I am watching my children lip sync with pretend instruments to songs on Pandora. They are sweating and dancing, Keely’s style is interpretive with intermittent somersaulting across the living room. Meanwhile Rhys is laying on the floor in the middle of it all looking at a Curious George coloring book eating his boogers. Vance, a part of the band, takes a stoic role, standing there moving only his lips while wearing a 4-inch wooden fish around his neck. Ryleigh plays any instrument necessary for the current song and effortlessly imagines nearby items fit the bill. Sadie plays pillow drums while sitting on a red plastic motorcycle while dressed like Frozen’s Elsa.
It’s raining outside, foggy and gray.
In here it’s a weird concert with stage props and an artistic plot line that is obviously over my head. It’s warm though. And comfortable. And even if I don’t get what they are putting out, it’s enjoyable to see them play, because I like the music and I know the band.
Lately, I’ve been in the Word more than usual. I’ve been rushing through my morning routine so I can sit down at the table with my breakfast drink and crack open my duct-taped book. I like it there. Much like the concert living room rock concert it confuses the heck out of me. So many parts I don’t know what they mean or why God would do what he does, but I keep going back; determined to figure something out. I’ve begun exploring parts I’ve glossed over for years or avoided altogether. I’ve returned to the familiar underlinings, the tiny hearts, arrows convicting me of my need to love others more. I keep opening the Bible, again and again, because even if I don’t always understand what the seemingly artistic plot is, I know the band and in this cold gray rainy world he sings of Love.
(This was originally written a couple of years ago, but for whatever reason I never published it. With my seven day posting promise, I am counting this as good.)