Sing Psalms, Hymns and Spiritual Songs

Dear beloved friends,

As many of you know, I am a participant in the choir at my church. When my family first started attending Cedar Park Church, I was only seven years old. I remember watching the choir sing on Sunday mornings and being impressed with how organized they looked when they filed onstage (I later learned that there was no organization whatsoever to the lineup...). I joined the choir for a Christmas concert when I was 15 years old, loved it, couldn't leave, and have had the privilege of serving under several talented and godly choir directors for the past seven years.

Joining choir changed my life. It gave me a ministry outlet when I had none, and brought me into participation and involvement with the church. I learned about the importance of worship and the significance of personal ministry. Joining choir connected me to a network of friends and prayer partners, a familiar group of people who could lift me up in prayer when I needed it and whom I in turn could lift up in prayer. The first person I met in choir, Hanna-Mari, became a close friend and was always there for me, even helping to save the life of one of my own friends. And the memories I have of choir are many and precious! The organized chaos of crowding into the wings for Easter performances, sweating under a camel costume with my sister, late nights at practice for special events, the hundreds of Wednesday and then Thursday night rehearsals, CD recording projects in the chapel, and Pastor Lane's entertaining choir Sunday school.

The choir isn't only here to entertain (although sometimes, with plays and concerts, we do just that!). The choir is here to lead God's people into His Presence. Every time we sing, it is with prayerful spiritual and musical preparation - often in the face of tough spiritual warfare - with the intent of creating an atmosphere of praise. I have always thought of the choir as performing a Biblical, priestly duty. In the Bible, it was the head leader of the Levites, Kenaniah, who was the choir director (I Chron. 15:22). The Levites were the priestly tribe of the Israelites, and their duties were holy and sacred. They were set apart by God to carry the ark of the covenant - His Glory - to lead the Israelites, and to minister to Him and to bless His name (Deut. 10:8). The ark preceded the people in battle, in travels, in worship. The choir performs this duty in church - leading the congregation of people to the holy place, taking part in spiritual battle, and ministering to the Lord with worship and praise.

Many of the Psalms, and a prayer in Habakkuk, were written for the choirs to sing (and we still sing many of them to this day!). Nehemiah 12:46 says that "the custom of having choir directors to lead the choirs in hymns of praise and thanksgiving to God began long ago in the days of David and Asaph." Nehemiah also tells us that after the new wall of Jerusalem was built, choirs were sent to the tops of the walls to dedicate the structure and give thanks, illustrating the importance of their thanksgiving to the Lord. In Revelation, it is a great choir that sings before the throne of God, and in Luke, it is a heavenly choir that announces the Savior's birth to the shepherds.

Attending every rehearsal and performance is important to me, because it isn't just singing in choir, or hanging out with church friends. It is a sacred ministry, which should be performed with dedication and purpose. No time is wasted when we are furthering His Kingdom, and giving Him honor. No time is wasted when we are leading people closer to His presence, and blessing the Lord. Don't try to talk me out of missing a rehearsal or a Sunday morning service by saying it isn't important, or it's "just" choir ... because this is "just" my ministry to the Lord, this is "just" my pearl of great value.

Love and kisses,


Mrs H
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Mr. H is Joining the Navy

Dear interested and kind readers,

Many of you may have already heard the rapidly spreading news that Mr. H and I have made public his decision to soon join the United States Navy. When I originally set up this blog, it was with this pending decision in mind; I wanted to have a blog site where I could continue to update everybody about life as a navy wife, Gary's progress through training, and the lessons we learn on the difficult road of being apart and far away from each other. Mr. H and I discussed this thoroughly and deeply for the last year, and have only recently confirmed our decision and subsequently revealed it to family and a few friends.

We made it a priority that before he left for anything we would have been married and together for a minimum of a full year. This was a Biblical mandate for the Israelites, and we felt led to follow this restriction in order to develop our relationship and to have a firm foundation of marriage for when Mr. H must be absent.
"If a man has recently married, he must not be sent to war or have any other duty laid on him. For one year he is to be free to stay at home and bring happiness to the wife he has married." Deuteronomy 24:5, NIV

Allow me to quote a portion him so you can hear his own words about what he is going to do:

Ever since I was a young kid I dreamed of joining the Navy and serving my country as many before me had. It is a display of patriotism and undying love for God and Country, and I could never shake the idea of joining the military service.

If you have questions about anything, post them on my blog and we will answer them publicly so that everybody can see the answers.

We are both excited and passionate about this road he is taking - it is the calling the Lord has placed on his life, and to disregard would be to sin. To pursue it, is to be richly blessed in the fullness of His Word.

With love,


Mrs H
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The Hand of Providence, and a Touching Moment

Dear compassionate and caring readers,

A few months ago I found a new interest, thanks to a chance passing of a poster at our local YMCA. I learned that Providence Hospital here in Everett has an impressive number of ways to volunteer in their hospice program - everything from setting up fund-raising events to reading to a patient, from riding a motorcyle to vacuuming a house, from sewing quilts to keeping vigil while a patient passes away.

This opportunity to be part of alleviating the pain in someone's last few months, weeks, days, or minutes on earth found a certain place in my heart and intrigued me, so I attended an informational session and started gathering information on how I could be of help. (For those of you who are similarly interested - there are many ways to help and I can give you more information if you wish.)

I found they are in desperate need of sewing materials for pillows, lap quilts, blankets, mattress pads, and hospital gowns, and I posted a Facebook status asking if anybody had old clothing/sheets/shower curtains/batting/stuffing. I got several responses and I am so excited! I'm so grateful to those of you who are graciously donating materials - it means the world to somebody. The volunteer coordinator told me that their volunteer sewing teams will bring in bags of pillows, gowns, et cetera for the patients in one morning, and they'll be gone in a matter of hours.

At the informational session I attended, I sat next to an elderly woman whose husband had recently passed away. She was 87 years old (and didn't look a day over 70, at least, with soft skin and a sprightly step) and her husband had passed away in October. She said, "I'm not ready to help with hospice patients yet, but I would like to do office work. I appreciate so much the help you gave me during his illness before he passed away, and I would like to give back somehow."

As we left that evening to return to our cars, a tiny vignette played out that in a single instant spoke to me of both her fresh loss, and her many years of marriage and companionship. It broke my heart, but on the other hand I was reminded that as they say, the only thing better than new love is old love.

We walked out the front door, and she said goodnight and went to her car. Pausing at the passenger door, she said quietly to herself, "Oops - wrong side again."


Lovingly,


Mrs H
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Where oh where was the One Ring?

Dear faithful readers,

Some of you (I acknowledge my sister in this number) will claim that the ring was found at the bottom of a lake.

Not so.

A few days after the ring went missing, I ordered a bookshelf from Staples. It came on Monday and the next morning Gary assembled it for me. I was in the office rearranging boxes of books (ahem) in order to make room for the much-needed furniture. From deep beneath the desk, I pulled out a box in which we keep all of our printer reams and lifted the paper out.

There, in the bottom of the box, lay my ring.

My theories are as follows:

1) The day I lost the ring, I went to class. Before class, I printed out my notes guideline. If the printer was out of paper, I would have reached into the box to refill the printer. The ring conceivably could have slipped off, unnoticed, and like Marilla's amethyst brooch sank to the depths.

2) (And this is the more plausible theory) When I came home from school, imps stole the ring from my finger and hid it from me, just to cause trouble.

Many thanks for your prayers and encouragement, my friends! I am happy to be reunited with the Ring of Power.

Kindly,

Mrs H
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The Happiness That is Love

Dear readers, single and wed alike,

Valentine's Day has recently passed, and so the topic of love has been much fashionable in the news and popular media of late. I retrospected on the state of wedlock and my felicitous meeting with the man that was to become my better half, and determined it worth our collective time to share my budding thoughts with you.

In the moment of our union in the presence of God and many witnesses, it seemed to me that we instantly became one. I never felt a moment of dissonance or timidity in his presence, and felt the bond of friendship and companionship that truly God Himself has ordained for the coupled man and woman. Love was, as they say, in the air, since we met through the flight school which we both attended. We were married in the spring of 2009 and it has not been yet a full year of wedlock for us. Embittered and disillusioned couples are quick to inform us that love does not last, but I do not give their dry words merit. New wine should not be poured into old skins; I have seen the deepness of love, intertwined with the love of God, grow only stronger with time. It is this pure and holy love of selflessness that I pursue, not a fleeting and self-satisfying passion.

Mr. H is indeed all I could have asked for in a husband. He is patient, which is a requisite counterweight to my impatience and headstrong manner. He is slow to anger and always forgiving, and in reciprocation I am learning to be myself more forbearing and less aggrieved.

Several days before Valentine’s Day, I lost my wedding ring. This was in my eyes a tragedy – not only was the ring valuable in monetary terms but it had a special sentimental value. Mr. H had chosen it for me, a quality increasing its significance in my eyes. It was a token of his love, but Mr. H wisely reminded me that it was just that – a token – and that in life things get lost. The true gift is the love that the ring represents!

The one place where we cannot yet reconcile our differences is a small matter of what pilots call OAT – Outside Air Temperature. He is always an oven, and I am always a refrigerator, so drives are punctuated by the continual rolling of windows up and down, and the heater blasting on and shutting off.

But this is minor in the grand scheme, and it is Mr. H’s precaution to anticipate and fill my every need that brings the warm glow of appreciation and love to my heart; he thoughtfully prepares me food when he knows I will be coming home hungry, cleans the house when I am busy with work and school, turns his movie down when he sees me take out my phone to make a call, buys me small gifts out of the blue.

I am continually learning new things about this man I call Mine. Most recently, I happily informed him that in order to keep our tub clean, I had put a scrub brush in there so that we can scrub the walls after a shower if it looks dirty. He looked surprised and said he was already scrubbing it after showers. I looked in the shower and saw only the bottles of soap and my body-scrub brush. The innocent look on his face told me what he had been using!

My lover is mine, and I am his; Happy Valentine’s Day. Did I mention that I found my ring today?

Lovingly,


Mrs H
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A story about memory

Dear educated and interested readers,

Once upon a time, there was a man who suffered from anterograde amnesia, which is a serious condition where, following some sort of insult to the brain (via trauma or surgery), a person is unable to form long-term memories.
This man walked into a doctor's office and reached out to shake hands with the doctor - to his painful surprise, the doctor had a tack in his hand, which sharply pricked the patient's palm! The next day, this patient walked into the same office, and (having no memory, due to his amnesia) averred he had never met the doctor before. However, when the doctor reached out to shake his hand, the patient inexplicably answered, "I don't know why, but I am afraid to shake your hand!"

Now, let me tell you a story from my life that illustrates this same peculiar phenomena, and then I will explain to you why it takes place.

My friend Esther and I were riding our bikes on the interurban trail near where we live, and she told me (in more or less these words), "I'm always afraid I'll fall when we take the corners, because once when I was little I took a sharp corner up into a driveway. I fell and chipped my tooth, and my mouth was bleeding and I was all scratched up. Ever since then, I've been afraid I'll fall on the corners!"

Now for the explanation: As you probably know, there are several types of memory. There is declarative memory (for instance, facts), and procedural memory, which is made up of emotional and muscle memory. An example of muscle memory might be being able to tie your shoe, or type on the computer keyboard - you cannot exactly describe this to somebody, but your hands can do it seemingly "automatically" - that is to say, without the help of your declarative memory.
Emotional memory is also like this - we have emotional responses and reactions to things that we may not even be able to explain! These emotional memories seem to be stored in a structure in the brain called the amygdala (illustrated in the photo at right).

In Esther's case, she experienced intense fear and pain when her bike turned on the corner. Her brain associated the fear and pain with the action she was taking - turning on the corner - and now whenever she takes that action her amygdala sets off the alarms, warning her brain of what might happen again. This may seem very logical to us, but remember the man in the beginning of the story - he had no conscious, declarative memory of the event, but he was still, for some reason, afraid!

When I told this to Esther, she started laughing and told me another story. This story will nicely illustrate the phenomenon described in the beginning of this article.

"When I was little, I was at my friend Grace's house," she told me, "and I was pushing her on the tire swing. I pushed her too far, and she smacked her head into the tree! Of course, she went crying into the house, and I felt so bad. The other day Grace was at our house, and I asked her if she remembered the incident. She started laughing - and told me that she didn't remember me pushing her into the tree at all, but whenever she got onto the tire swing she was afraid, for some unexplainable reason, that she would hit the tree!"

You may actually know more than you know! With love and fond memories,


Mrs H
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