Diana gave a children’s ‘sermon’ on Advent and the church advent wreath that worked well. I still hold to my beliefs, but I can appreciate a job well done. Rehearsal for the Christmas program went very much better, and it does a heart good to play Bach on the oboe no matter the level of the orchestra. They’re all doing a fine job and I’m proud of them. It’s nice to finally have no stress that I’m the worst one and must make up for it somehow. Funny how it makes it easier to play, too.
After rehearsal I went to German for some curry and then crepes at the Weil am Rhein Christmas market. Walking down the streets I had to remind myself that these weren’t Disney facades, but real houses in Germany. The rain drove us to Diana’s where enjoyed good food, good company, and afore mentioned movie. I’d hoped the rain would stop so I could bike home, and it did, but two minutes after I hit the road it started again with a vengeance, at least for a Basel rain. There was quite a bit of wind and it was against me the whole time but the 40 minute ride wasn’t as miserable as it sounds. My oboe even survived thanks to my fancy triple-layer case.
Today I woke up in a bad mood. I didn’t want to start the week. I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t want to do anything bus stay in bed. I knew I’d been letting my desires and plans separate me from God so I finally made myself sit up, read the Bible and then pray for everyone I knew while I won’t pray for myself. Have you ever cried “Lord, help me!” and know that you didn’t mean it? It’s terrible. Well, as is predictably the case, praying for others softened my heart and I turned to God. I still wasn’t very happy and I didn’t have any energy, but I got up knowing that whatever I did would be with the strength of the Lord. I had a rather lengthy composition assignment that I didn’t want to do Saturday night when I told myself I needed to (hence the crazy blog post). I’m not sure why it got put on my list of ‘things that weigh me down’ but it did. Completely unmotivated and without energy I sat down and wrote, finishing in 45 minutes – record time. I still didn’t have energy, and I knew it was only with God’s strength that I got it done. That allowed for time to do some Egocsue exercises, which helped the physical energy level at least and class and voice lesson went well enough. I’m frustrated with voice because it’s really hard to find the right placement and keep it there. I’ve sung all my life and my breathing is messed up from oboe so I don’t know what my body is doing and I feel a big difference in my lessons as we work, but I have no idea yet what has what effect. I know when it’s in and when it’s out, but then during the week I think I’ve found it then I come to my lesson and we all these exercises and it comes back in and then I know I’ve been out of it the whole time. Kate keeps telling me it takes time and I’m catching on quickly, but I suppose it’s a bit like driving a stick – I may be doing well enough sometimes, but I still have no idea what I’m doing, or at least it feels that way. It’s only been two months – not even! Boy, it feels like a lifetime – or at least half a year.
I practiced harp a ton before I was too tired for it to be of any good but I still can’t play everything I’m supposed to have ready for tomorrow and Wednesday – and I practiced a lot earlier, too! Where did I get the idea that I have to be perfect and anything less is a failure? I don’t treat my students that way and I thought teaching would teach me not to treat myself that way, but habits of 20 years die hard, I guess.
However, come to think of it. Having low energy and being a bit emotionally numb is a blessed relief from the rollercoaster I’ve been riding. I do not have the old joy in the Lord, but I do have a kind of peace and quiet trust in Him that has been absent as I struggle against pursuing my own desires apart from God. If I’m not satisfied in God without whatever it is I want then I surely won’t be satisfied in God if I have it. God sometimes gives us the desires of our hearts and lets us discover on our own that it wasn’t what we needed. Whatever I think will satisfy me will only disappoint me if it is without God and I don’t need that thing in order to be gloriously satisfied in Christ God. Oh what gracious gifts and blessings he has poured on me and my heart runs off in pursuit of an idol! Neither does it do any good to think that that idol could be God’s gift to me if I only ran back into His arms. I suppose George MacDonald would disagree saying it doesn’t matter what sent us running back into the Fathers arms, what matters is that we go back to the Father! Still, running in one direction and looking in another is generally not the best way to arrive at the goal!
I did enjoy the subdued peace of today and had a lovely dinner with Veronika and her guest. They taught me a Swiss blessing cannon and that has me tickled pink, though not bouncing off the walls as I normally would be when tickled pink. Where on earth does that expression come from? As most of you well know, tickling leads more to a red face while I scream bloody murder . . .
It was also lovely to be told to run along to my room after dinner rather than wash up – on one condition: that I practice fiddle. What a difference it makes to practicing when you’re disturbing sweet ladies that love whatever noise comes from the mangled gut rather than a dozen aspiring musicians working speedily away in the tiny cubicles around you. Ah, it’s worth biking 30 minutes in the rain sometimes in order to live here. Praise to God for His faithfulness and His love that is constant and strong whether His daughter receives Him with joyful open arms, stubbornly crossed arms, or limp reluctant ones.
Peace and Grace!
[[[[[Janet]]]]]
Perhaps your readers have some ideas about tickling. I know you don't like it, and neither do I. But I think most babies do -- I know Noah loves it a lot. It sends him into uproarious laughter and he keeps coming back for more. Yet already I think Jonathan likes it less. What makes us grow out of it? Are people gentler with babies? But I don't even like gentle tickling and remember working hard to be able to resist it. (Having younger siblings who vie to break down your resistance is good practice.) Any ideas?
Sleep well, and may you awaken in a better state. I mean mood. No need to switch states -- unless it's to Florida.
Yes to Florida...but some of us don't know about the red face and bloody murder. Bloody murder is another interesting expression, don't you think?
Tickled Pink: "to be delighted"
Further...The tickling here isn't the light stroking of the skin - it's the figurative sense of the word that means 'to give pleasure or gratify'. [Similar to Biblical use in 2 Tim.] The tickling pink concept is of enjoyment great enough to make the recipient glow with pleasure.
Earliest known use of the phrase: 1910, American newspaper
Can't find anything quickly on bloody murder, though SursumCorda's comment on tickling is definitely thought-provoking. Most people (read: children) I know love tickling and/or being tickled until someone takes advantage of the activity to make them feel ashamed. Why do we do that to each other?
I'm sure you're right about shame sometimes being involved, but certainly not always. For me, being tickled is simply an unpleasant feeling, akin to an itch...though I'm fairly certain I was a normal child. :)
Just a thought -- perhaps tickling is, in the best cases, a kind of harmless sparring, like pillow fights, or snowball battles. Come to think of it, a snowball fight may be a good analogy. Although a face-full of snow is never pleasant, the snowball fight experience can be great fun, unless and until the game gets too rough, "too rough" being defined differently for different people, I'm sure.
There are not strong enough words in the English language for how much I hate tickling. I never liked it as far as I can remember, and the version that happens in high school is infinitely worse. Ha, I guess that is a form of affection that is best done electronically. ;)
What do you mean about being ashamed, Brenda? It does seem to be the case that most kids like tickling, but I know I wasn't a normal kid.
That's a good definition of tickled pink. I think that describes my reaction to those little things that delight me quite well.
When it's used in public to embarrass someone or to take advantage of an involuntary reflex. High school is a notorious place to be known as ticklish, because what teenager isn't going to make use of that information? (though they do tend to stab more than 'lightly stroke')
I was a tremendously ticklish child who grew up to be a tremendously ticklish adult. Funny how much we change sometimes, huh? It never bothered me to be helpless with hysterics until someone I didn't know and love took advantage of that information in public.
I have a friend who is so ticklish you merely have to point from across the room to send her into flushed giggles. She only shares that information with good friends, and we are careful to never take advantage of her good humor when it might make her uncomfortable. Staying sensitive to her potential embarrassment has kept her friends kind and her heart young.
My mom has been sending me old emails from high school that are still sitting on her computer. I find it amusing that a few she just sent were in part about ticking. Sadly, my half of the correspondence with my high school boyfriend is lost but apparently I gave a long explanation on why I didn't want to be tickled. I must point out that he brought the question up, which shows remarkable observation skills and he was also very sweet in accepting my requests. What a walk down memory lane. Now if I could only dig up those sonnets he wrote for me . . .
