to be the first to bear witness to the miraculous life that entered our world.

I'm grateful I'm feeling better. But when I was struggling, I found comfort knowing the shepherd's quiet night was interrupted by a brilliant touch God. Because of that, I trusted my solitude to him and tried to remember I wasn't missing out. I was just alone, in the quiet, where the first song of Christmas was sung.


photo credit: Karol Franks via photopin cc
photo credit: Laura B. Dahl via photopin cc

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A Five-in-a-Row Christmas Candy Crush Day

As tired as I was, I couldn't sleep last night.  I laid in bed for hours, rehearsing the day. After ten days of self imposed, home bound living, rich interaction awakened me. Long into the night.

My body still needs rest, so coffee sits in a mug on my nightstand while my legs are stretched comfortably in bed. Here, I sort my thoughts.

It was a less than perfect day in many regards. My body betrayed me before noon. Wobbly legs carried me from church back to bed where I rested before accompanying an afternoon concert. Sinus pressure, lessened to some degree by two days of antibiotics, forced me to reach for extra drugs in hopes of countering the dizzy feeling that left me off kilter.

I missed a few notes in the second measure of the first song. No one probably noticed, but I did. And since I'd never missed them before, I was a little concerned about the rest of the performance. And as the concert progressed, I definitely hit more wrong notes than I had in rehearsal. But no one cared.

In the end, not even me.

For when I play at my parent's church, I feel at home, surrounded by folks who've known me since I was five, maybe ten. They've been praying for me a long time and know my story well. The older I get, the more I value that connection: the rich history that comes from walking in relationship with those who cling to the cross like me year after year.

An added bonus? They treat me like a rock star.

While I enjoyed seeing so many from my past (including my piano teacher!), I think I lost sleep because my Nathan sang on the back row, just two spots down from mom. He recently secured a place to live as he begins a new job at a great school today. Doing what I love with my son, surrounded by so many who are woven deep into the fabric of my life, blew fuses in my brain... like when I line up five candy's of the same color in Candy Crush Saga and the power ball forms and ignites all over the screen.

Simply put, yesterday was a five-in-a-row, exploding candy crush day.

I maneuvered gingerly through much of it.

Held the walls as I left church in the morning to maintain balance.

Rested for an hour and half.

Then loaded up on meds, rode in a car forty minutes, and took my place on the bench in front of the keyboard.

While I'm grateful for the day, I sometimes wish I could play without the physical drama involved. But perhaps that's what makes it all the more beautiful: The prism lenses. The pain. The fatigue. A weak right hip and thigh braced so pedaling won't wear it out.

He came in a manger after all. And shepherds, who lived in solitude, heard the angels sing. Maybe the quiet places, the dusty, dingy places, and the hard to overcome challenges, make the music all the sweeter. The message more clear. The birth, all that matters.

So relish your challenge this season. Embrace the solitude if you must. Wait for the five-in-a-row candy crush moment, for a long time even. 

It will come. Because He is here.

I'll close by sharing a recording of a song we performed yesterday. The melody haunts me in a profound way. We didn't have an orchestra or a choir of trained voices. But we gave it our all.




photo credit: Bogdan Suditu via photopin cc
photo credit: sarowen via photopin cc
photo credit: kevin dooley via photopin cc

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