THE SHEEP ARE SAFE

Sometimes the things we do in order to bring a blessing to others are so packed full of blessing for ourselves that it almost feels selfish.

I didn't take my violin to Brazil.  On purpose.  Tribby had just done excellent maintenance on it in preparation for the journey to Beirut.  After dark stories of mean flight attendance, I didn't feel like hassling the airline industry about bringing my instrument on board.  And I thought it would be a relief to spend three weeks with absolutely no responsibilities--answering the phone and playing violin being chief among them.

I know that denies the music teacher, church activist, forever-engaged streak in me.  But it felt good to be where no one knows me, no one wants anything from me, no one is trying to relate and no one is going to expect a performance.  Is that the fantasy cave of a pastor's wife? A grumpy teacher?  A mother-of-many?

But I can't help myself.  

I was just melting into my uncommon comfort zone when the Institute instructors announced that there were four committees that would plan events for the group over the three weeks.  Oh.  No.   I knew they couldn't make me.  I could pretend shy.  I could pretend awkward.  I could pretend...

Searching for the least I could do and knowing Institute couldn't possibly involve concerts or productions like I know so well, I signed onto the music committee.  Three little songs each day before devotions.   Find a couple of good singers.  I don't sing.

But I forgot that we had to introduce ourselves and share our present livelihoods.  Yes, I teach violin.  Oh, for 30 years.  Little guys.  Somewhere around 40 or 50 at a time.   One of the instructors offered to get a violin from a friend on campus whose son plays.  I felt bad--almost as bad as the boy probably felt good--that he would miss his practice for three weeks.  But I don't enjoy my own singing as much as I like playing along with singers.

The violin offered me a blessing all its own...

Friday evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the girls' dorm lobby, it felt good to play  along with all the Institute families who'd gathered to open Sabbath.   I love folk playing.  With Marissa, a delightful pre-teen who had proudly brought her violin to Brazil, and Saulo, an exceptional guitarist who served during the week as our Portuguese translator, we had our own "missionary band."  We humored every age level, every style among us for almost two hours.

Sundown, storm and singing

Against the backdrop of a dramatic Brazilian storm and sunset, we moved breathlessly from  "Father Abraham" to "Grin Again Gang" to "This Train Is Bound for Glory" and dozens of other choruses from Australia I'd never heard.  :)  Paul knows every campfire ditty any Pathfinder leader has ever made up.  Big Vanston, the natural Goliath, collapsed impressively in "Only A Boy Named David."  (I'm sure the tile floor was hard.)   Little Megumi danced through most of the evening.  They say the entire three floors of the dorm enjoyed a lively Sabbath serenade. 

But when everyone disbanded in exhaustion, Saulo and his family stayed by.  I know the kind of people who forget meals, lose sleep, never stop playing music.  Those are the real musicians.  And they never require an audience.

For the Shepherd

That's Saulo.  And he plays anybody's choice of folk, contemporary, and the classics--all with a master's touch.  We just continued right on playing without the singers.   In a lull, he began the delicate introduction to Bach's, "Sheep May Safely Graze."  Years away from working the music with a struggling student, I eared through it.  With no audience, incredible acoustics, and nothing pressing to do on a quiet Sabbath evening, my heart centered.  

I felt like a helpless sheep, safe alongside a dependable, kind Shepherd, well cared for and loved.   It was a place of peace, of comfort in a chaotic passage of my life.  It was God singing to me.

The last Sabbath morning of Institute I had the opportunity--the blessing--of playing "Sheep May Safely Graze"  during our dedication service at the campus church.  With tears streaming down my face, I sang back to God.  Safety is not exactly a given in cross-cultural service.  It's not guaranteed for my young men left at home, making their way in life far out of my reach.  Or for all our families and friends stretched across the miles.  The future is not a blank check--for anybody.  

But I don't have to worry about the unknown.  The wolves.  The rocky cliffs.  The thickets of challenges ahead.  I don't have to build my own fortress, hide behind walls, jostle with the rest of the herd or hide in a cave.  All I need to do is press close to my Shepherd, knowing He will tend me with extreme care.  I can trust Him.  He is very, very good.

Best of all, He promises to gather my lambs in His arms and carry them close to His heart.  He will gently lead us as we leave our young in His care.  The sheep are safe.