The gift of song

adolescent blur child close up

Photo by Pixabay on

On this Sunday, this 18th day of my 30 Days of Thanks Giving, I am worshiping my Lord in my church. One aspect of the worship service that I always love in any church I’ve visited is the time of lifting our voices in songs of praise.

I love to sing.  The melodies and lyrics of songs stick in my mind easier than other things I need to memorize. Singing has always been a huge part of my life. I vividly recall as a youngster when my family would gather around the piano that stood in our home’s living room.

One of us would play the piano and we three sisters would sing together, harmonizing. Often our mother would join in; Dad didn’t sing but he enjoyed sitting there listening to us all raise our voices in musical tribute. We sang carols at Christmas time and the rest of the year, we sang old hymns.

I can sing soprano although I’m not a strong soprano as I can’t quite hit some of those really high notes. In school chorus, I sang in the soprano section; however, I’m more comfortable in the alto range. I sang in a youth and adult choir at my home church and after marrying and moving away from home, I joined every choir in each church Papa and I attended.  

At our church in the Pacific Northwest, I even participated in a choir/presentation group where we staged songs, movements, and theatrical productions at our own church and traveled to other churches in our district.

Whether it’s an old hymn I’ve known from childhood or a praise song from recent years, or a newer, contemporary piece by a Christian artist like in the video I’m sharing with you today, I will sing the words of praise to my Lord from my heart.

My thankful heart. And I thank Him for giving me the gift of song.

“God smiles when we praise and thank Him continually. Few things feel better than receiving heartfelt praise and appreciation from someone else. God loves it, too. An amazing thing happens when we offer praise and thanksgiving to God. When we give God enjoyment, our own hearts are filled with joy.” ~ William Law





Thanks Giving: for the gift of song

It’s day eight into my 30 days of thanks giving.  As I dig deeper and deeper into this month-long November blogging project, so many aspects of life for which to be thankful come to my mind.  Yet the realization that others have so little when I have so much tugs at my heart and calls for a change.  And the despair and disappointment that often describe our world threatens to dampen my thankful spirit.  How to put it all into words can be a struggle.  

That’s why today, I’m thankful for the gift of song.

I’m sharing a video of a song sung by Josh Groban (and isn’t his amazing singing voice something to give thanks for?) because it portrays my thoughts today.  

There’s so much to be thankful for.


Dance with me

At a college dance in 1975

At a college dance in 1975

Just a few notes of a song from my youth ring through the air and I can name that tune.  Music always sticks in my mind.

And it does something else – it transports me back in time.  When I hear a familiar tune and commence singing along with the words, a kind of magic descends.  My surroundings fade away and it’s almost like I’m immersed in a time machine. 

Years, even decades, melt away and there I am.  Transported to the past, reliving a memory.  And all because of a song.

I experienced a little time travel while driving to work the other day.  Often I drive in silence with the car radio switched off.  I don’t listen to talk shows.  I don’t even listen to music stations very often although I do love music. 

I imagine after all of those years of being the ‘mom taxi’ and driving three kids and friends around while listening to chatter and loud disagreements from the back seat, I relish the quietness of just me and my auto.

But the other day, I switched on the car radio and a classic rock station sprang to life.  I moseyed down the highway singing, “big girls don’t cry” anticipating the next fun song from the past. 

The first couple of notes sounded and instantly my time machine, doubling as a car radio, transported me back in time to my college days.

The song was Dance With Me by the group Orleans.  I used to own that record album and I loved that song. 

Dance with me, I want to be your partner
Can’t you see the music is just starting?
Night is falling, and I am calling
Dance with me

Middle daughter & son-in-law

Middle daughter & son-in-law

As I sang along with the lyrics, I recalled dancing to that song with my college sweetheart, who is now my husband of 35 years.  We were young, we were in love, but we weren’t the greatest dancers. 

Dance inspires and moves me when I watch others interpret music with their bodies.  I can remember wanting to be a dancer as a kid.  Gliding on tip toe through the house, I pretended I was a ballerina. Or I danced and pranced like a go-go girl with dances called the Monkey, the Jerk, the Swim, or the Pony.

But I never was a very good dancer.  Enter boyfriend/husband, who was even more of a non-dancer than I was. 

Son & daughter-in-law

Son & daughter-in-law

My husband listens to music every day, but his sense of rhythm when it comes to dancing leaves something to be desired.  He knows it, he jokes about it, and he’s never been a confident dancer by any stretch of the imagination.

But that song…dance with me. 

Fantasy could never be so giving
I feel free, I hope that you are willing
Pick the beat up, and kick your feet up
Dance with me

Oh, how we danced to that song.  I recall the way his arms held me tightly and even though we just swayed, moving in a tight little circle to the music, it was heavenly. 

Listening to that song in my car reminded me of the first taste of real, true love.  My mind jumped to thoughts of my grown-up children dancing with their own true loves at their weddings last year.


Oldest daughter & son-in-law

Let it lift you off the ground
Starry eyes, and love is all around
I can take you where you want to go

But then, the words of that old song from my youth suddenly transformed into new meaning for me.  I thought about true love and my first real true love – my relationship with Jesus.

As much as I love my husband, my children, my family and friends, my first love is for my Savior.  My dance partner for life. 

Thinking that over, I suddenly pictured myself in the arms of Jesus, my Lord. I could hear Him whisper the words of the song, even though they aren’t scripture.  I could imagine Him singing these lyrics to me.

And today, on this best day of the year, I wonder.  Can you hear Him sing these words to you?  Have you chosen Him as your life’s dance partner?

Dance with me, I want to be your partner
Can’t you see the music is just starting?
Night is falling, and I am calling
Dance with me

Let it lift you off the ground
Starry eyes, and love is all around
I can take you where you want to go

Dance with me, I want to be your partner
Can’t you see the music is just starting?
Night is falling, and I am calling
Dance with me

Dance with me

Dance with me.


Back, I want you back

pexels-photo-209037.jpegPoliticians pontificate about the overwhelming, heavy public debt riding on each of our backs.  Well, today, my friends, I feel like I’m personally carrying all that debt myself on my aching back.

You see, my back is out of whack.  Really.  I’m talking literally.  My back’s been troubling me since last Thursday for no good reason.

I’ve tried recalling my recent activities in an attempt to figure out how my back got twisted up in knots.   Did I lift something heavy that strained my back?  Nope.  Did I fall?  Nah.   Stumble?  No.  Fail to bend my knees when I picked up my suitcase? No way.   So what the heck did I do to it?  I have no idea whatsoever.

I don’t have an achy-breaky heart, I have an achy-breaky lower back.  A back that impedes normal walking and screams in agony when I climb the steps (and oh, did I mention I live in a two-story house?).   My out of sorts back doesn’t want to ache alone, so now it’s convinced my hip to join in and if that isn’t enough, there’s this pain running down the side of my leg.  One day it extended to my knee, yesterday it worked its way down to the calf of that leg.   I suspect the sciatic nerve is pinched, bunched, generally in a tizzy, or something akin to that and tomorrow I have an appointment with a chiropractor.

But for now, as I sit in my easy chair with my best friend, ibuprofen; a solid pillow propped behind me; and  an ice pack on the afflicted area (20 minutes on, 20 minutes off), the only thing coming to my mind happens to be songs with the word back in them.   Songs like the Jackson Five’s “I Want You Back.”    Back, it’s true!  Ooo, ooo, baby, I want you back.  I want you, my healthy back, back.

And then there’s “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” by Justin Timberlake.  Well, right now, my back’s not bringing anything, let alone sexy.  I’d be ecstatic walking a normal gait instead of this shuffle, never mind a sexy swing.

Going the country music route, “Back Then” by Tim McGraw comes to mind.  Tim, I don’t just miss back then “when a hoe was a hoe, coke was a Coke and crack’s what you were doing when you were cracking jokes,”  I also greatly miss my back sans pain and the fact that this currently wacky back is preventing my evening strolls in the lovely fall weather.

And then there’s that Hall and Oates tune, “Baby Come Back,” which I would like to rename Back Come Back.”  Back, come back, any kind of fool could see, there was something in everything about you.  Back come back, you can blame it all on me, I was wrong, and I just can’t live without you.

I’ve even gone to the deep recesses of my mind’s song treasure trove with “Carry Me Back to Ol’ Virginny.”  Well, if this doesn’t let up soon, I’m not just going to need someone to carry me back to Virginia or anywhere else, someone just may have to carry me up the stairs!

So you can see, I’m feeling a little unhinged on Page 11, Chapter 10, in my book of Opportunity.  I can’t get my back off of my mind.  Seems like my back’s really got a hold on me…..oh wait, that’s another song, and I’d give anything to move like Smokey Robinson and the Miracles right now.

Copyright ©2011

Picture perfect mornings make me sing!

blogDSCN7828You awaken to sunshine streaming in your window accompanied by wafts of fresh, clean air gently blowing through the screen.

You realize it was so cool during the night, you pulled the quilt up over yourself and you’re snuggling inside it because it feels a little chilly.

No harsh buzzing of the alarm clock rings in your ears because it’s your day off work, but you do catch the lilting melody of song birds coming from outside.

You leave your place of slumber and glance out the open window to see the most glorious baby blue sky decorated with bits of cottony fluff here and there.  A dazzling sun gleams from the east causing the yard to look resplendent in verdant trees and grass.

The temperature hovers around the upper 60’s with an expected high in the mid 70’s. Throwing open the patio door and kitchen windows invites a cooling breeze into the house refreshing enough to compel you to linger at the kitchen table with your soothing hot cup of tea.  You observe a tiny sparrow hopping along the deck railing and notice butterflies chasing each other, flitting hither and yon.

There’s a faint rustle of leaves as the cooling wind blows through the trees.  You hear cicadas chirping, morning song birds, and occasionally a car driving by.  But that is all.  It’s peaceful and serene.  It’s beautiful and picturesque.  It’s life here at Mama’s Empty Nest.

And that’s my idea of a picture perfect morning.

That’s what it’s been like here the last few days and I can’t express how much I enjoy mornings like these.  Quote anthologist Terri Guillemets wrote this:  “I used to love night best but the older I get the more treasures and hope and joy I find in mornings.”   I couldn’t agree with her more, especially on mornings like these.

Yesterday all day I found myself singing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” from the musical Oklahoma.  I’ve actually lived in that state and while I’m sure native Okies believe their mornings are the most spectacular, I beg to differ.   Rising to incredibly hot temperatures isn’t my idea of a beautiful morning, and that’s what I remember most about summertime there.  I’d much rather sing about mornings right here in my home state.

Treated to a repeat performance of my picture perfect morning today, my mind’s card catalog of songs brought up “It’s a Beautiful Morning” by The Rascals.

“It’s a beautiful mornin’ ahhh

I think I’ll go outside a while an jus’ smile

Just take in some clean fresh air boy

Ain’t no sense in stayin’ inside

If the weather’s fine an’ you got the time

It’s your chance to wake up and plan another brand new day

Either way

It’s a beautiful mornin’ ahhh”

Morning songs just keep playing in my head on this magnificent Page 11, Chapter 8, in my book of Opportunity.  Cat Stevens’  “Morning Has Broken”  comes to mind.  As soon as I run through that song, a Herman’s Hermits tune, “I’m Into Something Good,” follows with “Woke up this morning, feelin’ fine, there’s something special on my mind.”

When I dig a little deeper in my song file, I find myself singing “Good Mornin” from that marvelous old movie, Singing in the Rain.   That tune reminds me of crooning my version to our awakening children when they were young:  “Good mornin’, Good mornin’, You slept the whole night through, Good mornin’, Good mornin’ to you!”

And lastly, I find myself humming an old English folk song called “Early One Morning.”  I don’t recall when I first heard that song because it seems like it’s always been in my memory. “Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid singing in the valley below.  Oh, don’t deceive me, Oh never leave me. How could you use a poor maiden so?”

What about you?  What morning song are you singing on this fine day?

© 2011

In ‘Crazy Love’ with Michael Bublé

blogDSCN7715There were about 10,000 examples of “crazy love” in the arena because that’s how many Michael Bublé fans attended his concert last night and I was one of them!

And it was obvious by the thundering applause he garnered that we were all crazy in love with this crooner.

A good family friend blessed hubby and me yesterday with free (yes, you read that correctly!) tickets to singer Michael Bublé’s Crazy Love Tour concert.  (Thank you so very much, KC!)

That gift passed on to us was such a lovely blessing because when hubby heard that Bublé was coming to a city near us, he thought about purchasing concert tickets for my birthday.  However, in our current economic state, we both decided to nix it because tickets were so spendy.

So naturally, we jumped at the chance to go listen to this amazing young man.  When I sent Facebook messages to all three of our adult children to let them know about our windfall, I knew they would be jealous because they all enjoy Bublé’s music as well.   Sure enough, these were the responses I received:

  • Oldest Daughter:  WHAT?!?!?!?!??!?!! Are you kidding?????? Who’s giving them to you??? I LOVE HIM AND AM SO JEALOUS!!! Have fun and take lots of pictures, please 🙂
  • Middle Daughter: What?!?! I’m jealous too! Lucky you mom!! Hope you enjoy the concert!
  • Son:  What?!

So can I just confess that I gloated a little knowing my kids became envious of something dear old dad and I were getting to experience?  I mean, really.  When does THAT ever happen?

Just call me delighted and tickled pink to receive free tickets to this particular concert.  An a cappella group named Naturally Seven warmed up the show.  Their voices not only blended well, but they literally ‘became’ instruments on stage.  They gave a stellar performance;  I want to keep checking this group’s progression on the music radar screen.  I imagine big things are ahead of them.

Then it was time for the star performer who arrived on stage in a theatrical way. (I won’t spoil it for those who may be going to see his concert).  I love this young man’s style, his smooth singing voice that just melts over you like butter on a warm biscuit, and his renditions of songs, old and new.   What I didn’t realize was what a showman he is.  And oh, he is!

He was entertaining, funny, and so very likeable.  He made mention of all those who held up signs for him to read as he sat down and chatted with us.  He made you feel like you were just lounging in your living room and he had come for a visit with you.  You know, just chillin’ with Michael.

He wished happy birthday to a young child and a teen, up close and personal.  The wide-eyed teen girl exhibited total shock when he ventured down into the audience to talk to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.  That young lady must have swooned home on cloud nine!

The bearded entertainer slid across stage, he bounced, he jumped up and down while he crooned and bopped and bestowed upon us a superb show.  He graciously introduced the members of his band telling us funny and heartwarming little stories about each of them.  And the band was fantastic, just simply amazing!

blogDSCN7716He treated us to old favorites like “Georgia” and “I’ve Got the World on a String,” jazzed it up with “Mack the Knife,” and took us back to the 60’s with “Twist and Shout.”   He mixed old songs sung with his undeniably Bublé-esque style woven in between songs like his own ballad, “I’m Coming Home,” and the whimsical, crowd pleasing “Haven’t Met You Yet.”  Of course, the crowd responded like crazy when he launched into his signature “Crazy Love.”  (Just an aside, the guy behind me shouldn’t have sung along, especially so loudly;  Michael Bublé, he isn’t!!)

Let me also make mention that unlike many performers, Bublé sounds just as amazingly good live as he does on his CDs.   His voice is as melodic and awesome on stage in a gigantic arena surrounded by thousands of his fans as it is in a recording studio.

In between sets, Bublé made us laugh with his funny stories and entertained us with his imitation of Michael Jackson, who he claimed in true confession time that he wanted to be (not be like, he wanted to be him) when he was a kid.   “I was so bummed that I was a white person,” he quipped.

blogDSCN7709Then he surprised everyone by jumping off the stage at the end of the arena, meandering while still singing through the crowd on the floor (surely a nightmare for security guards) and bounding upon a platform in the arena’s center to perform several more songs.

He explained that action by saying he apologized to those in front of the stage who paid good money for their tickets, but “these good people paid good money too” as he pointed to those of us out in the tiered seats and at the other end of the arena.

All too soon, he ended his concert back on stage.  The band stopped, the lights went down and the standing ovation audience roared, clapped and whistled for more.   In a couple minutes, the lights flashed back on and Bublé returned and treated us to an encore.

blogDSCN7707But just like life, all good things must come to an end.  I loved his last performance of the evening for us.

The lights went low, a huge subdued curtain closed to hide the band who stopped playing, and it was just Michael Bublé alone on stage, without a microphone, singing a cappella:

“And when my life is over, remember when we were together

We were alone and I was singing my song for you.”

Thank you, Michael Bublé, for sharing your talent, your passion and your joy for music with us.  As I recall your performance last night on this 11th page in Chapter 6 of my book of Opportunity, you made each one of us feel like you really were just singing your song for us, especially me.


The music was there all along

pexels-photo-164821.jpegSilence is not golden anymore.

I seem to write about songs quite often in my blog.  You might say the music channel switches on easily in my mind. 

Sometimes speaking a mere word immediately reminds me of lyrics and music to some tune.

It’s a gift, I think. Or maybe it’s like the ancient Greek philosopher Plato once said, “Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul.”

But even though music has always taken up permanent residence in some section of my brain, I very seldom listen to music any more.  I find that a remarkably strange conundrum and I am quite baffled over it because music has always inspired me, lifted my spirit and often brings me to tears.

I grew up in a household where music serenaded my ears.  My sisters and I all took piano lessons, so someone tickled the ivories almost every day.  And my family sang together at the piano often.

My mother listened to the radio daily as she performed her household chores and cooked home-made meals.  As a child, I awakened every morning to the sound of that radio playing in my mother’s kitchen.  My sisters kept the record player spinning, and I can still sing the lyrics to many golden oldies.

My dad, especially in his later years, possessed an extensive collection of tapes and CDs and passed many hours listening to his music.  My maternal grandmother sang melody after melody with me as we rocked our blues away together in her special chair.  A dear older friend of the family taught me how to sing alto and harmonize.

As a teenager and college student, music continued to maintain its importance in my life.  I listened to it; I bought it in the form of records or cassette tapes; I attended live concerts to experience it; I played it on piano, and I sang it.   Music wafted from my stereo or my car radio at all times.  I would even fall asleep to it.

For many of my adult years, I joined choirs, performed in church musical productions and continued playing the piano for enjoyment.  I attended orchestral concerts, operas, ballets, and live stage musicals.  When I became a mother, I taught songs to my children and listened to their music from piano lessons to chorus and band concerts.

But somewhere along the line, I stopped wanting to listen to music and preferred silence.  At home, I turned the radio on less frequently while I cleaned my house.  I seldom played the stereo and the shelves of albums, tapes and CDs became dust catchers.

Music sometimes even irritated me.  In the car, I rarely drive with the radio tuned in or a CD playing.  My husband downloaded songs he thought I would enjoy on an MP3 player for me, yet I hardly ever use it.

I’m mystified as to why the music in my life suddenly turned mute in the audible world, although it still resonates in my head at the drop of a hat.   Did my life become so stressful that silence was more agreeable to me than the lilting strains of a violin, the trills of piano keys, the strum of a guitar or the human voice in melodic song?

I don’t know, but I want my music back.  Today it was quiet in my office, too quiet.  My fellow staff members were cubbyholed into their own offices and the silence became unbearable to me, perhaps because there is so much of it in my home, the empty nest.

So for the first time ever in my office, I called up Pandora on the internet and devised my own radio station of songs on my computer.  For most of my work day, I actually listened to tunes while I worked and I hummed along and at times I even sang a little.

And I realized in my book of Opportunity on Page 17, Chapter 1 (January 17), that I’ve still got the music in me.

“Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music.”  ~Ronald Reagan


Dancing in September

pexels-photo-707697.jpegDo you remember the 21st night of September?”

For those of you too young to remember, that’s an old disco song performed by a group called Earth, Wind and Fire.

For some reason, songs really stick in my brain and I can recall lines from songs better than remembering what day is trash pick-up day.

Speaking of trash, some of the songs being played on the airwaves today should be relegated to the trash bin if you ask me.  I often wonder what will happen when the younger set becomes the older generation.  Will they look fondly back to their “golden oldies?”   Will they wistfully listen once again to today’s songs and reminiscence about days gone by?  You know, songs from Lady Gaga and Eminem.

Many of today’s hit songs would make a well-seasoned pirate blush, that’s what I think. Songs from yester-year are mild and tame in comparison, but even better yet, they are tasteful.  Even in the rebellious years of the 60’s and 70’s into the me-decade of the 80’s, most songs did not have foul language in their lyrics, let alone sexual language too crude to even think about.

Call me old-fashioned, but give me the real oldies – songs from the late 50’s and 60’s.   My sisters were in their teens in those years and  songs from that era are filed away in my memory bank because I heard those songs a lot back then.  My oldest sister would have “pajama parties;”  we call them sleepovers today, except back then no one would ever think of inviting boys to a sleepover!

Sis would set up her pink and grey record player, with a big stack of 45’s waiting near by to be played during the party.  Yeah kids, record player.  Songs were recorded on vinyl discs called records – small ones were 45’s and they had one song recorded on them.  They were played on a contraption which had an arm with a stylus (needle) inserted into it.  As the record revolved, the stylus picked up vibrations off the grooves in the records, which magically emitted music from the record player speakers.

So Sis would invite all her teenaged girlfriends and they would dance to the records, eat snacks,  and just have fun all night, I assume.  I was never allowed to stay up for those parties because I was just a youngster of four or five.  The pajama parties were usually held in our basement, and I would sneak down the stairs part-way, sit on a step, and watch with envy as the girls danced, laughed, and squealed at their fun.  My sister would shoo me back up the steps, but sometimes one of her friends would take a shine to me and let me come down to dance awhile.  I not only remember the parties but the songs on the records they played.

Songs like “Cathy’s Clown” and “Wake Up Little Susie” by the Everly Brothers, “Soldier Boy” by The Shirelles, “Papa Loves Mambo” by Perry Como, “Love Letters in the Sand” by Pat Boone, “The Monster Mash,” “Leader of the Pack,” and the list goes on and on.  Simple music from a simpler time.

My adolescent years took place in the 60’s and early 70s’s.  The music from that time is also ensconced in my memory.  The first record I ever purchased was “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter” by Herman’s Hermits.  I listened to typical teenage fare back then and graduated to songs by Elton John, The Doobie Brothers, and Chicago in my college years.

And then the disco era hit. By then hubby and I were married and starting to settle down.   The songs from the late 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s are scattered in my memory.  I was too busy producing and raising children to listen much to popular music, but I do “remember the 21st  night of September…Say do you remember, ba dee ya, dancing in September, ba dee ya, never was a cloudy day.”

If I wasn’t still sick with this nasty flu bug, I’d get up and dance.  No energy though.  Fits of coughing would ensue.  So I’ll just watch this little guy boogie on down.  Come on, get up and boogie with him, you know you want to!


Universally Uncanny

sky-lights-space-dark.jpgWhat you are about to read is so random, I can only attribute it to the Lord God, great and mighty in power whose understanding has no limit.

You know how you get a song stuck in your mind and no matter how diligently you try, that song keeps playing over and over inside your gray matter?  It’s like someone just keeps hitting the replay button.

Music is one of those categories that has a permanent spot in my brain anyway.  Some of my family and I have the uncanny ability to instantly think of a song (and usually burst out singing that song) when any given topic is thrown at us.

Today the song stuck in my mind wasn’t prompted by a word, but by images my eyes viewed.  I used to sing this song at church probably back in the early 70’s, and the lyrics I keep hearing in my head are:

In the stars His handiwork I see,
On the wind He speaks with majesty.
Though He ruleth over land and sea,
What is that to me?”

Now here’s the unexplainable part.  At my job today, I was researching my field of work.  I’ve been cleaning out some internet files on my computer especially those that have been saved on my favorites list for a later “look-see.”  As I was sentencing some of those websites to exile in the recycle bin, one site appeared that I don’t ever remember viewing, and it boasted a very prominent link to  So naturally I clicked on that link.

First let me say absolutely nothing  in my particular field of work relates to science, engineering, space, or anything in that line of study.  But the link I clicked on is the website for the Hubble telescope.  There are the most amazing pictures of the universe, stars, planets, and galaxies on this site all viewed with the Hubble.

How these two worlds (my world and space) mingled, I do not know.  I’m still wondering with great puzzlement why the Hubble telescope site even appeared as a link on a website related to what I do.

But appear it did in magnificent color photographs and those images my eyes beheld instantly dialed up the Rolodex of my mind to recall this song I no longer sing but obviously have not forgotten.

As I pondered this (and sang the song) the entire way home from work today, I could only deduce that God wanted me to see His handiwork today and fill me with wonder and awe.   And He wanted me to know how majestic, how powerful, how absolutely amazing He is because He created these sights for our eyes to behold!  And yet, as omnipotent as He is, He loves and cares about insignificant me.

But more than that, I believe He wanted me to share with my world (that’s you)  these images and words straight from His Holy Word, so you too remember (or maybe read for the first time) that He loves and cares for you.

Psalm 8 so eloquently tells me (and you) this:

Oh Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!  You have set your glory above the heavens….When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,  [singing “In the stars His handiwork I see..”]
What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?” [singing “… What is that to me? Til by faith I met Him face to face, And I felt the wonder of His grace, Then I knew that He was more than just a God who didn’t care, that lived away out there and Now He walks beside me day by day, Ever watching o’er me lest I stray, Helping me to find that narrow way, He is everything to me.”]

I believe with my entire heart, mind, and soul that my Lord God, who “determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name” (Psalm 147:4) desires that today we know who He is so that we may “shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life.” (Philippians 2:15)

 He’s everything to me!