“And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.”  Ezekiel 36:26

 

Sometimes I read things or see something on television that will just stay with me.  Usually, it’s useless information that might come in handy occasionally, say, during a trivia game. Occasionally, from the recesses of my memory, something will come to the surface at a seemingly random moment, and suddenly God is using it to reveal his heart. There is no random with God; He is all about design.

A long time ago, I was watching one of those medical shows on Discovery.  You know the type – where they show actual surgeries, and you have to close your eyes when they make incisions?  One of those (shudder!).  This one was about heart transplants.  A narrator was discussing the intricacies of the procedure, while we watched it take place. In this case, the donor and the recipient were in side by side operating rooms.  The narrator made the statement that the donor heart continues to beat for a few moments after it is harvested, as does the damaged heart of the recipient after its removal. He stated that if the two heart muscles are placed side by side, they continue to beat with their own, individual and unique rhythm. But, if the hearts are allowed to touch each other, almost instantly, the pulse of the weaker heart changes, aligning with the stronger heart, until they pulsate in matching syncopation, beating as one. How amazing is the creation of God? How like God to use a barely remembered television show to speak to me.

Yesterday, during our worship service at church, I was suddenly reminded of the show about these hearts, and I could see clearly the impact of worship on the hearts of God’s people.  How deeply we are loved by our Father! He desires so much the place of intimacy with us. When we reciprocate that love and desire, something incredible happens.  The Author of the Universe, the Ancient of Days, Majesty – draws near to His Creation, and allows His Heart to be touched by ours – and ours by His.  Our weaker, so very human hearts are enveloped by His, and as one they begin to beat in matching rhythm, as Father and Child dance.  Troubles fade away, worries are without power, fear is replaced by the peace that comes from being held secure in the arms of our Daddy.  What unmatched joy awaits within the Heart of God!

Beloved of God, your Father’s Heart longs for yours. He cherishes you and promises His Presence.  Worship isn’t about a posture, it’s not about your words, or whether or not you can carry a tune. There’s no need to wait until you’ve got it all together – God sees your mess and isn’t appalled by it; His Love is too great, His Mercies too deep. As a parent, there were times when my children were small, and they’d show up with sticky hands and dirty face, wanting a hug and a kiss. I didn’t see the mess; I saw my child whom I love so deeply, and I hugged them, kissing them without regard for their messiness.  Daddy God loves us so much deeper than that.

Worship isn’t a place, it’s not a program, there’s no formula, no pattern…worship is as individual and unique as our heartbeats. It doesn’t matter how it looks – what matters is that we allow our hearts to rise to touch the Heart of our Father.  It’s an act of opening your spirit to His, a dropping of walls, a stirring of faith, an act of the will. We worship because He is worthy of worship and adoration. He responds because of His great Love for us.  Face to face; Heart to heart; Father to child.

Precious one – your Daddy is waiting. He has a dance reserved just for you.  What are you waiting for? 

It began like any other morning.  Alarm screaming in my ear, followed by the requisite 5 or 6 taps on the snooze button.  Arising finally to whines, mumbled complaints, and general grump. And that was just from me. Shortly, I awaken my son, Gigantor, to whines, mumbled complaints, and general grump – his reprise of his mother’s lack of morning personness. He is his mother’s son. Half an hour later, coffee in my hand, breakfast in his, we head out the door to school. Like any other morning, we giggled at Laugh USA, chatted a little, quick kiss, wishes for a good day, and Gigantor was out of the car headed inside. 

One last wave, and I headed toward work.  As I came to a stop at the intersection, I noticed a new sign posted just beyond the sidewalk.  I looked, blinked – not quite trusting my still sleep-addled brain to be reading it correctly.  My jaw dropped open as I read it again, ensuring that I had, indeed, read it correctly.  Posted before me, mockingly, was a sign – nay, a banner – announcing the soon coming of a play to the Oxford Center for Performing Arts….a play entitled, “Menopause. The Musical.”

I believe something like, “Wha? Wha?” was escaping from my agape mouth, but before I could regain my senses, a horn honked lightly behind me urging me to move through the intersection. I didn’t glance at the driver behind me, but I’m certain it was a man.  A woman – a sister – would have understood my pause. 

Menopause. 

The Musical. 

I don’t know what to think.  I don’t know how they’re going to pull it off.  But I’m sure as heck going to go and see it for myself!  I think I wouldn’t miss it for the life of me.  For just a moment, I thought that perhaps someone had written a play just for me – I love musicals…I love stage productions..but I don’t love menopause.  Or, more precisely, perimenopause. Technically, I’m still 6 months out from being a bonafide member of the big M society. That’s neither here nor there.  If Menopause is anything like her little sister Perimenopause, we’re going to have issues. 

I wonder…will the ushers hand out paper fans along with the playbill – or will the playbill be fan-folded?  Will there be copious chocolate at intermission?  Will ice water be handed out along with blankets? Will the local Heating and Air guys be onsite earlier in the day to ensure that the AC units are all operating properly, Freon is topped off, and thermostats are set to Antarctica? Perhaps anti-itch cream will be offered by concessions girls, along with magnifying make-up mirrors, hot wax samples, and indigestion aids.  I’m certain that Xanax in Pez dispensers personalized to resemble the face of each theatre goer’s husband would be a welcome addition…I can imagine the glee to be had at flicking their little heads back with a perfectly manicured thumbnail. Ah, the joy…………………………………………………sigh………………..Oh, ahem.

Pardon me. I digress.

I don’t know how they’re going to do it, but I’m going to see for myself.  Comedy, yes...I can see the humor in menopause...when I’m not in the midst of a hot flash, or the middle of a sleepless night, or a mood swing, or skin clawing full body itch…but any other time, yes.  Menopause makes me laugh regularly. Mostly in a maniacal fashion following a comment to my husband such as, “Go ahead.  Fall asleep”.  But I do laugh. 

Musical, I’m not so sure about.  I have yet to feel like bursting into song.  Flames, yes.  Song, no.

We shall see.  A few hundred women at varying stages of the M society will be there judging.  They better hope it’s good.  Or they better have a LOT of chocolate.  And wine.   

So, about a hundred years ago, around Easter 2000, I was pondering one day.  I’m pretty prone to pondering, and sometimes my pondering gets put onto paper.  On this day in 2000, I was pondering the crucifixion of Jesus.  I was thinking about what it must have been like for the legions of angels who had known Him since their creation.  I imagined a conversation between those angels and Father God during the crucifixion.  Now, keep in mind – this is my imagination, and probably not scriptural. Just how I imagine it might have gone…..

 

Can you hear the angels asking, “Why? Why, Jehovah, must Your Son die?  They’re humans, Lord, so full of sin! How, O God, can Satan win?  Let us go and take Him down, bring Him home, replace His Crown!”

Can you hear God answer, “Be silent! Wait! It is only their sin that I hate. Don’t you see that on this day, by His death, I’ve made a Way?”

“But, Lord, how? We don’t understand.  How can this be in Your Plan?”

“You see, My Son is a spotless Lamb. Remember My Promises to Abraham?”

“Why, yes, Lord, but You promised a King – One would come and His praises they’d sing!”

“That’s true, I promised they would be freed, but first, as a Sacrifice, my Son must bleed; for their sins must be atoned by shed blood – His Blood alone.”

“But, God, behold! Your Son is dead – a crown of thorns upon His Head.  He cried out to You before He died; why didn’t You rush to be by His Side?”

“Because My Plan is not complete. Soon, you’ll see My most awesome feat!”

“But, Lord, they’ve laid Him in a tomb; it’s dark and cold: a death-filled room!  They’ve sealed the opening with a stone. Oh, He’s in there all alone!”

Smiling, God said, “Be patient, wait – you will see I’m not too late!”

One day…two days…, “Gabriel, come!  Go and gently awaken My Son.  Roll the stone completely away, and when His disciples come looking say, ‘He is not here, but risen. See – the place where He lay is now empty.’     Tell them, ‘He’s living! He is not dead! Go and seek Him, forget your dread!  God’s Redemptive Plan is done – He’s resurrected your Lord, His Son!”

“Holy!” the angels began to cry.

"Holy, the Lamb Who came to die!  Worthy, the Lamb Who was slain, Who shed His Blood to wash man’s stain!”

God smiled and said, “Come Home, My Son. I am well pleased, My Will You’ve done.”

Then Father and Son in joy embrace.  They’ve given the Cross to the human race!

 

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, Who was and is and is to come!”