Humility

photo Annie Buckles 2006
(xanga anniebuck)
India
Humility in service, with heart to God and a hand to man.

Humility

To be united with Christ,
Trusting in Him
Is the deep felt prayer of my soul.
To be created brand new,
Living for Him
With a holy love, full, pure and whole.

Accomplishments can bring,
Like bright gems on a string,
A self-confidence – “Look, look at me!”
“If I can do more,
Show you how I can soar
Then I’ll have greater value, wait and see.”

But this empty existence,
Is a full front resistance
To the life Jesus lived, everyday;
Humility is key,
Not accomplishments, “look at me”
Jesus said, “You see God when You see Me. I’m the Way”


Humility brings,
Humility sings
A nurtured confidence of the soul.
One that looks at a cross,
Not focusing on loss
But embraces surrendered control.

My confidence resides
In the Person that provides
Salvation and holiness with grace.
My attitude should be
Showing Christ alive in me –
When He embraced the cross, He took my place.

Humility in my walking,
Humility in my talking,
Humility in my serving,
Humility, undeserving
Of God’s indescribable gift –
Christ in me.

jsi

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from His love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Do nothing out of vain conceit but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interest, but also to the interests of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness, and being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death – even death on the cross. Philippians 2:1-8

By the Numbers

The book listed in the CURRENTLY READING highlight of this post has captivated me since December 25, as my oldest unwrapped the silver Santa Claus paper from the outside of the gift he received from his favorite uncle. Momentarily caught off guard, he realized this was not the Wayne Gretzky biography he had specifically asked for - this was different all together. Reading the inside inscription on the first page, he moved on to the introduction, as was hooked immediately. A gift for him, but I pick it up as often as I can, an insatiable reading experience it has been to leaf through the pages of time and see if when I test myself, did I know this star, this sport, this era?

00-99 in several varieties of professional team sports, men and women - who wore which number with distinction? Each number has a #1, all time, ya-gotta-give-it-to-them-'cause-they-were-the-greatest selection and then, (and I feel this is what makes this book exceptional) it covers several other individuals who though may not have been chosen as the stand out- hands down winner, still wore their number with pride and performed with excellence.

For example...

What does #3 say to you? Who would fill those shoes, of all the sports, of all the stars, from all the ages - who was the best #3, as chosen by this specific panel of sports experts, officiandos and statisticians? It immediately turns into a sports agenda - which is your favorite sport? If its baseball, you are looking at none other than Mr. Babe Ruth of the New York Yankees, the Sultan of Swat. (This book chooses the Babe - how could you not?) But if a diamond and four bases in a square in a mixture of dirt and grass is not your dream of heaven, your #3 superstar could be Dale Earnhardt. Or Allen Iverson. Or Daryle LaMonica. Or Stephon Marbury.

Coolness!

Who comes to your mind as the most exceptional athlete to wear :

:#10 #13 :#23 :#44 :#31 : #17 #32 #5 #9

Some athletes got their number because it the next one available in the wardrobe closet their size, not retired. Some have been able to have their number since elementary school. Some professional contracts have reached an unnegotiable state of affairs about nothing more and nothing less than the availability of a specific number. Sometimes they are a birthday, a father's number, a tribute to a mentor or role model. The book is chock full of stories, not just about the sport prowess, but the method about the number selection.
Such as Michael Jordan has not exclusively worn #23 (and this is not including the dispute concerning the team retirement of that number - no this was an incident prior to that). Do you recall what happened - what happened to #23? Did Michael Jordan lose his magic superhero power over all other basketball players when the digits on his jersey were not the identical ones to the previous game?

In the book are all the details to remind a public of what they knew that they knew..."that's right!"

T. took this book to his hockey practice and the pee wees poured over it as it was a conveyor of universal, pertinent, fundamental stuff.

For these young men, numbers make the world go round!

I try to be involved in their conversations, I really really do. I ask them questions, listen to their answers, follow their patterns of thought and then just when I believe I have crossed the threshold into being accepted into their world, I run into the invisible mom-barrior - sport statistics.

I am lost when trying to carry on an intelligent side of the conversation when speaking ratio-shots-on-goal, percentage of hat tricks verses assists, foul shot percentage weighing in the amount of fouls provided in the final 3 minutes of the third quarter, the formula of RBI-homerun-on base average in specific months against specific pitchers. The men-in-training talking circles around me, and these sentences of numbers, numbers. numbers literally numb my brain.

Men in training, they are. Using their men-in-training skills on the nearest unsuspecting female, a.k.a. mom, they are.

And the other dads around, they are so comfortable in this numbers conversation. These men who refuse to remember to grab a necessary gallon of milk on the way home can rattle of the entire lineup, stats and all, of the World Series Championship team of 1982 as well as the coaching staff, relief pitcher who was injured and number of strike outs the pitcher had in game 4.

One of T.s all time favorite movie is Field of Dreams. When the corn-field/baseball field has all the players on it, T. knows which character is who in basbeall history, because of their numbers. He literally can't believe I didn't notice that all-important detail.."Of course he's Shoeless Joe, mom, its plain to see." "Look, that's his dad, and see what number he wears, its so important." Invisible to my eyesight and understanding, it adds a layer of relevancy and authenticity for my T-man. I can dissect the important characters, themes, plot development and symbolism for eternity and life and evil verses good of Herman Melville's Moby Dick, write a 5 page thesis paper on the first three words, 'Call me Ishmael.", yet these basbeall number details elude me.

They are a screaming billboard to my buddy.

Yougottabekiddingme!

Men in training, pouring over this book, 11 and 12 years old...they are looking up their number. Who wears my number? T. had 99 last year (Wayne Gretzky) but needed to sacrifice it this year because there was another 99 on the team. (Actually, I still have hard feelings about it, but you know what, I don't lace up my skates and practice on the ice, my vote in mute. T.s happy, so...I...am..well...maybe..okay...I'm happy.) So instead, he wanted 66, Mario LeMieux, who inverted 99 in honor of the Great One and carved out a slice of ice in history for himself. Even with next year having the potential of getting 99 back, T.s sticking with 66 (man I am so proud of that boy of mine. He is so together about things which really tick off other people.)

Did you wear a certain number, or do you always select a specific number when allowed an opportunity? My hubby always wants his certain number...what's yours?

From the tops...#10 - Pele; #13- Wilt Chamberlain; #23- Michael Jordan; #44 - Hank Aaron; #31 - Greg Maddux, :#17 John Havlicek #32 Jim Brown; #5 Joe DiMaggio; #9 Gordie Howe/Bobby Hull/Rocket Richard

I am signing up all four kids in baseball and softball this week...and you got it...along with trying on their cleats, massaging their gloves with mink oil, finding their baserunning pants which fit they are choosing...
...their numbers.

At His Cross

photo by Annie Buckles (xanga anniebuck)
Camp Allegheny 2003, summer sunset at the Cross

At His Cross

No laws, or their keeping,
No running or leaping,
No scrubbing the stains of our heart
Can take hidden sin
That is buried within –
Our attempts crumble, fall apart.

We can’t make hearts right,
An ensnaring, cold blight,
And God never asked us to do it:
For the needed technique
Is enshrouded, mystique,
Only Christ and the Cross will renew it.

There is one sacred place
We see sanctified grace –
It is holy, unmeasured and free:
Kneeling at the Cross, low,
Before Christ we can know
His righteous love has a guarantee.

Through obedient faith,
A whole heart, not an eighth,
Or a quarter or half or a third -
A whole heart, humble, raw
Not forgiven by the Law
But the surgery of grace that occurred.

In anguish, prone, at the Cross
Seeing Christ – I’m at a loss
Simply hearing that He loves even me;
I want to be found in Christ, alone
Gaining Christ, making Him known,
To be sanctified, holy and free.

At His Cross, where faith is the admission fee.
At His Cross where forgiveness is His guarantee.
At His Cross where I’ve crucified my accomplishment and pride,
At His Cross where the Surgeon of the Soul will provide
The cut of precision,
The cut of decision,
Then give His sanctified holiness

at
His
Cross.

jsi

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

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