In my last post, I carried on with great self pity about losing my music. It must have sounded like enough of a prayer to get a response.
A man called and said he was bringing something over for me to keep for a while—a banjo. He’d upgraded and this one was just gathering dust. I once told him how I used to play a few years back, but with a burst of foolish generosity, I loaned mine out to someone and I never saw it again.
So, in spite of my previous complaints, I’ve been enjoying myself, learning again the chords and fingering, delighting the nursing home residents who, let’s face it, are not a tough audience. I also played for the children’s class today—they’d never seen a banjo up close.
No matter what I may have last written, I can’t deny that the banjo is simply fun. How can a person not enjoy playing one?
And then something else happened tonight with the children. We started working on the Christmas musical and we sang a verse that got me all misty:
“Hail the heaven born Prince of Peace. Hail the Sun of Righteousness…”
Regardless of my crises in faith and my frustration with the church, I am a follower of Jesus. And I am moved by the scene of angels singing for a poor baby in a feedbox who is really a King.
I have questions and challenges I often want to hurl at the Almighty. But when I see the baby boy who was born to heal and teach and save, I am unhesitating and unwavering in my loyalty.
I would love to have been there. I would have been happy to fall to my knees with hands raised to sing with the angels and offer allegiance to this baby King. In my heart, I still do, which is why, in the midst of depression and grief, I keep doing what I do.