Over the past weekend FavoriteBoy and I were privileged to hear three separate performances of an eight-part choral setting of Psalm 23, composed by a friend of ours, Dustin. Dustin is a senior in college; a down-to-earth, humble tenor who can fill a room with lush melodies and then run outside for a game of frisbee.
As a musician, daily I rub shoulders with people possessing beautiful gifts that mirror God's creativity. Holly moves air through her trombone and produces loud, clear tones. My young students slip their small violins beneath their chins, draw bows across strings, and learn the careful placement of fingers that bring notes off the page and turn them into melody. My own husband hears a complex symphonic work and recreates it by ear at the piano, or sits at the computer and uses music software to bring to life the compositions and arrangements in his mind. I lift my violin onto my shoulder and feel the cool smoothness of the wooden chinrest. It is altogether normal that my fingers can navigate the fretless black fingerboard to find the highest or lowest tones. Encountering these abilities daily, they seem mundane.
Hearing Dustin's piece sung over the weekend - an exquisite work with beautiful sonorities, intellectual text-painting, and soaring vocal lines - served as a reminder to me that the people I see, chat with, teach, and love every day all bear nothing less than the image of God. And I too am allowed to participate in this image-bearing, this God-given creativity.
My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.