(via Instapaper)
(via Instapaper)
I recorded my electric on a clean combo amp in my iPad GarageBand. Sounds so sweet and soothing.
Let me know what you think.
“Isaac, who had a taste for wild game, loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob.”
Even before I had kids of my own, this story haunted me. My own mom and uncle both claimed that the other was “Mom’s and Dad’s favorite” and I silently swore I’d never prefer any kid of mine over another because I saw the bitterness, the identity-undermining disaster it was for Jacob and Esau (as well as Buddy and Norma).
That verse so naked and honest - Dad liked to eat what his oldest caught and Mom liked having someone who’d hang around the house with her.
It’s so black and white that it reviles me and I just shudder and pray, asking what I am preferring in my kids. What am I predisposed to welcome and what will it take more work to appreciate?
The secret to not playing favorites is going to the field when I’d rather be inside and bumming around the house when I think the best of life is outdoors.
I hope I can hear the Spirit calling me to be where my children need me to be so I can call out the greatness of their unique gifts - even when they aren’t the gifts I’m predisposed to enjoy.
But Abram said, “Sovereign LORD, what can you give me since I remain childless and the one who will inherit my estate is Eliezer of Damascus?”
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m guessing that when you are a Mesopotamian millionaire with no son and you’re in your eighties, you spend a lot of time thinking about the guy that gets your cash when you’re gone.
If you know the rest of Abram’s story, though, you know that every thought he ever had about that man in worry was completely wasted. Fruitless. What else could he have been thinking about for better use? His wife? Earning more money? Anything….
Makes me wonder what I obsess over and am sure is important that completely won’t matter…
Ha. Someday your Isaac/Ringo will come, too.
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret…
