John and me–1964 (?)
The third and last home of my childhood, the one we moved to when I was ten, is of course the one I remember best. With no effort at all I can conjure up the kitchen and imagine Mom at the sink, peeling potatoes for dinner, while I cut up veggies or fruit for a salad.
I can see Dad in the basement, working on his current carpentry project, and my younger brother John puttering with the wood scraps.
Surrounding us all–thanks to the speakers Dad had installed in every room–was the sweet and serene instrumental music of a nightly radio program called “Candlelight and Silver”.
Such memories provide clarity for a statement made by author and pastor Alexander Maclaren:
The memories of those evenings at home (as seen through rose-tinted glasses, I admit) help me understand: dwelling in God’s presence doesn’t mean constant awareness of him, any more than my family was constantly aware of the radio music.
We were occupied with other things and conversing with one another, yet influenced nonetheless by the beautiful and soothing melodies in the background.
But it wasn’t just the music that contributed to those peaceful times. It was the atmosphere of love. Mom and Dad were clearly devoted to one another.
And though disagreements certainly occurred, I don’t remember a single quarrel.
Between them they created a stable, supportive environment in which my brother and I could flourish.
(Had the opposite been true, and their relationship contentious, not even sweet melodies coming from the radio could have dispelled the resulting atmosphere of anger and tension.)
Similarly, our Heavenly Father’s presence is like sweet music because of the atmosphere of love he continually provides. After all:
Think of it: the Most High God of the universe is not just near; he is here. In this moment. With you. With me.
And we have the privilege of knowing him.
But wait! There’s more, and it’s even more incredible: This King of kings actually wants to dwell with us. “I have loved you with an everlasting love,” he declares with compassion. “I have drawn you with unfailing kindness”. [1]
So how do we train ourselves to hear that undercurrent of sweet Song?
We can start with daily scripture-reading and prayer, as well as weaving moments of worship and praise into our routines, so there’s never a day we aren’t in contact with God [2].
And what will be the result? Troubles will be made bearable, joys will be brightened, and a peaceful calm will permeate the atmosphere—even in the midst of busyness.
It’s true: “Dwelling [in the sweet music of God’s constant presence] is a little piece of heaven on earth”—Stephanie Bryant [3].
* * * * * * * * * *
O Sovereign God! Thank you for singing over us your song of love, compassion, and faithfulness and gifting us with a little piece of heaven on earth.
Even when nothing else around us is good, the sweet music of your presence in the midst of deep pain is a good gift indeed [4].
And as we live in the undercurrent of your Song, may we learn to tune our hearts, our minds, our lives, to voice your melodies [5].
In the power of your name we pray, AMEN.
[1] Jeremiah 31:3
[2] See the previous blog post, Ten Ways to Keep Mindful of God.
[3] p. 367, A Moment to Breathe, Denise J. Hughes, ed.
[4] Aliza Lotta, Take Heart, p. 162, Grace P. Cho and Anna E. Rendell, ed.
[5] Douglas Kaine McKelvey, Every Moment Holy, p. 250.
Art & photo credits: Nancy Ruegg; wwwpublicdomainpictures.com (Sabine Sauermaul); http://www.canva.com; http://www.heartlight.org; http://www.flickr (Faye Mozingo); http://www.pxhere.com.
From the Inside Out 