Zambian Orphans Choir

Chapel today was sobering and uplifting. A group of AIDS orphans from Zambia came to share their story and to sing for us. It is hard to put into words what I felt, because it was so overpowering. Each of them came from a broken background of loss, yet their outlooks were so positive and they were able to rejoice in their Heavenly Father's providence through their circumstances. Their voices had such a harrowing passion as they cried out to the One who had become their parents in the wake of their tremendous loss.

I have never heard the song "He Knows my Name" sung quite like one of the small boys sang it. From the depths of his soul, bursting forth from a well that had been emptied of the brokeness of his plight and filled with the Love of God. Imagine these words spilling forth in earnest with a lilting sorrow-forged joy:

I have a maker He formed my heart,
before even time began My life was in his hands

He knows my name He knows my every thought,
He sees each tear that falls and hears me when I call

I have a father, he calls me his own
He'll never leave me, no matter where I go

He knows my name He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls and hears me when I call
He knows my name He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls and hears me when I call

He knows my name He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls And hears me when I call
He hears me when I call

Words cannot do it justice, so I will draw this to a close. Only know that God has taken the overwhelming, incomparable sorrow of these AIDS orphans and has transformed it with the blood of His son that they may call Him father and rest securely in his arms of love! We should do likewise.

Power of Music

I wonder what gives music it's unique power over the human soul. It is one of those cross-generational, cross-cultural things that appeals to everyone. True, our tastes are often as varied as could be imagined, but there is something about the blending of melody and harmony that can capture us like nothing else.

I just read an article in the Chicago Tribune about surgeons who play music in the operating room. It has been proven to help calm the surgeon's nerves during the surgical procedure and seems to contribute to the healing process for the patient. Something about it resonates with the human soul.

Music often makes or breaks a movie depending on how it is utilized. Imagine a movie without music. A few directors have tried it and the result is usually a minimalistic effect that lends a cold, gritty feel. The opposite is also done with horrendous result, i.e. music that forces the viewer to feel a certain emotion when it is not merited or earned by what is displayed on the screen. Awful coercion that is to art like a frying pan to the face.

Yet when it's done right, it can be so incredibly powerful and gripping. My mom often tells a story of her pregnancy with me when she watched the Natural starring Robert Redford. If you have never seen it, it is basically the story of the redemption of a baseball player as he matures through the mistakes of his youth. Anyway, the climatic moment is a homerun with wonderful, crescendoing music that rises with the ball and truly augments the action on the screen. My mom was so into the moment that she must have gotten a shock of adrenaline, which startled me in the womb. She says I really kicked her hard. Would that scene have had the same effect without the music? Probably not.

Good music is a blessing akin to a gorgeous sunset. It infuses the soul with a shot of transcendant espresso and carries us off to a world where each note finds its place in the tapestry of the song where it caresses the ears with liquid beauty. Then there are the songs that cannot be heard without an accompanying foot tap or full body swerve. What other essence can make one act like a fool and not care what others think for five uninterrupted minutes? What other thing can unleash the real person who often hides behind a thick facade?

I don't know about you, but I feel like busting out some moves!

Seniority

Recently, I woke up and discovered I was a senior in college. Not only that...I am almost 22. The year 2007 once seemed so far away, but now it has come screaming in upon me like a runaway roller coaster, and I am left to ponder this new, mysterious place where I have been jettisoned. Could you expect anything else from a blog with the title "Musings?"

Many of my closest friends are now dating, engaged, married, or pregnant and I can no longer delay the unfolding of my own personal bildungsroman, (i.e. "coming of age" story for those uninitiated into the secret world of English majors). I have to chuckle as I try to keep the sand of my childhood from trickling out between my clenched fingers only to see it spill faster. I catch myself looking at a new batch of freshman and grining inwardly at their wide-eyed observation of their surroundings, like infants fresh from the womb taking in a new world. Wasn't I just one of them?!

Even now I must smile at the saccharine angst of this post. How funny I must sound to the weathered adults reading this post with so much more life experience behind them, trading knowing glances about the budding adult whose life has only just begun, If he only knew...
At the same time I have caught a glimpse of reality that feeds my hungry curiosity and tells me more than can be expressed here.

What of the girl on Wheaton in England whose path crossed mine for a brief span and then blinked away to a separate part of the universe like a comet circling the sun?...

What of the death of cultural icons, having braved countless jaws of crocodiles only to be silenced in the enveloping deep by a startled sting ray?...

What of carefree days where the only thing on the calendar was an afternoon of playground football?...

What of greying heads that once carried the world on broad shoulders giving way to a new generation of the young who rise and dip falteringly on new-formed wings?...

What of vibrant imaginations and dreams sobered by the contracting influence of adult reality?...

What of fears that no longer have a place and are quieted out of necessity, weaned by responsibility?...

Life is made up of changing seasons carrying us on in the current of time. There is much joy to be had and much sorrow to be weathered. Life is a gift we are given; it is ours to hold like a delicate snow globe, carefully between two hands, but never with reservation.