Prompted By Worship

Yesterday my husband led a congregation from his hometown in Worship.  I was privileged to be a part of that service.  Because it was truly beautiful worship. We were welcomed with such love and kindness.  Peace was felt within those walls.  Heaven came down and the chords that rolled off those ivories was simply stunning.

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Rocky will be the first to tell you that the music belongs to God.  It is a gift and he has always known this truth.  He has studied, taken lessons and practiced more hours than we would ever be able to count and it shows.  Clearly, it shows, but it is only because God has given the tools and provided the means for him to be good at what he does.

Last year he fulfilled a lifelong dream and graduated with his DMA in piano performance, and although he has the honor of having Doctor in front of his name now, it’s not a title he flaunts.  I will however, tell you about it because I am proud of him, but not just because he received his DMA.

I am proud of him because he is one of the most Christ-like people I know.  He is humble and kind to others.  He shares his gift from the heart.  He shared with me that as a young man, even before he became a Christian, he knew he wanted to use his music for God.  And he does.  He has used his music to minister to others in many churches, nursing homes and senior centers as well as weddings and funerals.  He has used his skill to teach others.

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When he plays it is like getting a glimpse into heaven.  I’ve seen how God uses his music to touch the lives of others. I’ve seen people moved to tears when he plays. I’ve seen faces light up when they hear a favorite song.  I’ve watched as families look to each other and nod their heads when a certain song is played. I’ve seen the comfort his music has brought to those suffering.  I’ve felt the presence of God move through a room full of people with such sweetness that you just wanted the doors of heaven to open.

I’ve also seen the generosity of others in supporting his ministry and it is truly humbling to know that they believe in what he is doing.  They recognize that he simply plays and allows God to have the glory.  Yesterday, after playing with such passion and beauty, he ended the time of worship with My Tribute.  As I listened to his fingers play the notes with such feeling, the words of the song, written by Andrae Crouch, came to mind and I couldn’t help but think what a fitting song to end with, because I know that Rocky knows that all the glory belongs to God.

The glory of God was evident in yesterday’s worship.  Many people mentioned it on the way out the door and over lunch.  For me, to sit in such a sweet space and to witness such beauty in worship and to see how God was using my husband to minister to us, was truly a wonderful awe-inspiring experience.

It reminded me, once again, of my sense of place in the world and how God is the author of where that place is.  Yesterday, it was in a church in a small town being ministered to by my husband and being reminded that it is all because of the blood of Jesus.  Nothing But The Blood Of Jesus. (click the link to hear him play)

Staring out over Cave Run Lake Sunday afternoon after the concert.
Staring out over Cave Run Lake Sunday afternoon after the concert.

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 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
 and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father. Philippians 2:10-11

Worshiping in Grace,

Teresa

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Prompted By Musical Tables

Today’s post is Part of a 31 Day writing series where I choose moments from my life and let them be my writing prompt for the day. Today, due to the furnace guy being here, things were topsy turvy; well, ok, they have been for awhile now.  In the ensuing scramble to move stuff out of his way, a table came into play, that may find a new home as my worktable.  All the thoughts swirling around prompted me to write a rather long discourse on the history of my various tables.  I apologize in advance if it bores you to tears, but I feel so much better having mentally let go of the disquietude about my tables. This is rather late in the day, but since it is not yet midnight, it is day 7.  For the complete series click the image below.

promptedtowritebanner.2I just finished cleaning fuzz off the top of a table.  Yes, you heard correctly.   Fuzz. From the top of a table.  This table was a yard sale purchase about four years ago. We were in the middle of a remodel and had not yet moved into the little house as we have come to call it.  It was Court Day weekend and the neighbor across the street was getting rid of some of her junk nice things and I immediately spied this table.  I wrangled it from her for twenty bucks.

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I put it in the kitchen where it immediately became a work table for the remodel crew. The top was somewhat tacky – bad paint job is my guess.  I didn’t really need the table, especially two years later when I officially moved into the little house with three other tables and promptly added two more.  Long story.  But, it has been a well-known fact in my family for quite some time now that my mom and I have a thing for tables. And chairs. Apparently.

This particular table was finally delegated to the laundry room where it had aspirations of being the folding table.  Ha! Wait for it, you know where this is going, don’t you?  Of course it became the pile table.  Anyway, back to the fuzz.  A couple years ago I purchased a  cheap, plastic, flannel backed (cringe) table cloth on a whim and used it for a while in my kitchen until I tired of it and decided to use it on the table in the laundry room.  Last week, in preparation for the furnace guy coming to work on our heat system, I cleared off the table and removed the cheap, plastic, flannel backed (cringe) table cloth.

This is where things get a little fuzzy.  Yes, the fuzz from the backing on that cheap, plastic, flannel backed (cringe) table cloth had stuck to the tacky finish on that junk table from my neighbor (I don’t have a picture).  I was imagining that it might need a sander taken to it and a fresh paint job.  Then, just today, I got a bright idea. I figured that a sudsy rag and a little elbow grease might just do the trick.  It did.  The table is now fuzz free, sitting in the middle of my bedroom (remember the furnace guy), blocking access to my husbands dresser, waiting to be moved.

Where, you ask? Back to the laundry room?  Oh no, that would be too easy.  I’m thinking by the kitchen window where it will become my new, old, work desk – without the cheap, plastic, flannel backed (cringe) table cloth.  I am trying to figure out all kinds of angles so that I don’t have to paint the tacky top. Stay tuned. My father seems to think that I am on a three week cycle of playing musical tables so, it is of course, possible, that I may decide to sell or take it to storage.

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Speaking of, I recently took my big, long, holds lots of stuff, work table to storage because ever since we moved in the new piano, we have had one piece of furniture too many and every time we do a move around, there is always a piece of furniture table that seems to be floating in limbo waiting for a home.

Currently, we have my grandma’s table in the middle of the kitchen, sitting where the center Island table used to be.  The center Island table is by the window, where grandpa’s little desk used to be.  My grandpa’s little desk is now in the little, middle room with the blue ceiling, that was originally going to be my little French dining room. We also have a drop-leaf table, inherited from a family friend, sitting in the little, middle room with the blue ceiling, in the spot where my Grandma’s table used to be, before my husband’s new piano took that space. (you can breathe now)

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My grandma’s table in the little, middle room with the blue ceiling -you can see the center Island table in the background. This was BP (before piano).

The piano and the middle room were not getting along for various reasons and much to my profound regret delight, I sacrificed my work room and my aforementioned work table (that has enough leaves to stretch out to 8 or 9 feet) for the greater good – my husband’s need for a piano studio so he could offer piano lessons.

table.3 001I was going to use the drop-leaf table as my new work table in the small, middle room with the blue ceiling.  I was ready to embrace the new space, but alas, the piano studio was apparently not big enough for an office as well, so I found myself, once again sharing a work table with Mr. Piano and then, there was an issue with the drop-leaf leg and one day I found myself working at my kitchen table, surrounded by my office crates, that have still not found a home since the recent studio organization.

Then, on top of that, today, I also found myself surrounded by crates from the utility room (remember the furnace guy) and well, it’s just a little crazy up in here what with tables that need homes and crates that need sorting.

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Did I mention that there is also a sweet, little round table, inherited from the same family friend, sitting in the living room (I’ve seriously considered moving  my office in there)?  At one time, before we officially moved to the little house, the sweet, little round table sat (you guessed it) in the little, middle room with the blue ceiling. That room has a serious identity crisis.

The end.

Only, not really.  All of this, to say, that  I am having a crisis of space.   Will the tables shift yet again, so that I can have my own little corner to call my mine?  Stay tuned. The saga of the musical tables will continue. Once I get it all sorted.

Hoping your tables are filled with grace,

Teresa