Ear worm

These days I am spending time moving waves of children ("the Israelite army") in and out of a 30 x 12 foot space enclosed by blue painter tape on the floor of Fellowship Hall. We're rehearsing a musical titled "The Rock Slinger and His Greatest Hit" that includes 66 children, first grade through fourth. My colleague Janel teaches and directs the songs; a local dance teacher leads the kids in simple choreography; I figure out how to put the pieces together to tell the story. There's a small spark of creativity involved and a massive amount of problem-solving.

There's also the danger—tough on every adult who comes in contact with this show—of ear worms.

Ear worm is the term for a song that gets stuck in your head and won't go away. Over-exposure to a song can cause ear worms. When my daughter was young I sang "The Wheels on the Bus" constantly, sometimes to her, but mostly over and over again in my brain.

It's early morning as I write this, after a night spent wrestling with an ear worm from a song called "My God Is." Over and over again, in my sleeping and while I was awake. The song is sung first by little David as he resolves to fight Goliath, trusting in a God who is much bigger than the nine-foot bully he is about to face.—a God who is "taller than a mountain," "faster than a meteor," and many more such comparisons, sung on ever-rising intervals. We worked on the piece yesterday and while it's sounding pretty good, it doesn't look like much yet. So it's on my list of problems to be solved, and the amorphous mass of kids singing it appeared behind my closed eyes through the night.

"My God is this and more" says the lyric at the big key change. Big step forward for everyone on stage? Come together tighter as a group? Spread out? High fives with David—an easy-to-execute direction for kids this age? I don't know yet. But I did wake up thinking about "and more."

This has been a rough week. The news from Washington grows ever more disturbing. "Who Will Fight the Giant?" is another song in our show and it's a question that coming up in other contexts, not just the Old Testament battle between the Israelites and the Philistines who taunt them. (The kids in my show love to say Philistines. It's more phonetically expressive than "bullies.")

Closer to home there is the sadness and concern my daughter and I are feeling for vulnerable people after a sudden death in that family. "Taller than a mountain" and "stronger than a panther" don't seem to answer the needs of people in this situation--maybe they're not the words for any of us when we're riding the bumps in the atmosphere that remind us that we are all vulnerable, that we will all die, that sadness is a big part of life and not one to be batted away with swelling music and proclamations of power.

Where is God? My God is -- what?

I'm not looking at the power in nature (though it's nice to see the sun today). But other signs and wonders appeared yesterday.

The kind and concerned hearts of those who rushed in to do the hard, loving work of caring for people trying to comprehend sudden loss. The fierce advocacy of Ady Barkan, testifying before Congress about healthcare, using his own battle with ALS to make life better for others. My God is found in these kinds of places.

I hope, too, that God will be found in me today, in lightness and hope as I am patient with my own sadness and vulnerability, and in skill in clearing away obstacles to children telling a story about God siding with a vulnerable young boy.

Peace!