1985 (Part I)

"But I trust in Your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in Your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord,

for He has been good to me."

Psalm 13:5-6, NIV

Prayer works.

I grew up in a family that valued prayer and used it numerous times on a daily basis. Naturally, I acquired a passion for prayer because I saw how genuine and faithful my parents were about praying. There were times when logic dictated that we should lose our home because my parents could not come up with the payment on time. We would call to God and, in time, the needed sum would be provided to us through a generous benefactor or through the blessing of one of my older siblings finding an odd job that would net enough funds for us to make the payment.

Prayer matters.

I remember vividly the day we sat down for breakfast and Manmie calmly announced that we had no sugar for our oatmeal and no prospect for lunch or dinner. I let that sink in. Then I looked at the somber faces of my older siblings and boldly said that I would pray for sugar and for food for the rest of the day. I prayed a short but direct prayer.

After the prayer was over, we began eating our oatmeal and, to my amazement, it tasted sweet.

I was truly excited!

At the end of the meal, a knock on the front door led Manmie to open the door to a friend of the family who brought to us two bags of rice, all kinds of vegetables, a jug of oil, and some chickens. God answered my prayer right then and there. I was hooked!

Prayer prepares.

On New Year's Eve (31 December 1984), I accompanied my family to the local church, Eglise Baptiste de Bolosse, in order to attend an annual service of gratitude and devotion to God -- bidding farewell to the previous year and dedicating the year 1985 to the Lord.

The service began at 9:00 pm and ended shortly past midnight. It was packed with testimonies, songs, prayers, and words of encouragement. However, what I remember most is the presentiment I had that 1985 was going to be a major faith-stretching season in my life.

The year 1985 was the year when I moved from primary school to secondary school in Haiti -- a transition that carried with it psychological, spiritual, financial, physical, and intellectual concerns that lodged a foreboding sense of dread to my troubled heart and mind.

I was concerned about so much -- both the known and the unknown. I was worried that my transition into secondary school would simply be a repetition of my starting kindergarten with all the rejection, ridicule, and bullying I endured in the process. I was also worried over facing new teachers, new peers, new subjects, new challenges, new failures, and the like.

So, that New Year's Eve night, I poured my heart out to the Lord in prayer.

I moaned.
I sighed.
I sang.
I wept.

As it turned out, there was nothing better to do as I welcomed 1985. That year came and did not disappoint me one bit. Its numerous challenges did more than stretch my faith; they directed me to trust more fiercely in God, the Leader of my life.

Father, I live in a world where fear is as readily available as the air I breathe. It is so easy for me to give in to a sense of dread and mental paralysis, so overwhelmed am I by fear-inspiring circumstances. Please remind me that You are near. Please teach me that You are in control and can always be trusted. Please open my mouth to join Job's voice in saying, "I know that You can do all things; no plan of Yours can be thwarted." Teach me to follow You with confidence and faith. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

Waiting

Wait!
Hurry up.
Just a minute, please.
How much longer is it going to take?

The above dialog is a fair/faithful script that depicts two particular characters holding opposing views. Both characters have a strong presence in my heart. On the one hand there is Mr. Life (circumstances) which delights in forcing me to wait, and on the other there is my inner voice which seems to rebel against patience at every occasion.

Wait, Lou, wait!

It seems that my entire life has been a laboratory for me to learn the ABCs of patience. My mom informed me that I was born almost two weeks past her due date. I was three months old when Manmie got sick and I was left into the care of others until she recovered. So, even as a baby, I was granted the opportunity to learn the art of waiting.

Wait, little baby, wait!

I was about to turn 4 years old when my family left the remote mountains of northern Haiti and moved to Port-au-Prince so that my older siblings and I could pursue our formal education. The house into which we moved had not been completed yet, contrary to the agreement between Papi and the contractor. The living area was the only room that was complete with a roof. The other rooms in our modest house were completely exposed to the elements.

We arrived in Port-au-Prince just in time for the rainy season. Night after night, Manmie had to shield us from the rain with whatever item she could find. According to my family, I eagerly encouraged my family to pray for the workers to finish the roof. Those memories of waiting in the wet rain still seem bereft of any sign of patience on my part.

Wait, little toddler, wait!


As I grew older, I was provided with ample opportunities to become increasingly more desirous of speed, alacrity, and immediacy in the ways things were done in Haiti.

I wanted missionaries to meet the numerous needs facing them at a faster pace.
I wanted pastors to minister to their parishioners as soon as problems surfaced.
I wanted the women carrying baskets full of produce to arrive at the public markets earlier.
I wanted my classmates to accept, embrace, praise, and love me more readily.
I wanted everything to happen as soon as the wish popped into my head.

Wait, little boy, wait!

By the time I was 10 years old, I had already convinced myself that I deserved better in life:

-  Better circumstances
-  Better food
-  Better health
-  Better friends
-  Better family
-  Better country
-  Better everything

Such convictions resulted in an attitude that reflected the arrogance that I knew better than God did in terms of what I deserved and when I should receive what I thought I deserved. I did not realize that God really knew what He was doing in causing me to learn the art of waiting. There were battles to win, sorrows to overcome, failures to surmount, and mountains to climb -- none of which could have happened without acquiring the wisdom that comes through a season of waiting.

So, at 10 years of age, I was  made aware that I was embarking upon a journey of patience for the rest of my life. It became evident to me, then, that God will always use any combination of pain and pleasure in His timeline for His greater purposes and that the manner in which I respond to His timing will determine whether or not I will let those opportunities for growth slip by me untapped or unused.

Wait, precious child, wait!

"Wait for the Lord, 

be strong and take heart 

and wait for the Lord." 

Psalm 27:14, NIV

Father, infuse my veins with the passion and power to accept seasons of waiting as lessons of wisdom from Your loving hand. In Christ alone, I pray. Amen.

Wanting (Part II)

A couple of hours after I finally fell asleep, I was awakened by other family members who were preparing themselves for a brand new day. Since it was a Thursday, I quickly stepped out of bed in order to attend the neighborhood prayer meeting that regularly took place on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 5:00 am. Upon arriving there, I soon felt warm all over by the blazing fire of the Holy Spirit through the fervent prayers of the people gathered together.

I simply sat there.
I savored the delicious and holy nectar.
I saturated my heart, mind, and ears, listening rivetedly.
I soaked myself with the brook of prayer bubbling all around me.

Then, something exciting happened to me.

God touched me.
God talked to me.
God tossed His fire at me.
God turned His face toward me.

I understood at that moment that, despite the strongly alluring nature of my "wanting" (the ever-consuming lust of the heart of man), its pull is quite insignificant compared to the "wanting" of my all-powerful God -- a divine longing that is altogether holy, perfect, uncompromising, unending, all-encompassing, ever-reaching, and joy-producing.

On that early morning, I learned and sensed how clearly God functions through His "wanting":

God wants me.
God wants all of me.
God wants to guide me.
God wants to hear and heal me.
God wants to touch and transform me.
God wants to restore, strengthen, and uphold me.

God wants my heart, not my sacrifices and rituals.
God wants my hands to be laborious, fruitful, and productive.
God wants my head to be filled with thoughts that are pure and lovely.

God wants me to share my entire being with Him -- my days, nights, concerns, heartaches, dreams, hopes, successes, failures, ups, downs, doubts, fears, joys, sorrows, plans, victories, sufferings, pleasures, etc.

God wants me to be His, and His alone.

God's heart spoke with such clarity and boldness that everything else disappeared around me. Unconsciously, I stopped paying attention to what was happening during the service. I heard no intelligible word, no memorable song, no specific message from the congregants during that entire prayer meeting.

What I did gain, however, was a vibrant sense of understanding -- a keen awareness of why God sent Jesus on His earthly mission. This awareness made me unite my voice with that of Job asking:

"What is man that You make so much of him,

that You give him so much attention,

that You examine him every morning,

and test him every moment?"

Job 7:17-18, NIV

God loves people because, in them, He has deposited His spirit.
God desires human praise because He inhabits the praise of His people.
God longs for the creatures He has created because they are made into His likeness.
God yearns to save all of mankind from doom and despair, offering them hope through the cross.

God wants me.

Precious Father, thank You for desiring all of me. Help me to never forget that I am special in Your eyes -- a masterpiece created in Christ Jesus to good works which God prepared in advance for me to do. May Your "wanting" guide me to follow You gratefully for the rest of my life. Amen!

Wanting (Part I)

"The Lord is my Shepherd,

I shall not want."

Psalm 23:1

Close in rank with John 3:16, the 23rd Psalm is a very famous passage of biblical scripture that has penetrated many remote areas in the world, though not all. So, it is not unusual for a 10-year old boy to know the entire psalm from memory. At that age, I had been reciting Psalm 23 for so long and so frequently that I stopped paying attention to the meaning of the actual text.

One evening, I was having trouble falling asleep when, as a silent exercise, I began reciting Psalm 23 in French, "L'Eternel est mon berger, je ne manquerai de rien." The literal translation from the French is, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I will lack nothing." 

That stopped me cold.

Lacking nothing? 

Whom am I kidding?
Whom am I trying to trick?


I thought to myself, "Living in Haiti is living in lack." At the very least, I lacked sleep that night. As for the rest, my busy mind continued to inventory my state of lack: 

I lacked good food, loads of money, a nice home, a sense of satisfaction, a feeling of acceptance, a sense of belonging, an awareness of my real identity . . .

I could not really put my finger on it but, somehow, that night I began questioning my sense of lack. Am I really lacking the objects described above or am I simply wanting them? Further questioning revealed that those were mere samples of a multitude of wants, desires, and cravings that rushed through my head and crowded my heart that night. I realized while lying on that small twin size bed that "wanting" has characterized my heart.

Wanting to own

Wanting to have

Wanting to acquire

Wanting to possess

Wanting to control

Wanting to boast

Wanting to matter

Wanting to master

Wanting to be . . .

Wanting to be needed
Wanting to be wanted

Wanting to be sought after

Wanting to be celebrated and recognized and praised and . . .

All of a sudden, I became incredibly aware of the full power and the great danger of this wanting -- it is overwhelming, unrelenting, and heart-numbing. 

Could I be the only one consumed with wanting?

"For everything in the world --

the cravings of sinful man,

the lust of his eyes

and the boasting of what he has and does --

comes not from the Father but from the world."

1 John 2:16, NIV

A profound mystery unlocked itself in the deep recesses of my heart -- this wanting is covetousness; it is the dissatisfaction with my plight and the constant search for what others have. It is sin; it is lust. It is the antithesis of the love that God wants me to have, the complete opposite of the contentment to which I must aspire. It is in direct contradiction with what God's love tells me to do.


Lust says, "Gimme, gimme."
Love says, "What can I give away?"
Lust says, "What about me?"
Love says, "What about God? What about others?"
Lust says, "I want to spend this moment in this manner."
Love says, "I want to spend the rest of my life in the ways of God."
Lust says, "I want my preferences to be satisfied now regardless of others."
Love says, "I want to always give in to God's choices and standards. I want to do only that which will exalt God's name. I want to ennoble, encourage, and edify others."


I finally fell asleep close to dawn . . . but my heart is still awake, seeking to understand how to yield all my wants, cravings, choices, desires, and preferences to the Master.


Father, thank You for loving me so much that You'd want me to understand the 'wanting' that has lodged itself within my breast. Help me to say no to lust -- learning to want You and You alone. Shepherd my heart to follow You completely with joy and satisfaction. Amen!

Leaky Roof

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . .
. . . these are a few of my favorite things."
                    -- Rodgers and Hammerstein from The Sound of Music

Yes, I love rain.
I have always loved rain.
I love the crescendo of the rain.
I love the pitter-pattering feet of the rain.
I love the sweet coolness that comes from the rain.
I love the fragrant aroma of the sun-baked soil after the rain.

Certainly, the sound of raindrops falling on tin roofs has to be one of the most comforting memories of my childhood. Ah! Each time it rained, I would seek to grab a blanket relishing the thought of sleeping myself into oblivion or bliss.

Yet, Miss Rain and I had a love-hate relationship.

"Rain, rain, go away,

Come again some other day."

  -- English Nursery Rhyme

I did not know the above rhyme as a 10-year old in Haiti but I was no stranger to the annoyance and the complaining spirit that it conveys. Said frustration stemmed from one main issue:

A leaky roof.

Without fail, after the initial few minutes of blissful contentment, an icy droplet would splash on my head or back or eyes or any other part of my body, jolting me back into reality. Our house had a leaky roof and no matter how hard Manmie and Papi tried to fix it, they simply could not come up with enough money to repair the damage during that season of our lives. So, every single room in the house suffered severely from that condition.

My annoyance turned into embarrassment or shame in the early part of December of 1984 when an American family came over on a friday evening. That day, we had all helped with the cleaning and cooking before their arrival because, though very humble and modest, we wanted our house to look and smell clean. I was feeling awfully proud to see how well the visit was going when the first raindrop tapped its invasive and unwelcome foot on the roof.

Oh no!

Soon, everyone was scurrying around and about grabbing bowls, jars, and buckets to collect water from the million leaks our roof revealed to our guests. Plastic covers were placed on tables, beds, chairs, and . . . even, our guests. I was really ashamed of appearing so poor in the eyes of our guests!

Then, out of the blue, this verse came to my head,

"Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Matthew 5:3, NIV

God's Word helped me see the height of my pride. I saw how intent I was on impressing that family. I saw how impossible it was for a poor Haitian boy to wow the eyes of first-world American guests. I saw how, in God's eyes, my family still had value despite our lack of means to fix a leaky roof. I saw how important it was to serve others regardless of how inadequate I felt about the gifts I had to offer.

In the end, the leaky roof became a teacher for my heart. It taught me how I need to be so secure and grounded in Christ, that come rain or shine, I will remain a humble servant seeking to please Him in my interactions with people.

Father, I am a leaky roof on this journey of faith. Please, cover and fill my holes with Your essence so that I will be rainproof when the downpour of crises threaten to bring me down. Kill my pride and help me to serve others humbly and joyfully as I follow You. Amen!

Gossip

Hey!
Have you heard?
Have you noticed?
Has anyone told you that . . . ?


Barely audible, the whisper of my classmate penetrated my eardrum and I was introduced to the inner circle of a privileged group. The cool kids finally found me worthy of their company. They began sharing with me all kinds of things -- books, food items, songs, and . . . privileged information about people.

Did you know that so and so's dad is sleeping around?
Did you see the dress that girl was wearing?
Did you hear what the teacher said to that boy about his history assignment?
Did you find out anything else about so and so's brother?

This sharing soon led me to experience the addicting nature of a powerful drug, namely gossip.

I tasted it.
I relished it.
I imbibed it.
I devoured it.

The more of it I consumed, the more stimulated and intensified my desire for it grew. My ear perked up as soon as I heard, "Lou, you'll never believe what I just heard at recess" or "Wait till I tell you about what happened to so and so."

Deep inside, I couldn't quite understand why I enjoyed listening to gossip so much. I had not yet learned Proverbs 26:22 which reads,

"The words of a gossip are like choice morsels;

they go down to a man's inmost parts."

I did not realize that gossip acts like an intelligent spider who is constantly on the lookout for a prey.
I was thus lured into and enticed by its intricate web. 
I did not realize that gossip is akin to an ocean that grows wild and turbulent the more it rains.
I was mercilessly and foolishly engulfed by its powerful waves.

Having completely forgotten that I often was gossip material for others, I delved into it by staying close to gossip providers. One afternoon, there were four of us playing games together -- a slightly older boy and two of my "friends." They began talking and the topic turned to a particular teacher at the primary school. Their comments were neither flattering nor respectful toward said teacher but, since I just sat there and listened, I felt that I had nothing to fear.

The next day, I was minding my own business in class when my name was called. The principal came and escorted me to the classroom of the teacher whose name was slandered by my "friends." That teacher administered corporal punishment to me and the other boy in front of her entire class -- It was so  humiliating for both of us!

Apparently, fearing that the older boy and I might tell on them, my two "friends" outsmarted us and put the blame on us first. It mattered not that I tried several times to rectify that point, the fact that I had spent so much time with those kids rendered my words unreliable. I was already known as a gossip by association. Oh, the shame of bad company!

"Bad company corrupts good character."

1 Corinthians 15:33, NIV

Deadly.
Dreadful.
Dangerous.
Despicable.
Destructive.

What a deplorable portrait! The tongue was never meant to be used as an agent of destruction; instead, it should be used to encourage others.

So, as a 10-year old, I learned the wisdom of being wary of "friends" who enjoy bad-mouthing others to me. I wish I could say that I have clearly and diligently avoided association with such persons. I wish I could say that I have completely refrained from participating in gossip. One thing remains true, however, I keep praying that God will keep me resolute and vibrant as I seek to say:

"I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin;

I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."

Psalm 39:1

Father, thank You for showing me the need to be stripped of the wiles and filthy rags of gossip. Help me to wear instead the garments of praise and encouragement wherever I go so that I may follow you in love, in spirit, and in truth. Amen!

Ti Pa Lou: A New Name

"Come, all you who are thirsty,

come to the waters;

and you who have no money,

come, buy and eat!"

Isaiah 55:1, NIV

Ti Pa Lou.

Pronounced "tee-pah-loo," Ti Pa Lou means "little father Lou."

An endearing nickname, I was dubbed Ti Pa Lou by my parents and siblings at some point during my childhood. However, on a particular day in the fall of 1984, it took on special significance in my mind and had a profound impact on my faith.

A close relative paid my family a visit and offered me a $5.00 bill as a present. Since, back then, that was a lot of money for a little 10-year old, I began thinking of ways I could spend my wealth.

There was this soccer ball I wanted.
But, the neighborhood boys would snatch it away from me.


I could replace my toy trucks and cars that my classmates destroyed.
But, they would only get snatched away from me yet again.


I could purchase several romance novels.
But, my conscience reminded me of their effect on my heart.


I could go to the little convenience store and get all the food I can eat.
But, food . . .


Food!

Why, yes, of course. Food is exactly what I should purchase.

My mouth began watering as I thought of rice and beans, fried chicken, almonds, lemonade, marinades, fried plantains, cookies, cassava bread, mangos, and mangos, and mangos . . . I could eat for days on this newly acquired wealth.

Almost imperceptibly, a few little thoughts crept into my brain.
Would I really get food just for me? 
Would I really be content to fill my stomach while the rest of the family goes . . . hungry?

As if by lightning, I was struck with the sudden awareness that my whole family was hungry. In my mind, I replayed that morning's events -- we ate some pan-roasted corn and peanuts for breakfast, and drank cold water. Lunch consisted of a broth made out of two onions and a few carrots served with dry biscuits. My stomach was growling and I am sure I heard even louder sounds coming from the bellies of my older siblings.

Without saying a word, I went to the kitchen and surveyed our pantry shelves . . . Zilch! Nada. Does that mean that dinner was really not going to happen?

I quickly went to the store and bought enough supplies to make sandwiches for the entire family. I also bought enough orange colas (a favorite drink in the 1980s in Haiti) for everyone. I enlisted the help of a boy in the neighborhood to help me carry my groceries home.

Upon arriving home, I announced:

"Men soupe pou tout moun!" . . . "Here's dinner for everyone!"

Everyone ate to their hearts' content and thanked Ti Pa Lou profusely. It was in the middle of the night that I realized how fitting it was for "little father Lou" to seek to feed his family just like the Son of God fed the multitudes.

That experience continues to inspire me to feed people -- I love to cook! I love to feed people! Yet, as much as I love cooking for and feeding people, I am much more inspired and excited to nourish hearts and souls. I make it a daily practice to engage in my vocation: To encourage hearts.

And that is only possible because God made me recognize my need to go to His banqueting table daily, feeding upon His nutritious and nourishing Word.

"The poor will eat and be satisfied;

they who seek the Lord will praise Him."

Psalms 22:26, NIV

Father, I thank You for feeding me, encouraging me, and filling me with Your Holy Word. Help me to follow in Your footsteps as I seek to feed and fill others with You. May I exude You in all I do! Amen.

Adieu

It was a Sunday.

The air was humid; the sky was gray.

He came on a Sunday.

The visit was brief; he breathed his last on a Tuesday.

Summer of 1984

All summer long, I heard about my cousin's strange illness but I did not see him. I was in Port-au-Prince; he was in Anse-Rouge. Though not too far geographically speaking, those two cities might as well be as far apart as Tokyo is from Toronto. Since my family lacked the funds for all eight of us to pay him a visit, Manmie and an older sibling of mine made the trek to see him in the middle of the summer.

Trusting in the fervency of Manmie's prayer life, I was convinced that she would come back with news of healing.

Why would it be otherwise?
After all, God does listen to our pleas and does answer our prayers.
Manmie is a righteous woman -- I was certain God would heal my cousin.

Yet, upon their return, Manmie and my older sibling brought to my family a very odd report -- my cousin's disease had no name and, therefore, no diagnosis and no prognosis. There was no cure, no plan for my cousin's healing or recovery.

What?
What could that possibly mean?
Would he actually . . . I mean, die at such a young age? 

I never once entertained the thought that I should be concerned about losing someone so beloved, so vibrant, so young. I simply thought an unusual ailment was afflicting his body for a while but, in time, he would be healed and I would see him again.

I did see him again.
He was not healed.
I did see him again.
He was quite changed.


October 1984


On a stifling Sunday afternoon, I was home alone when an urgent knock interrupted my reverie. It was the watchman from the nearby campus announcing that my cousin and two companions had just arrived and they needed help with their luggage. I barely thanked him and was on my way -- I couldn't wait to see my cousin.

I saw him . . .
. . . and, unfortunately, time froze.

Sick.
Scary.
Scrawny.
Skeletal.


Those were the words that came to mind as my eyes fell upon the bony and unflattering frame of the once sturdy and strong cousin of mine.

Sadly, his eyes picked up on my horror and shock (to my shame).

"Lou, don't you give up on your cousin now!"

As those words fell from his lips, I regained my composure and helped as best I could. Moments later, the rest of my family returned home. Manmie was soon at his bedside, helping him, praying with him, talking to him, reading to him. We all took turns being with him.

Happily, he said, "I know that I will recover, now that I am here in this house of prayer."

"Surely, he will recover," I thought.
I trusted so completely in the power of Manmie's prayers.

When Monday came, Manmie took him to see our family doctor and the trip was too much for him. Exhausted and depleted of any remaining strength in his body, he came home in the afternoon and I could tell that his condition was worsening by the hour. Manmie told us what the doctor said and I braced myself. That night, my cousin did not sleep a wink.

On Tuesday morning, I stayed behind while my siblings went to school. I stood behind the door  looking into the room where my cousin lay on the bed. Manmie and my uncle were both holding him when he began to talk -- his voice took on a silvery tone.

He asked Manmie to pray and as she was praying, he breathed his last.

I was no stranger to death.
I had seen strangers die before.
I became estranged to death.
I had never seen a loved one die before.

My cousin's death affected my faith more than I allowed any other family member to know. The pain was so intense that it grew more and more difficult for me to trust in God. Why did God not answer Manmie's prayers? Does prayer really work? Why would God take someone so young, so kind, so compassionate, so wonderful? What is the purpose of such a loss? How could I ever let him go?

I could not make sense of my jumbled, confused thoughts in the months that ensued. In fact, it took years and years of maturing to realize that my cousin's brief stay was a special gift that taught and nurtured my heart. His sickness, brief visit, and death were treasures placed within my heart by God to reveal His truth to me:

God wants me to see people through His eyes, not through mine.
God wants me to trust in Him, not in the power of Manmie's prayers.
God wants me to learn that each illness is a teaching opportunity for wisdom.
God wants me to view each relationship as a brief visit filled with patience and tender care.
God wants me to engage in helping the sick through prayer, words of encouragement, and love.
God wants me to realize that death comes unannounced and uninvited to family, friends, and foes.
God wants me to know that His calling my loved ones home does not mean He doesn't care about me.

So, long after my cousin died, I finally learned to bid him adieu, welcoming God's peace into my heart.

Father, I thank you for the gift of the loved ones You have placed on my path. May I accept that You love them more than I ever could. Help me to learn all You want to teach me through their brief sojourn on earth and may I walk ever more confidently with You till the end of my days! Amen.

Music: A Spiritual Blessing

"Praise be to God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ

who has blessed us in the heavenly realms

with every spiritual blessing in Christ!"

Ephesians 1:3, NIV

At the age of 9, I knew that music was my passion and my joy. I knew I was grateful to God for the gift of music. I knew that I could not keep myself from singing, listening to music, dreaming of music, and entertaining thoughts of becoming a great musician someday.

Music is my blood.

I grew up in a family where music was heard all the time. My sister's radio was almost always on a station that played music all day long. Papi played the trumpet, sang beautifully, and was a choir director. Manmie sang to me and taught me numerous songs and choruses. My siblings and I sang in four-part harmony, one brother played the guitar, the other brother played both the guitar and the trumpet, one sister played the trumpet, and together we made music quite often.

Music is my inspiration.

I was greatly inspired by a pianist from my church. I remember sitting on the piano side of the church just so I could watch his fingers flying, gliding, and dancing up and down the ivory keys. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

I was also inspired by a classical guitarist from my church who was so incredibly talented that his music would bring me to tears. Heavenly sounds emanated from his guitar when he played Softly and Tenderly, Amazing Grace, and The Old Rugged Cross.

Choral music from my church also brought great inspiration to me as an aspiring musician. The singers sang with passion whether they were singing with or without instrumental accompaniment. The rich harmonies gave me goosebumps as I listened to them sing Sunday after Sunday.

Though I loved listening to many musicians, there was one specific singer from the church of my childhood who inspired me like no one else. Her contralto voice was like none other possessing a dark and rich timbre and depths of passion the likes of which I cannot begin to describe. I decided that I would become a singer who would sing the praises of God just like her.

Music is my spiritual blessing.

But I did not realize music was a spiritual blessing in Christ. I did not realize that music was being used by God to draw me closer to Him. I did not realize that, through the song texts I absorbed, a deep and rich spiritual message was being deposited into my heart. I did not realize that God was merely renewing His invitation to me for greater intimacy with Him. I did not realize that my heart was being primed to long for the greatest love available to humans -- the agape love of Christ.

Father, Your attention to detail, nuance, and contour simply never ceases to amaze me on this journey of faith. You spare no expense, You waste no opportunity, and You neglect no effort to draw me closer to You. How can I ever thank You enough?