Playdates with God: Music Moments

Jeffrey's tie photo AdjudicationFeb2013005_edited-1_zps28b43723.jpg

This morning I dropped my son off at band camp. The kids are heading out today for a week in rustic cabins–they will play music all day, swim, and talk long into the night. This will be the longest he has been away from home–from us. So I am remembering his music moments this morning; how this thing has taken root in his heart over the years. This is a memory from last February.

This morning I iron his shirt and press a neat crease in the black pants. His dad ties his tie and we declare him handsome. He gathers his music and I drive him to the middle school where he kisses my cheek and leaves me. 

Break a leg, I whisper, as that long yellow bus pulls away from the curb. His face grows smaller in the window and I just watch them go. He’ll be making music with his classmates all day—playing for judges who will rate their performance. They’ve practiced weeks for this—his teacher hired a special percussion tutor to work with him and his mates. 

Are you nervous? I had asked, as we sat in the parking lot waiting. 

No, not really, he said, shrugging it off. We’ve been practicing a lot.

I looked into his young face and saw that it is true. He is right here with me in this moment. No worrying about the next. Still, we prayed together and Lucy Mae touched his nose with hers (she always comes along for the ride) and I kissed my drummer-boy gone and his leaving left me empty. 

Why do I? Why do I let things of this world make me nervous—make me worry—when I’ve prepared so hard? Is my practicing all in vain?

I drive home in the cold and my heart feels frozen.

Later, I sit with coffee and the Book unopened in front of me. I watch a downy woodpecker tap at the frozen suet in the feeder. He clings to the pole with his four toes—two in front, two in back—and hammers incessantly at the stubborn block. 

I know how you feel, I murmur, through the glass.

With a sigh I open the Book—taking a random plunge…desperate for a word.

It’s Matthew 6:28-30. 

And why do you worry about clothes? The NIV asks. See how the lilies of the field grow…

But my spirit wants the old words. So I rummage around and find them. I find these… 

And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin… 

I stop here because, as a living Word does, it is speaking a new thing to me. 

Thought for raiment… 

Isn’t this what I do? Don’t I dress myself in my thoughts; let planning and learning and all that is in my head cover me? Too often, I take thought for raiment—not only do I worry about what I dress myself in, but I dress myself in that worry. 

Consider the lilies

Makoto Fujimura, in the foreword of this book by Christopher R. Brewer says of this scripture:

…Before we can seek God’s Kingdom and his righteousness first, we must learn to see the world around us, and consider (weigh carefully) the ephemeral lilies of the valley, which are here today and gone tomorrow (Isaiah 40). This lesson in botany…fundamentally shifts our focus from doing to being…In considering the lilies around us, we realize the grace of God being poured into use-less beings, and how Jesus risked everything he had, in order to pour God’s glory into us.”(emphasis mine).

From doing to being.

I leave the Book open and rise from the table. I’ve had my word. I move to the window and study the meadow. There is a flash of red that burns against the white of the snow covered Forsythia—Mr. Cardinal waiting a turn to feed. All the lilies of this field sleep beneath frozen soil but his carmine presence speaks grace over their slumber.

When did I get too busy to see the way the frocking white laces in and out of leaf and grass—woven with an expert hand? The way the elbow of the tree cups the snow with such tender care makes my bruised heart ache for such a branchy embrace. The meadow is dressed for a wedding and I almost missed my invitation. 

Mr. Cardinal is joined by his bride and they crown this silvery gown—two blushing beaked lilies, preening just for me. 

Over at The High Calling, we are continuing our discussion on The Secrets of Happy Families by Bruce Feiler. Kelli Woodford leads today. Will you join us?

How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:

The Playdates button:


  1. JosephPote says

    Yes…why do we worry? We who serve the infinite Creator with infite power and resources? We who are so loved by Him that He gave is own life for us?
    Why do we worry?

  2. says

    I want to be more like your boy. Why worry? I know Who has me, yet how easily I forget to rest in His arms.

    Praying he has a great week at band camp. I’m sure you’re missing him already. A growing experience for all. 🙂

  3. says

    Wise son. Hang in there with the missing, friend. I’m sorry for the empty and pray the fullness of Christ into you.

    Like you, I often clothe myself with worry. Thank you for the reminder that such belongs to the “old self” we are to put off.

    Loved this sentence: “All the lilies of this field sleep beneath frozen soil but his carmine presence speaks grace over their slumber.” Well said!

    Grace and peace be multiplied to you today, dear Laura.

  4. says

    This post has hit me fairly (or in human terms, unfairly) between the eyes and the heart. I, too, worry, and miss the beauty that God has placed right before me. I don’t want to miss those precious moments. Thanks for God’s Word and your wisdom and insightfulness, Laura. I feel blessed to have come by this morning.

  5. says

    Me too, Lisa. I learn so much from the young ones. I tend to be the worrier, so I’m sure this is something I’ll have to work on the rest of my life. But these little glimpses of clarity…so thankful for them.

  6. kingfisher says

    Eye-catching tie in the photo! Sensitive shot of a lovely boy. Oh Laura, we make life such hard work, with our worries and cares. And yet God loves us just where we’re at. He knows our flesh is dust. I’m so thankful that he loves you, and me, in spite of our human fragilities. (And BECAUSE of them, he is allowed to be God in us. And we are aware we’re not God, but that we need God, always.)

    Love ya!

  7. Mia says

    Dear Laura
    This is of such utter importance! We need to make this transition from doing to being. This is not always easy for we live in a world that screams the message of busyness, doing and performing! Abiding in our Lord Jesus is not a once off happening, but a continuous denying of our own efforts daily.
    Blessings XX

  8. bluecottonmemory says

    I love visual words – like the field dressed for a wedding – you paint beautiful images with your words – and a beautiful message on letting go. I latched onto the word spinning in the scripture you chose – how often we make much out of the unneccssary:)
    Enjoy your week – and I know you can’t wait for your son’s stories to pour out when he returns:)

  9. soulstops says

    Dear Laura,
    I can relate to dressing in worry instead of in His loving embrace…love how you took the time to consider and share what God showed you as you stopped to look and listen…Thank you 🙂

  10. says

    I try not to smother our youngest. I know from her two older sisters how fast things slip into the rear view mirror. The first few mission trips were tough, each one getting them closer to leaving the nest for good eventually. Fear comes in so many different forms… Thanks for the reminder and verses to back it up.

  11. says

    So many thoughts in your wonderful post. These words jumped out at me; “shifts our focus
    from doing to being.” Considering the beauty around me certainly does this for me. I think that’s why I love photography so much, I get lost in the beauty through the lens and totally forget how to “do” photography, or to fear, or even to worry.

  12. Gloryteller at says

    From doing to being.
    Doing to being.
    To being.
    (Then, of course, doing)
    For, like works come out of faith,
    Doesn’t doing come out of being?

  13. Jody Ohlsen Collins says

    Laura, every time I read your words, I am touched by beauty. And speaking of the ‘old words’–as a Shakespeare lover and English major there’s just something about the King’s English. I re-read the account of Noah and the flood this morning in the KJV and this line caught my eye, “And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leave pluckt off…” Gen 8:11. ‘pluckt’ was not a typo, just the language of the day. Beauty there, I think. 🙂

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