Hit my Head...Wrote a Song

I was hanging our laundry out.  The lines were in a roofed (but open) place, and I didn't duck low enough.  I banged my head against one of the supports.  Later that morning I did what I had been doing for a while, walking up to the church to play the piano and sing...just Him and me. I had the keys, since I was in charge of the music.  Going there gave me a lift for each day. I'd wait til the kids were off to school, get some housework done, then head to the piano.  (I didn't have one of my own then.)  I would play hymns, choruses, etc., but also would play around on the keys, just creating chords or sequences.

But this time something happened.  The playing around on the keys actually whirled me into a full song.  I kept it going, and wrote down the basic lead, plus the words that seemed to just appear. I could hardly believe it.  I had actually written a song!  I had always thought it would be awesome to be able to write music, but never dreamed it would happen to me.  Of course, one song didn't really make me a composer!

The song (El Precio) was written in Spanish (as most have been since then), and was a very simple, unsophisticated acknowledgement of  "The Price" He paid, and an affirmation of our gratitude for what He did.  It's more lyrical and rhythmical in Spanish, but I'll give you a rough translation (don't expect it to rhyme in English!):

                 The law of God demanded blood as the price for sin.
                 Unblemished calves, goats, sacrificed on the altar.
                 And in the Temple, only the priest could enter, in reverence,
                 for a great veil separated him from God and his Presence.
                 God of justice, God of truth, how can we be freed?
                 It seems hopeless, the debt is heavy.
                 Who of us has no guilt?
                 But God understands, and has compassion, and offers to pay the price.
                 Even before the world was made, He had an altar ready,
                                       a sacrifice prepared.

                          It was on that wooden altar where Jesus died for me,
                          thus satisfying God's law, because He was a Lamb without blemish.
                          And in the Temple the veil has ripped, in a proclamation of mercy.
                          We can enter the Holy of Holies to enjoy his Presence.
                          Oh, God of  love, God of kindness, my freedom cost so much!
                          Today his tomb is empty.
                          The Light of Life illuminates the world.
                          What great love! What a daring (bold) victory!
                                 Christ conquered death gloriously.
                          Now, our hands freed of chains,
                                  let us lift them before the God that we adore.
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A week-and-a-half later, I wrote another song...and another. Two months later, I had written six songs. I thought, "Id' better not bump my head again...it might reverse the process!"

 Sometimes in-a-row, sometimes with large time gaps between them, I continued to write songs.  They pretty much decided when they'd appear! I couldn't "force" them, so I let them come when and how He saw fit.  But once in a while, something would happen to steer a song in a specific direction.

About two months after writing the first song, our missionary and national church community suffered through the tragic losses of three people.  It seemed so hard to bear...and spilled out into a song.  I'll share it with you in the next blog. God bless you until then.
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HE Never Shuts Them All!

I was so depressed when I thought I wouldn't be able to involve myself in the ministries that were available. I was supposed to be my husband's helpmate!  Then God gave me Revelation 3:8:
 
           "I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door
            that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength,
            yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name."               

I realized that He would never shut ALL the doors! For now, He had shut most of them...knowing as He did (and I could only see in hindsight) that I needed to rest and re-orient myself. I had much to learn...maybe this was the only way I'd stop and process things, and He could reinforce the importance of being ready to walk through the doors HE opened, not necessarily the ones I thought would be best. My strength wasn't the prime factor. HIS strength and wisdom were what carried the day. And all I had to do was "keep His word and not deny His Name". Why do we make it harder for ourselves than it really is? 




                                          Open Door  
              
                                Don't we often pry a door open,
                                knocking over and over again,
                                trying to make it move an inch
                                so we can stick our foot in
                                to keep it from shutting?

                               Or maybe we try a battering ram,
                               heaving it over and over again,
                               watching the door fill with dents,
                               muttering under our breath,
                               "All things are possible"?

                               How much time do we waste
                               begging over and over again,
                               using our tries, cries and sighs
                               to pick the locks
                               which only He has keys to?

                               Sometimes we just sit and stare,
                               wishing over and over again,
                               so sure it's that door;
                               holding our breath...
                               willing it to creak open.

                               Don't we also give up at times,
                               closing our eyes over and over again
                               to any door at all?
                               Choices...doubts...confusion...
                               It's easier to be blind.

                               If you've never seen that door open,
                               you really don't know
                               what's behind it, do you?
                               But He does...
                               that's why it's closed.

                               If it was opened to you once
                               but then He closed it,
                               you would do yourself harm
                               to yearn for what's past,
                               not thinking of what's before.

                               Because, Jesus said, "See,
                               I have placed before you
                               an open door
                               that no one can shut."
                               Do you know what that means?

                               You don't have to force the door open,
                               trying over and over again,
                               stumbling over disappointments,
                               oiling rusty hinges.
                               The door He's pointing to is already open.

                                Are you afraid of what's behind it?
                                Don't be.
                                He'll walk through it beside you.
                                Holding His hand, looking into His eyes...
                                you'll understand.
                                                                                                       (Becky Rhon, Nov. 1986)
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Useless...? (And then a poem about September 11)

That's how I often felt. Even as I started regaining my strengths (physical, emotional, spiritual, mental...), I still couldn't do so many of the things that I wanted. I remember standing at my kitchen window watching as a newly married couple, workers in the hospital, made their tired way back to their little cabin, happy but exhausted after the trip back from their honeymoon.  My first reaction was to send one of my kids out to invite them to come over for supper after they'd rested. They wouldn't have to cook and would have more time to recuperate before going to work the next day.  I stood there watching them, with tears raining down my cheeks...because I knew I couldn't do it.

I gradually started taking up some of my former activities, but never with the same intensity, and always trying to remain balanced.  Lying in bed one morning, I was trying to decide whether to do something or not (can't remember what). I had just read Philippians 4:13, but in another version. This one didn't stop at "all things", but said, "I can do all the things that He asks me to..."  I suddenly felt Jesus again at the foot of my bed. He said, "I'm asking you to rest."

One day Germán made a very telling comment.  He said, "I'm really so sorry to see you like this...but it's  nice to have you home more often." That simple sentence really made an impression!

Of necessity, our family started making the priority changes that would help us all work together and become closer. I was able to do quite a bit, as long as I measured my strength and spaced my activities with enough rest periods. Even so, during the next year I would sometimes get depressed, thinking that I would never really be able to help my husband in whatever ministries God had for us.

But God knew otherwise!  Reading a verse in the Bible, it jumped out at me, with neon lights, and filled me with gratitude. Revelation 3:8 says, "I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut.  I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name."

God would use me somehow, somewhere, in something! In spite of my limitations...that makes sense, because MY limitations don't limit God in the least! And a door that no one could shut. Besides that, He emphasized to me again that He was perfectly aware of my lack of strength. (Just in case I'd forgotten!)

In my next post I'd like to share another poem with you, written right after this verse became part of my life. I hope you'll join me!
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I only now realized it was September 11th!  Some of you have already read my blog, but for those who haven't, here's the poem I wrote soon after that awful historic event.

                     WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

What were you trying to buy when wholesale, indiscriminate evil exploded into the air,
saturated with victim-innocence and terrorist-guilt?
Death?
Fool!  Everyone has already bought his death many times over with his own sin .
We needed not your sin to make us die.

What have you done?
What were you trying to buy? Life?...for yourself, in Paradise?
Fool, again!  Only one person could ever buy life with His death.
Gloat not over our grief, for you have been cheated!

You wanted to wrench open a pit from which your hatred and chaos
would spill out and strangle us.
Instead, out of the searing wound flow the pain, with prayer and patriotism;
the sorrow, with serenity and steadfastness;
the heartbreak, with healing and hope.

You wanted the sores you inflicted to ooze anguish, dread and despair.
Instead, they are closing over with cleansing calm and compassion.

You drooled in savage anticipation of draping our nation's coffin
with the skull and crossbones.
Instead, you must gnash your teeth as you watch us cover it proudly
with the Stars and Stripes.  (Oh say, can you see?)

You tensed your soul to hear desperate dirges and defeated death chants.
Instead, you must stop your ears as strains of strength echo in our hymns.
Our voices break, perhaps, but not our wills, nor our courage.

The scars you meant for ignominy
we will wear as a memorial to faith and freedom.

You laugh at the mountain of rubble.
But we will laugh last,
for what you mock is a giant anvil on which we will reshape the steel of our people,
on which God can reshape the steel of our souls.

We have one thing in common with you.
For God extends His cords of kindness and love to all.*
Our founding Fathers let themselves be drawn to Him, a firm foundation.
We must all do the same once more.

If only you had reached out and clung to Him,
He, and only He, would have given you the Paradise you sought...
the Paradise He bought...
Instead, it is He whom you've pierced most deeply.
It is He whom you've hurt most obscenely.
It is He whose heart bleeds most cruelly for His bruised and broken creatures.

And it is He who weeps, and calls out to you,
"Cain!  Cain...what have you done?
Listen!
Your brother's blood cries out to Me from the ground."**

                                                                                                      Becky Rhon  (Sept. 2001)
* - Hosea 11:4
** - Genesis 4:10

A raw soul...

What was it like? What was going on inside of me during this journey through each day after I collapsed? For two or three weeks (longer, maybe), I accompanied my raw soul as it sought to right itself after being turned upside-down. It's hard to try to describe it, so I decided that I would share with you a poem that I wrote as I was finally coming to the end of that phase which, though not the only one, was the darkest, and I was starting to get my legs under me once again.

This poem has never been included in any of our prayer letters, and the only people, so far, who have ever seen it are some family members. So most of you will be seeing it for the first time in print! Back then my poems were few and far between, and not necessarily intended for "public consumption" - except for a few humorous ones I wrote for different people and events. This poem may not seem all that "polished", but its purpose was to capture something of the essence of what I was going through and Jesus' presence, so that I would never forget.


                                YOU WERE THERE 

                         You were standing right beside me
                         when my soul went into shock.
                         I was dizzy, weak and trembling,
                         and though numbed from any feeling,
                         You were there, my Solid Rock.

                         As I stumbled from the table,
                         feeling like an empty shell,
                         as I sought dark, quiet aloneness,
                         panicked in my barren dryness,
                         You were there, my Living Well.

                         When my heart regained some feeling,
                         tender, sore, with pains to lend;
                         when I needed peace and quiet,
                         when I needed calm and stillness,
                         You were there, my Gentle Friend,

                         Frequent teardrops made their music -
                         sometimes quiet, sometimes strong-
                         and note by note your love-drops mingling,
                         bathing hurts, refreshing, cooling...
                         You were there, my Soothing Song.

                         Struggling still to find a balance,
                         find a way that I could cope,
                         You let me hear your words of comfort,
                         words of peace and understanding.
                         You were there, my Heavenly Hope.

                         I could hear You say, "I love you";
                         I could hear You say, "You're mine".
                         In my sad and thirsty moments
                         I could feel your arms around me.
                         You were there, my Wedding Wine.

                         Never had I felt so helpless
                         nor so weak; I knew at length,
                         that weakness makes us see You stronger,
                         rest, and watch You work, in wonder.
                         You were there, my Silent Strength.

                         Through our friends' and neighbors' kindness
                         You have proven your supply
                          is never-ending, based on mercy;
                          all your power, all your glory...
                          You were there, my El Shaddai!

                          When again I need your comfort,
                          or to feel your healing fire;
                          when I need your strength and music,
                          when I need to drink your Presence...
                          You'll be there, my Heart's Desire!
                                                                          
                                                                                  (Becky Rhon, written Nov. 29, 1985)
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