Wildflower Writes

Continued from 6/19 post… Wendy opened the bathroom door and brushed past her mother. She found a granola bar in the kitchen and stuffed it in her purse. She even found an old Gideon New Testament she had been given in elementary school. She gave her mom a light kiss on the cheek and headed outside. The air was hot and muggy, even this early in the morning. She decided to walk. She hadn’t been in a church building since Christmas. She was starting to second-guess her brilliant plan to win God’s favor so He would grant her wish. Yet, her sandaled feel kept moving forward down the sidewalk, and the steeple seemed to grow taller and taller. It sure was pretty in the morning light. Suddenly she turned. She could have sworn she heard someone calling her name. It was coming from the parking lot of the church. Someone was waving at her. “Wendy!” he called again, as he began to run toward her. She finally recognized her greeter. It was Jason from the hospital, looking quite ha...

“…and let the music we sing be the song of our hearts.” I don’t remember the exact words our choir director used, but in a brief moment of prayer before our Easter cantata, I realized why I sing in the choir. I’ve always loved to sing. Most kids do, I think. In my early years I was drawn to music, although it wasn’t a large part of my life. I didn’t study it or read a lot about it, although I did learn about Beethoven from Schroeder of the Peanuts comic. I learned song lyrics, although I rarely knew who sang what or what album it came from. Imagine my mom’s surprise when I came home from a sleep-over at nine years old singing, “Like a Virgin.” On the other hand, nothing seems to resonate with me more emotionally and spiritually than a song. There’s something about music that penetrates all defenses and makes its way to the very soul of a person. So I’ve always sang in the choir. I always wanted to be a part of making beautiful music, to take apart the notes, rhythms, and dynamics and ...