Thanks to Netflix, John and I are currently watching the HBO miniseries, John Adams. Living so near Adams' birthplace, I appreciate this series more than I might if I still lived in California. Nevertheless, I wish every American would watch it. We need to see how hard the battle for independence from Britain really was, and how hard our forefathers worked to build our amazing country.
Tomorrow we celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence. May this clip from John Adams enrich your understanding of this glorious event. And, as we keep the past with us, may we again be the country that our forefathers envisioned.
This isn't a comfortable blog entry to write, mostly because many people (people that I love) will hotly disagree with me. Christian music is a very emotional topic...to people on both sides of the debate. Yet, I believe the points I want to make need to be prayerfully and seriously considered. After a week of hesitating to compose this entry, I'm writing it and praying that God will keep me in an attitude of humility and gentleness.
Let me begin by being very vulnerable. In the late 90s, after nearly 30 years of following the Lord, I opened myself up to serious sinful behavior, which (quite frankly) I enjoyed. Eventually, I recognized that I would have to choose between pursuing that sin or following Jesus. I knew it was an either/or proposition because singing contemporary praise songs during church always filled me with an awareness of my separation from the Lord.
You see, I had always loved praise music. At that point in time, I considered praise to be more important on Sunday mornings than the preaching of God's Word. (Obviously, many things in my life needed major adjustments.) So during that time of rebellion, I couldn't enjoy the aspect of life (singing praise songs) that I'd treasured the most!
In short, the Lord restored me to Himself through contemporary praise music. Of course, I'm oversimplifying the story, but I do believe music played a pivotal role in my repentance. So I do believe the Holy Spirit uses such music.
As I've gone on with the Lord from that point in my life, however, I find myself growing less comfortable with praise music. I've noticed its lack of sound doctrinal foundation, and that lack troubles me. My discomfort found confirmation a little over a week ago, when I read Style or Substance by John MacArthur. I strongly encourage you to read this article, as well as the chapter on music in the book, Fool's Gold. Both articles will challenge your thinking, certainly. But challenge is healthy!
As I ponder present day Christianity's emphasis on experience over doctrine, I find myself wondering if praise music hasn't contributed to this deterioration. As MacArthur points out, hymns were originally written to teach God's Word.
Col 3:16 16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. NKJV
How much theology is in, for instance, I Could Sing Of Your Love Forever as compared with Holy, Holy, Holy? Both are beautiful, I'll agree, but Holy. Holy, Holy offers such a deeper picture of our majestic, Triune God! That hymn fills me with reverent wonder at His holiness..."Though the eye of sinful man/ Thy glory may not see." That couplet alone offers hours of meditation on the doctrine of human sinfulness as well as God's glory and holiness!
I'm still processing my thoughts on Christian music, but I'm growing less enamored with much of the milky praise music. I'm hungry for the meat of hymns!
Okay, the Clark Rockefeller kidnapping trial is tabloid sensationalism, and I really should be "above" following it. But when the Boston Globe's online edition showed up in my inbox the other day, I clicked the link. After reading the story, watching the video and reading the Twitter update, my eye wandered to a list of blogs that the Globe recommends. One blog was simply titled Boston 1775.
As I opened it, I immediately knew it was a blog I'd read regularly. Its creator, J.L. Bell, is a Massachusetts writer with a fascination for the American Revolution. I haven't even started exploring his links yet, but he has a whole library of links that I think will keep me busy for months! What a delight! I hope some of you will check it out. Hey...it's better than reading about Clark Rockefeller!
I'll spare everyone the nitty-gritty details of my techniques, mostly because I'm tired of this project and just wanted it finished! I think he turned out pretty well, considering little boys really aren't as fun for me to draw as women and little girls. But hey...I gave myself a challenge when I began this drawing four months ago, and I met that challenge! That accomplishment makes it worth the effort.
After a lunch in Back Bay's Copley Plaza yesterday, John opened my guidebook about literary landmarks in Boston, and we saw that the house of Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. was on the Back Bay section of Beacon Street.
Admittedly, I haven't yet read any of Holmes' poetry or essays. My high school history teacher lionized his son, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., as probably the greatest Supreme Court justice to ever write an opinion, but I'd never encountered the senior Holmes until I read The Dante Club two years ago. Holmes, along with James Russell Lowell, William Dean Howells and Charles Eliot Norton, assisted Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in forming the first American translation of Dante's The Divine Comedy. (I'm currently reading said translation.)
Still, I wanted to see the house. So we wheeled down Dartmouth Street to Beacon Street, crossed, and turned left to look for #296. We asked a puzzled letter-carrier where it was. She replied that it's a private residence...in fact, her friend lives there. We told her that Oliver Wendall Holmes had once lived there; she gave us that glazed look that most people give us when we mention people of historical and/or literary significance. Sad.
So we continued on our quest, with me feeling like a groupie searching for the home of a rock star. If I therefore qualify as a nerd, so be it.
We found the house. Of course, it's probably been altered several times over since Holmes Sr. died in 1894, but I think it looks like the sort of house he would have owned. The dark brown door and angled cornice seem to bear testimony to the magnitude of Holmes legacy. I found the house very satisfying!
A couple years ago I read The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl (great book for mystery lovers as well as anyone interested in 19th Century Bostonian literature). The book's protagonists included Oliver Wendall Holmes Sr., James Russell Lowell and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and mentions several places in Boston and Cambridge. One such location the book mentioned was Mount Auburn Cemetary in Cambridge, where all three men are now buried.
Since yesterday was a beautiful spring day, John and I grabbed his camera and headed for Cambridge with the purpose of visiting Longfellow's tomb. Having taken our phone call asking about wheelchair access to his gravesite earlier that morning, a staff member greeted us with a map showing a possible wheelchair route.
The first leg of the route was easy, and spectacular. The graves, tombs and mausoleums nestled on exquisite landscaping, enhanced by a symphony of bird songs. Some grave markers carried on the simple Puritan style that I've come to know at The Old Grainary Burial Ground in Boston.
Others, however, were more lavish. One, in particular, makes me wonder if some of Thomas Kinkade's paintings were inspired by these grounds.
The various views astounded me. As we worked our way toward Indian Ridge (the path that would lead us to Longfellow's tomb) we spotted a pond onramented with neoclassical architecture that made me feel as if we were wandering through a fairy tale garden rather than a cemetery.
In all fairy tales, however, there comes an arduous task before reaching the goal. We found Indian Ridge, which was a long, narrow path. Since there are aspects of that part of the journey that I wouldn't want repeated to either of our mothers, I refuse to share the details, but I will say that the Lord comforted me through the most difficult parts by reminding me of Psalm 23.
About half way up to Longfellow's tomb, we had a break from the narrowness. We stopped on a bridge over a meditation area that we had viewed from the ground level earlier. What a pretty place to stop and rest!
As we continued our trek, I wanted to give up. I was sore from driving on such tough terrain, and it was well past lunch time. But just as I opened my mouth to tell John I wanted to turn back, I told myself we had come too far to quit.
We kept driving our chairs up the hill. All of a sudden, I glanced to my right to see a almost too simple sarcophagus that had the one word, "Longfellow," engraved on it. I had expected more architecture to adorn it, but it was punctuated only by two flower bushes (which attracted bees so huge that I decided not to be in the picture).
I prayed a while at the grave, and then we went back down. We agreed that we would never again visit any graves on Indian Ridge!
But we also agreed that we'll visit Mount Auburn Cemetery again. It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen. For a moment, I caught myself wondering if heaven looks like that.
Then I remembered: Heaven is infinitely more beautiful! I can only hope that Lowell. Holms and Longfellow have heaven as their final resting place.
After my first few months as John's wife, I arrogantly believed myself to be fairly educated on the nature and workings of Christian marriage. But as John and I look forward to our seventh anniversary in August, I hope I've developed some humility about the matter. For the truth is that I've learned a few important things since leaving that church building on that late-summer afternoon.
For example, I've learned that the basic manners Mom taught me when I was a child are particularly important in my daily interactions with my husband. Simple phrases like "please," "thank you" and "I'm sorry" communicate respect. Although he vowed to be with me "till death us do part," I need to treat him with even more respect and courtesy than I would extend to a house guest.
Going along with the theme of respect, I've learned that my problems with John stay between us and the Lord. There may come a time when we'll need to go to a pastor or a counselor. I know of a man who's currently finding it necessary to see a marriage counselor without his wife (who's unwilling to accept instruction), and I admire his initiative. But in the conflicts that John and I have had up to this point, talking to girlfriends would be detrimental to our marriage. What happens between us stays between us!
As I planned this blog this morning, I asked John to forgo our morning ritual of listening to Focus On The Family so I could run this third "lesson" by him (I didn't want him to misinterpret it to mean that I'd fallen out of love with him--I haven't). I've learned, however, that the fluttery giddiness that I felt as a new bride has developed into a quiet contentment. Sometimes, I miss the euphoria, certainly. But I sure like knowing I belong to John.
I can think of a few other points, but it's getting late and the point I just made dovetails nicely into the lesson I wanted as the conclusion to this blog entry. I've learned, through marriage, to glimpse Christ's love for his Church through John's love for me.
Eph 5:22-33
22 Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. 23 For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body. 24 Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything. 25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, 26 that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, 27 that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish. 28 So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself. 29 For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church. 30 For we are members of His body, of His flesh and of His bones. 31 "For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh." 32 This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church. 33 Nevertheless let each one of you in particular so love his own wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. NKJV
My museum offers many exhibits, which I hope you'll enjoy. Most prominent, of course, are my digital drawings, done with Paint Shop Pro. But you'll also find displays of my excursions around the Greater Boston Area, glimpses of my Bible Study times, snapshots of American History...and more! So wander through my galleries, touch anything you'd like, and share my joy of the Lord.
After 48 years living primarily in the San Francisco area, I moved to the Greater Boston Area in 2002 to marry John. Although we both use power wheelchairs and I type with a headstick, we manage to lead active lives. During good weather, we often visit historic and literary sites in the area. In winter months, I turn to my digital artwork using Paint Shop Pro 8. And throughout the year, I study (and hopefully apply) the Bible. No wonder I'm joyful!
