The lights signal the impending concert beginning and people are quickly securing their seats, programs in hand. The doors shimmy open one after another, stragglers who are apologetic, those who patiently and kindly dropped off their passengers at the door as they sought the elusive downtown parking space. Still others who needed to finish their last conversation/cigarette/bathroom break. They find themselves extremely punctual - just in time.

As darkness surrounds the audience, the stage florescence combines red, blue, green and white bulbs, beaming proudly, illuminating the members on stage.

The oboe offers his A for the orchestra sections to match their pitch :1) winds 2) brass 3) strings as the concert master encourages each grouping to play, tune and cease messing around. No doodling and noodling on stage with the audience listening, watching - we are here to play.

Firelands Symphony Orchestra February 2007 weekend performances.

Backstage, warming up is not only an opportunity to warm up the horn but another chance to speak with new friends. I've had the chance to play with this orchestra since 2005 and greatly appreciated the chance to continue to play orchestral horn and be a part of a group which plays in several counties. To be around people who understand me, not just as an officer or a new person in town, agent of social justice, sports mom or scout mom, but as a horn player. New baby pictures - nieces, grandsons, bragging rights for new family achievements, passed around left and right. "read about your son in the paper last week" or "heard that your neighbor lost her car in the plow debacle".

Of the members of the wind section (horns/clarinet/oboe/flute/bassoon) there are four pastors (including myself) so we frequently discuss the passage for the next sermon and what the study of the Word has brought about in the passage for each person. Intriguing stuff, deep stuff, resonating, grounding stuff.

We present ourselves in concert long black (dress or skirt which reaches tea length or lower) and tuxes. My don't we all look smart? A tux does terrific things for any man of any age! Though we are all on stage, our first piece only needs two horns, I am tacet for this piece. I wait for the conductor and his entrance with an irrepressible smile.

Rossini's Barber of Seville overture.

All I can see in my head is bald Elmer Fudd getting a haircut and Bugs Bunny holding the scissors.

I don't have to play a note or turn a page, so I simply listen to the lyrics in my head, and it feels exactly like when I was a girl having a bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch cereal, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television on Saturday morning...

"How do? Welcome to my shop. Let me cut your mop. Let me shave your crop.
Daintily, daintily - Hey you! Don't look so perplexed? Why must you be vexed? Can't you see your next? You're so next.."

"Hey, where'd I find that wabbit?" "What would you want with a wabbit? Can't you see that I'm much sweeter? I'm your little senoriter..."

Placido Domingo, Sherrill Milnes, Samuel Ramey - they couldn't do this libretto justice, not be able to deliver it with the style and grace of Maestro Bugs Bunny. There are few cartoons which even excel to this level of character, expression and humor. I adore "The Rabbit of Seville!"

The last piece we play on the first half is A. Borodin's Polovetsian Dances from Prince Igor. Flowing, fast, FAST, FAST and in the center of all the passion arises the melody I attribute more to the Lettermen than to classical music. "There you are, you're a stranger in paradise.." My mother would play her LPs again and again, and her music just sunk in. Again, like a child, I am transported to a simpler time when the biggest job I needed to accomplish was keeping my bedroom clean and turning in my science homework on time.

The second half is dedicated exclusively to Beethoven's Symphony #7. Loud, fast, high - high - high for the horns bouncing us around in transposition from horn in D to horn in A to horn in E. We as a horn section have already been through three other transposition parts - such is the life of the horn player. Nearly talking to ourselves, we speak audibly, "The key is A, don't leave out the G#" for the written page carries notes that are different. High, fast, loud and exposed, Beethoven provided a treasure trove of passion, pathos, angst, joy, exhilaration in Symphony #7. For all the world to hear, this horn part has me sitting on high B naturals - tonic, dominant, tonic, dominant, all galloping along at an persistent pace of determination.

Without exaggeration, I feel like I have played 4.5 million notes these past 30 days, with the amount of rehearsals with different groups, performances, practices, tours, lessons; yet when I see them all, none of them come anywhere near the level of importance or exposure as the Beethoven #7, final note first movement. From a high staccato B to a staccato G#, the entire movement seems to stand on the edge of a knife. Will I join the halls of fame with Dennis Brain, horn virtuoso of numerous recordings, who took that note and sent it splat against the wall like a raw meatball thrown at full force? Or will I pick it out of mid air and deliver it shining, a major resolution, the third of the chord carrying the harmony of life at its best?

Dress rehearsal brought one meatball reality...a repeat for the audience?

Nope, we nailed it, nailed that chord to the wall. Nailed that pretty, shining chord to the wall.

All is well with the world tonight, as I tuck myself into bed with my heart and head flowing with music.
"Daintily, daintily"

To Remember

To Remember

Ashes in a dish,
Prepared, reserved
The oil of myrrh,
Saved for this day
To remember.

Passing the peace of Christ,
Breathing in and out
And capturing His fragrance
Within my heart:
A chance to remember.

The dark cross,
Smudged, dirty, visible
The mark of Christ
A tangible mark
Allows me to remember.

Christ for you -and you -
Whosoever…and me:
There is nothing that can separate us
From the love of God
Eternally remember.

A sacrifice, LORD, not forcibly taken:
Your sacrifice, LORD, willingly given,
Complete. Beautiful. Strong.
Necessary.
Keep my heart willing

To
always
remember

Through forgiveness the arms of Jesus lift you
His precious blood cleanses you,
His love changes you.
This transformation is a free gift
To remember.

Whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord., for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law but that which is through faith in Christ – the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His suffering. Philippians 3:7-10

Tighter Than a Drum

The timpani, gentle giant of the percussion section, the family timpani is an amazing part of the orchestra. You couldn't play Sergie Prokofiev's opus 67 "Peter and the Wolf" without them.
The symphonic unity of narration, folk story and symphonic familiarity all brought together with a good morale of friendship and courage.

The woodwinds predominating the characters of Sasha, Sonya and Ivan, and Grandfather of course, Peter is found within the soul of the united strings. And the wolf, oh the wolf. Four horns, menacing, fierce, loud and low - what horn player doesn't revel in the opportunity to be this perpetual bad guy. (Last year the Firelands Symphony played Peter and the Wolf, I was horn 3 this time.) You feel like you are coming from the shadows, reaching, slinking, preparing the pounce. This folk story winds its way through the realm of the orchestra, helping young and old be connected with the sounds and capabilities of each instrument - really music education at its best.

And then the audience arrives at the timpani. They signal the hunting party, the men who are seeking the wolf to protect the village. Battling, booming, using the full artillery through all drums.

The timpani.

The flexible head is stretched over the copper, enclosed within are the tension rods. These tension rods are able to be engaged and disengaged through a pedal rachet system or turned by hand on the outside surface of the body of the drum. They can be tuned, maintained through the pedal and rachet to range through different pitches. Timpani are used as a family, each tuned to different ranges, all managed through this racket and tension rod system managed through the pedals.

The timpani, man can I relate to the timpani. My heart feels tighter than a drum. Its been tightening for about 5 1/2 weeks as the schedule was coming closer and closer. The pitch of my life, my stability, my inner peace changing with each tightening of the tension rod, what I saw coming down the turnpike of my life.

The mothership of all schedule conflicts.

I used to believe I have seen them all when it came to schedule conflicts. An important orchestral gig presented on the day we had chosen for our wedding. Important evangelistic engagement falling on the due date of one of our children. (And my babies never came late - 2 exactly on their due date, 2 two weeks before their date...my babies didn't wait or make us wait). Educational timelines falling over family mainstays. Opera performances and orchestral performances, sermons and visitations. A funeral, a wedding and a city wide revival - three different states and originally three different dates, until...

...February 2007.

Our divisional ensembles - Neosa Brass and Timbrels - are embarking upon their tour through the southern U.S.states and it is a privilege to be able to play and sing with these musicians. My husband and I had been members (what a comfort to know he was there in the trombone section honking out the bass trombone part)together until November brought a devastating reality. Another group he is a member with, The Territorial Songsters, scheduled their recording session for their repertoire. The same exact days. In a state nowhere near the southern part of the U.S. Because of this conflict, he needed to end his membership with the ensemble this year (triple rats) and head for the balmy shores of Ellwood City PA and Slippery Rock Creek, a freezing tributary of the Beaver River. And the orchestra I play with has their performances on February 23-27. I will only be able to be at the dress rehearsal before performance.

The tension rods were moving, tightening it all.

That same November week T.s travel hockey team announced its tournament availability and included us in on our deepest family nightmare. The President's Weekend Tournament for the Pee Wees. The same weekend mom is on one side of the country and dad is stretched to another.

December brought the reality - N. has a wrestle meet, his most important one, in that same weekend.

Areyoukiddingme?

Is it going to work? Can we pull it off? The phone calls and scheduling began - we felt like Napoleon and his war sergeants, pouring over strategies and maps and alternative moves, plan b, plan c.

A light at the end of the tunnel - we all have them - school age children its June, the last day of school. For a bride, the wedding day. For a Ph.D. student, thesis acceptance and publication. For an adoptive parent, gotcha day. For me and Dave, the light at the end of the tunnel feels like a giant locomotive and painted on its side is February 15-20.

Adults to transport a. to b., (check) adults to care for child a.b.c.d.(check), directions and instructions (check). Someone to take care of the pulpit and Sunday services for the Sunday we will miss (check). T. can go with a different hockey family for the tournament (check) N. will wrestle in a different meet, maybe (maybe, oh please maybe)

But the tension rods of my heart were tightening more, the pitch of my peace being altered, changed.

Tighter and tighter - T's glucose numbers have been out of whack for two weeks, and this family he will be with have no experience with inulin pump therapy. Sure, I'll only be a cell phone call away - that is if I can be guaranteed of a cell where I am.

Tighter and tighter, the drum of my heart feels crowded by anxiety, not hypothetical or possible things which may happen, but real, legitimate, life-hanging-in-the-balance kind of things. Sure, he's been a Type I diabetic for 6 years now, he's confident of all the routines and maintenance he has to do. When he's high - what to do. When he's low - what to do. And still, he's 12, he's only 12. I see him challenged to pass up a cupcake or any sweet for that matter. Will he pull out a super-human level of self-control for these five days, to choose those broccoli spears instead of chocolate chip cookies? augh, I feel like the worst mother alive.

Tighter and tighter - I really love being able to be at T.'s games. We have really grown to love hockey. These families we have met have become closer friends through our involvement with them and their children. I hate to miss his games, I feel like the worst mother alive.

Tighter and tighter - N. has really shown a proficiency and love for wrestling. Sure he's only 46 pounds, but he uses every ounce of it to its greatest benefit. I can't believe he won't be with his team all because of my schedule. I feel like the worst mother alive.

Tighter and tighter - my sweet baboo has the flu. I need to help take care of him, my deepest call. I feel like the worst wife alive.

Tighter and tighter - A. needs to miss her piano lesson because we need to travel them to another county for grandma to watch them. Missing another day of school (double rats) I feel like the worst mother alive.

Tighter and tighter - K. is unable to go to a birthday party sleepover, scheduled this weekend (I feel like the worst mother alive)

Tighter and tighter - as we are closing up the T. Ave corps, the unbelievable drip-drip-drip from the hall. "No, please, no." Yes, there it is. We had a good freeze and everything was fine, but as all weather officianados will say, it needs to warm up to snow. Will this roof hold for the next five days? While we are both away?

Tighter and tighter - as we pass the C. Ave corps the snow drift is now up to the entire front door - will the plow company take care of what they are paid for? Before church on Sunday?

Tighter and tighter - the phone rings, and the retired officers who are in charge of Sunday's worship begin talking about what they will do when they need to cancel. Have we left this responsibility with someone who won't follow through with it?

The pitch of my heart feels nowhere near where it needs to be, altered and removed from its home pitch. The prayer of my heart, "O Lord, hold these days in Your hand and release these tensions from my heart."

I cannot cast these anxieties - they are tied to people who are precious to me. Yet release this dramatic amount of anxiety, yes I must. Prepared as best we can be, fulfilling every opportunity of preparation and dedication, I dedicate these concerns to God.

Thankful for the translation from the The Message, which calms my heart. I feel the tender and capable hand of God readjusting these tension rods around my heart, tuning me deeply inside His promise:
"So be content with who you are, and don't put on airs. God's strong hand is on you; He's in control of your time. Life carefree before God; He is most careful with you." I Peter 5:6-7

As a teenager, this verse was a memorization opportunity, one which was accompanied by a musical benefit of a nifty chorus which helps promote its memory stability for me. A simple, straight forward, rightatcha chance to hide God's word in my heart. But as a mother, wife, officer, pastor, it becomes the lifeline I have to what happens when the facts of life meet the facts of faith.

The capable hands of God return my heart to its tuned position, releasing the tension, lowering the pitch, relaxing life's hold on my heart.

Who would believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, "This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earth's faces."
William Shakespeare, sonnet xvii

My sweetness knows me so well, there is not a store on earth which holds a gift I want, I pine for, I desire more than some thoughtful time well spent. For Valentine's Day, Dave didn't need red wrapping or bows; he didn't require my ring finger size or dinner reservations or my favorite candy. For me, the less money spent, the more valuable the gift.
He gave our family what we needed the most, and it took so much to provide it.

We got our garage back.

All of our corps buildings - and their garages and separate storage buildings - have compromised roofs. There hasn't been a place to keep everything which needs stored and needs to stay dry. I take that back, there has been a place - our garage. And in providing this, we haven't been able to park in covered parking.

So for the past few weeks, we have deliberately and systematically prepared the garage to be able to be what it should be...for the vehicles. Finished by a big push from him this weekend, I got my Valentine just in the nick of time...blizzard warning with the expectation of 24" by tomorrow lunch.

Tonight he just charged up the snowblower and is helping two drivers stuck at the end of the street, clearing the walk for our block and the driveway for our home and the neighbors.
Nothing you can say can tear me away from my guy! He really is the best.

The kids are celebrating tonight, whooping it up from the living room, the schools are closed tomorrow for the bitter blast and blizzard condition it is tonight and the expected accumulation it will be tomorrow. In the indubitable words of my sweetness, "There just ain't no day like a snow day!"

Have a blessed Valentine's Day, my smile is firmly planted, I am so blessed to have this generous, thoughtful, sacrificing, caring man in my life!

Drivers...start your engines

Rolling out of bed at 5:30 a.m. to darkness outside, the sun will rise very soon yet the clouds cover the horizon. This Saturday morning for so many can be a time to sleep in, yet our eyes have been open for 45 minutes already, covering the plans of what and where, when and how. Coffee and laundry, sleepover pick ups and wrestling meet, hockey practice and brass practice. The day is full and has the potential on being a fully achieved, much accomplished day when everything runs like a well-oiled machine or a torrent of missed responsibilities and obligations if one timed situation overlaps its boundary causing a domino effect of lateness and missedness.

Everyone has those days.

So much to do, but under it all, I know all I want to truly do is beat Dave's best time. I'll have several opportunities today.

So we synchronize our watches. The day holds both in the balance, so which will it be? Which door will hold the 24 hour compilation? I choose door #1, in my optimism, the day which will be well planned, balanced, possible. As I step in the closet to get a pair of socks for me and my sweetie I hear the click of the door, he beat me...he beat me! Again! The first of the hot water, the first shower of the day belongs to the quickest.

Our life has been a mild mannered yet continually maintained race.

There actually is very little Dave and I don't have some form of race about. He will be the first one ready, but I will leave the house first. We needed to head in two different directions, me south and east to Neosa Brass rehearsal and Dave north and west (can there really be much more north and west before the state line?) meeting at T.s hockey game in the early evening. As I finish making my morning coffee, we both arrange the details - this child here by this time, that child there by that time, this family, that arrangement, this address, that phone number. We both can be reached, only a phone call away, and it will work.

But the real business is lurking, unspoken just yet, hovering above, politely and considerately allowing all other topics to be finalized, complete.

He stepped outside to clear the ice off my van and warm the engine (he's such a gentleman) fill the tank and leave me some toll money. He knows I don't carry money, and that I wouldn't recognize it until I was lining up in the PAY TOLL line for the Route 8 exit. He knows me and takes those tendencies that drive him crazy and cuts them off at the pass, his advance preparation prevents me from needing to pay for my $2.75 toll in dimes. (And you know how much a toll worker appreciates getting that many dimes.)

All things are running smoothly...
...the engines are revving. The crowds are cheering as the signal flag is poised to wave.

We set the rules: which way am I driving 250 to turnpike E to route 8S which will become 77S instead of 250 to 2E to 57E to 77S. Check the on-line construction pattern (77S should simply install permanent orange cones, they have never, ever been construction free in the entire existence of that highway menagerie.) That makes a huge difference (in miles and tolls and time) check and make sure the time, 7:10, and the prediction ...arrive at Canton Citadel by 9:25 a.m.

The challenge is raised and today I will meet it. I will not drive reckless or bump drivers out of the fast lane, I really do rely upon cruise control. I will not be a speed demon, breaking 95 mph just for a challenge. The challenge is achieving the quickest time within the rules of the road. If you break the rules, your win is hollow, not worth celebrating.

Pulling into the corps driveway I felt as if the checkered flag was waving just for me...9:19 a.m.! Doing a backflip off the back of my minivan to chug-a-lug a quart of milk - that wasn't gonna happen but I sure did make a phone call to my Sweet baboo who was waiting for the results. A new record has been set (construction has been froze out from the frigid blast - no time delay - exceptional!) and although my name may only be engraved upon that trophy once, its mine right now.

Our rehearsal included a race through all the repertoire for our impending trip - five more days and then to the south! It will a terrific trip, but the tempo for all our pieces was a race-breaking pace. Milestone. Salvation Song. Fill the World With Music. Hallelujah Parade. The quick run through that leaves my heart racing still from their quickness...B/M Eric Dina had extra adrenaline for rehearsal and he won every race, hands down! The checkered flag was waving just for him.

As rehearsal is complete, all members having their red and yellow shirts for travel uniform, I drop a text message to my sweetness, 3:50 p.m., final destination Fremont. His prediction, I'll miss two periods of the Fremont Ice Wolves versus the Rocky River hockey game, getting there at 5:30. I say 5:15. Same rules in play, no speed demon moves, I pull into the Fremont Rec center at 5:12, just as the ref drops the puck for the second period to begin. This game is the clincher - a win and the team enters the playoffs, a lose and the season is done with only two tournaments to skate.

Following the heart wrenching 4-0 loss, we gather our young brood in the vans for the ride home. There are several ways to get home..."Which way you going?" We each have our favorite, they include the winding interconnected rural routes of the farmland of NW Ohio, but each is a favorite, not for the pretty barns or quaint town squares which dot their existence. No a favorite is chosen for its expediency - the quickest way. Same rules in play, Margaretta as a 25 mph speed limit - must adhere to it - 40,65,35...obey the speed limits or its not a race.

At the end of the day, 14 hours after I had left in the morning, I claimed the third checkered flag - a trifecta of victory! Sweet dreams and satisfaction from a day which went according to plan, all responsibilities met, everyone safe and sound and healthy...

...and I won!

Lifelong

Lifelong

A life that is holy,
Lived every minute for You
My Lord, Jehovah Jirah:
You have provided
The strength, the answers, the hope
That I need.
This is my mission,
My lifelong commission,
To be holy.
Set apart for Your purpose alone.

A life that is holy,
Expressed every moment for You
My Lord, Jehovah Rapha:
You have healed
The shattered condition
That was me.
This is my mission,
My lifelong commission,
To be holy.
Set apart for Your purpose alone.

You’ve been with me each step of the way,
I follow Your trail,
You’ve gone ahead
And prepared this place for me.
But You never left me alone,
Not an instant, not a breath –
You’ve been over me, around me,
Beneath and beside me,
Always here, always near.

A life that is holy,
Intentional love from You
My Lord, Jehovah Shamma:
You are there
With building material, tools in Your hands.
This is my mission,
My lifelong commission,
To be holy.
Set apart for Your purpose alone.

jsi

The Cathedral of my Heart

The Cathedral of My Heart

In the cathedral of my heart,
Where I meet You Lord,
We walk.
Sunlight illuminates
The stained glass windows
Showering each surface
With Your prism.

Each window – a history,
The cinema of my life.
We talk.
With their colors, their demarcations-
Choices, decisions.
You were honored here
You were avoided here.

Vibrant hues ablaze
Through this interior cathedral
We examine.
You draw me close, Lord,
A closer look for me, not you.
Broken here. Repaired here.
Whole now.

In the cathedral of my heart,
Where I meet You, Lord
Alone.
Have mercy on me,
A sinner.
Clean my heart, fill my heart.
Allow Your holiness
To resonate
In the cathedral of my heart.

jsi