When we left you last, Amanda and her children were in the clutches of a waterless nightmare...
Water returned late Thursday to an eruption of cheers so zealous that Rory freaked out and started crying. Having become a stinking (literally) shut-in during what I now refer to as my "waterless period", I didn't realize until two days after that I had missed my "yearly" appointment. I can't say that I'm too upset about that and, honestly, the doctor's office should be writing me a note of thanks for not showing up 36-hrs-unwashed-and-counting. Things are running somewhat smoothly again with the exception of the laundry. I haven't caught up yet.
At Bible study this morning, it was presented to us that we probably have much more scripture memorized than we realize as a result of praise and worship music. Attempting to see how much I know (and aside from songs, I'm ashamed to say it's not much), I started singing the first song that popped into my head while doing the dishes. Would you believe it was "War in the Heavenlies"?? For real, when was the last time I heard THAT song? 1988?? Humming about "casting down every high thing" sent me into a tailspin of memories. For those of you who grew up in any sort of spirit-filled church, these things might bring back some memories of their own:
- Tambourines. Yep, you know what I'm talking about. Multicolored tambourines of all sizes embellished with a cascade of ribbons in rainbow hues to be shaken and twirled about for the glory of the Lord by all able-bodied female members of the church. I wanted one so badly as a child, however seeing as clapping to the beat required watching other people, there was no way my family was going to give me a loud obnoxious rhythm instrument thus making it obvious to the entire congregation that their child is severely rhythmically challenged. Alas, they were out of fashion when I finally learned to keep rhythm, so, if you catch me slapping my thigh and waving my shaking fist in the air during worship some Sunday, just know that in my mind I'm living out my tambourine dreams...
- Interpretive dances. Be it a group of enthusiastic, yet marginally talented, people clad in white with gold braided headbands or a solitary woman in a purple jumpsuit brandishing a ribbon on a stick, these were the highlights of my childhood church-going years. Oh, how I longed to twirl about the stage pantomiming the lyrics of an Amy Grant song to a chorus of whispered "Hallelujah"s and "Praise the Lord"s. However, once I was old enough, there was no way in H-E-double hockey sticks you were going to catch me doing ANYTHING that required me making a spectacle of myself... As far as interpretive dances go, I think it would be fun to create a satirical dance, perform it for the congregation, and see who gets it.
- Petra. Heck yes. They rocked my house...literally, my mom would play the Petra tapes at home AND in the car. Did you know that, according to family lore, the lead singer of Petra, John Schlitt, was baptised in my grandparents swimming pool? No freakin' joke, dude. There is no facetious mockery here. I dare you to find a better vintage worship album than Petra Praise. That rock cried out. (Pun totally intended)
- The special song. Now, there are still churches today that hold tight to this tradition and, depending on the level of talent, I find it to be a good litmus test as to whether I stick around or I non-chalantly head for the bathroom with my coat in tow never to return. If you've grown up in church, at some point in time you've been forced to endure a terrible soloist while passing the offering plate. Not to knock these eager-beavers, but if Sister BadPerm or Brother Mustache can't carry a tune, it might be a good idea to redirect their enthusiasm, leadership. We can always use more greeters.
Although I would like to go on, I simply can't, so, I'll leave you with this:
RUSS TAFF NO MEDALS ROCKED...I'm SO going to buy that on iTunes...
Until Then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom
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