Spent most of last Saturday curled up in a ball on the floor of an overcrowded train carriage, on my way to and from my brother’s birthday celebrations; I wonder if my spinal column will ever recover from the damage. However, due to a sudden illness, we were deprived the key ingredient of his company. In his absence, I was still overwhelmed by the constant presence of football fans, in every location I visited, at all times.
For the first time in years, I’ve been properly practicing my instruments, in preparation for an audition to a music course I want to apply to. Flashbacks to hours spent as a child sat in front of a piano, especially during Sixth Form, where all my free time would be devoted to music. I’ve grown so used to playing piano standing up, it’s fascinating how different it is sitting down, and how much easier certain techniques are.
I happened to read Revelation 7 a few days ago. Amongst various praise explosions is the phrase, “The Lamb will be their shepherd; he will lead them to streams of loving water.” This reminded me of the famous Psalm 23, which David wrote.
I think many people view heaven as a destination, but the emphasis in this passage is a future journey. It says in Psalm 102, “The heavens are the work of your hands… They will all wear out like a garment. Like clothing you will change them and they will be discarded.” So what many people consider to be the final page, to God is a worn-out pair of jeans.
In a description of the end of all creation is this phrase about a revelation of worship David had thousands of years ago. I don’t know why such large demonstrations of pain and bloodshed in the time that lies between are necessary to grasp such a simple concept.
Another Sunday morning of worship practice, with the slow, repeated cycle of energy. Slowly wilting, then waking up, remembering Jesus, and having a short energy boost before flagging again. The standard piano rules applied; didn’t do anything Bach wouldn’t do, unless it’s jazz. If you’ve been looking for where the Lutheran church meets major seventh chords, I am that fulcrum.
Continued much in the same vein by shamelessly revelling in music containing any form of keys, from Jess Glynne to Miles Davis. My forecasted afternoon of zero activity and pure glory was slightly disturbed by preparing for morning prayers on Tuesday. Although I ended up blessing myself with a small biblical tour about not running away from negative emotion.
After that life admin started an insidious takeover. However, the result is I’ve never been more organised, and have music ready for lessons now, instead of a frantic scramble before sprinting from the house.
Reached new heights of productivity today, or alternatively, flabbergasting lows. Spent the whole day moving around the house in a bright green, Snorlax t-shirt, wondering when my life would magically change. There was the pleasing news that BT finally realised that I was telling the truth on the phone, and didn’t owe ninety pounds for internet I’d never used. Everything would work much more smoothly if everyone believed what I said to be absolute fact.
Accidentally drank myself into a Holyspirit moment while having my peppermint tea. Then it ended, so I continued lamenting the fact I wasn’t constantly in a glory cloud. Even an emergency excursion into John’s gospel didn’t work, but I have decided that Jess Glynne’s debut album is more anointed than most contemporary, worship music. Now left with that horrible feeling that Jesus is there, but my levels of activity-based distraction are slightly too high to engage.