Why I Don’t Want to Get Rid of That Trap Set that Once Gave Me a Headache!

We have a flashy trap set in our basement.

We bought it a few years ago when our firstborn convinced us that it was time to trade his trumpet for drum sticks and rock-star dreams.

When we first got those drums, Luke would go down into the basement and just pound away. Our whole house would pulse with his throbbing “music”; and by the end of the week, I’d begun to second guess our decision to buy that trap set.

But, then, our drummer boy began to take lessons from a master.

She taught him how to lift his sticks and pause.

And how to pay attention to those black squiggles that lingered on the pages of his songs.

 She showed him how to create rhythm with rests.

And, in time, my son’s noise became music.

His pounding became fodder for dance moves instead of a prescription for headaches.

Now when Luke heads to the basement to pound away on those shiny music makers, I rarely cover my ears and second guess our decision to splurge on a drum set.  Instead, I find myself grooving while I do the dishes or humming the lyrics to those pulsing rhythms of praise.

In fact, I’ll let you in on a secret: even when my firstborn soars out of this nest, I hope we’ll still have a few more drummers in the family.

Because my son isn’t the only one who has learned a thing or two from those drums  over the past few years.

 His mama has gleaned some powerful truths from that trap set, too.

And I don’t suppose that the lessons I’m learning are all that different than the timeless lesson God has tried desperately to teach His children through the ages.

 

You see, the Master of Life knows the secret to finding a rhythm of joy lies not in all the pounding, but in the pausing. 

 It is rest that turns our noisy lives into music; rest that transforms the plodding of our days into melodies of praise. 

 And so sometimes, when the staccato din of our days grow too loud to hear the music streaming from our Maker’s heart, we are wise to sprinkle a few black squiggles into our ordinary routine…

To stop and listen for the timeless tune of grace.

To let our souls catch their breath and inhale beauty.

In her moving book, Rest, Keri Wyatt Kent wisely writes:

There is power in stopping, especially for restless souls like me. I don’t mean stopping and never going again.

That would make life pretty boring. But running without stopping also depletes life of meaning. 

They say insanity is when you keep doing the same ting over and over, expecting different results. So if running like crazy equals getting nowhere, then it’s a little crazy to think that more running could ever equal getting somewhere.  

To get somewhere instead of nowhere, I need to change the first half of the equation. I need to stop. 

So, that’s what I’m doing this week. I’m stopping. And listening.

I’m splashing in mountain streams with my kids. And pausing to notice the snowcaps on those massive peaks reaching for Heaven.

And sipping coffee with my husband as the sun rises.

And I’m savoring the song that’s been there all along. 

 I’ve just been pounding out the hours too loud to notice. 

I’ll be back with a new tune to share next week! Thanks for grace as I get away.

*Oh, and by the way, thanks to all who spread the word about my dear friend, Rachel’s new novel, Mother of My Son. Carol A. Banks was the lucky winner of the copy of that amazing summer’s read.

However, if you’d like a copy of your own, Rachel’s Kindle book is only $4.99 at Amazon today (and every day!)