MONDAY MORNING MUSINGS

Musings - to mull over something . . .to ruminate. RUMINATE. That's me. I remember the first time I came across that word and recognized myself as a RUMINATOR. I laughed. I thought it sounded like some new kind of vacuum cleaner. But that's me. I ruminate. Too much, sometimes. And, frankly, it's rarely ever funny. I mull the things that bother me over and over and over and over again. I chew on them until little is left of their original fiber.

And.

So.

This Monday morning I find myself musing about music and wondering why I'm so weird. And, yes - I *am* weird. That's not up for debate. The fact that music has the ability to affect our souls isn't up for debate either. Anybody who has ever watched a movie has had their emotions manipulated by the background music. Music has the ability to soothe. Look in scripture at how David's gentle harp playing and songs soothed King Saul when his mental mania raged. And music has the ability to stir. Doesn't the pace of the background music in films alert you to the coming climax? Think Jaws. Didn't we all hear that ominous bridge of notes in our minds for months after that movie?

I guess the debate that prompts my personal musing this morning is WHY some music affects me the way it does. Why does LOUD music with a heavy drum beat (what some would refer to as "ROCK" music) completely shut me down in spirit? Why does it tie me in knots inside? Why does it make me awaken hours later feeling agitated and anxious? Other people enjoy it. A lot! Why can't I?

This isn't new. It would be nice to blame it on the fact that I am old. I have gray hair and skin as heavily lined as a road map. I am a bonafide "senior citizen" on Medicare.  It would be nice to say I'm just old and set in my ways and don't like new-fangeled music. But that'simply not true.

When I was a teenager Elvis Presley was at his hey day. All my friends were crazy about him. They plastered his pictures all over their bedroom walls. They screamed at his concerts and swooned when he gyrated his hips. I hated him. (And, yes. I understand that it is blasphemy to say you hated Elvis when you live in the very town where he was born. In later years, I learned to appreciate his incredible talent and enjoy much of his music. But, when I was a teenager - I hated him. Just sayin'.) I hated "rock & roll" - and preferred the mellow sounds of artists like Pat Boone.

When my children were teenagers in the 80's, the "hair" bands and heavy metal groups were all the rage. They loved them. I hated them. I'm sure my now-adult kids still remember with disdain that they only time they could play their music loud enough to be heard outside their rooms was if Momma was not at home!

And now, ROCK music (for want of a better word) . . . LOUD music with a rapid pace and HEAVY drum beat . . . has entered the church and many call it WORSHIP. Last night, we had a visiting band to lead our worship where I attend church. They were dedicated young men with a heart for God and beautiful spirits. All of them are totally committed to serving God in ministry. And.  They were incredibly talented musicians. Their music was fast-paced and it was LOUD. Very. Loud. All around me, people were worshiping. Young people. Old people. Middle-aged people. Teenagers. It didn't matter. They were singing along, moving to the music and lifting hands and hearts in worship.

All the while, I, who greatly enjoy contemporary Christian music, tried to focus on the God-honoring lyrics. I tried to pray the words of praise I could not sing. But with every crash of the drums, with every squeal of the electric guitar, with every shout of one of the vocalists, my spirit shut down - down - down . . . until I felt like a wound coil about to spring . . . until I literally wanted to run from the building.  What's wrong with me? Why can other people enjoy that kind of music and I can't?

Monday morning musings. Questions unanswered. I'm different. I'm weird. Is that okay?

Oh, praise You, precious Abba. I don't have to have answers. I can be weird and still know that I am accepted in the Beloved. I love you Lord . . . and I lift my voice to worship You . . . even if it's to a soft slow rhythm.