The Song of the Beautiful

It was completely unlike me to sleep in and ditch the 9:30 service for the 11:00 but for some reason, that morning I did. 

Releasing my marriage and giving up my stand for good the day before had simultaneously worn me out refreshed me, like a mother exhausted from labor but gloriously in love with the product of her pain. 

My routine was hardly different, save for being delayed an hour or so, and when I stood in the same spot I had for the last six months in my closet, I pondered what to wear. 

And my poor green skirt, the one with so many bad memories attached to its lining, peeked hopefully at me. 

It is a beautiful skirt, I thought.  And what is the big deal anyway?  Just put it on.  You have a new life to look forward to, and this old misery that is junking up your life needs to be put in the past and left there. 

So for the first time in five months, I unclipped the skirt from its hanger and shimmied into it.

I dressed my blonde-haired beauty in her Sunday best and loaded us up in the car to head toward the church. 

I dropped Harlow off in the nursery and--what else?!--walked straight for the library to drop off a book I'd checked out and perhaps seek out a new one. 

After quickly picking through the books, I crossed through the church hallway toward the sanctuary, where I met my parents and a group of friends, who had just been to the 9:30 service.  I asked my mom how the sermon was, and, as always, she glowed with excitement over the message.  

I smiled, hugged my friends and family, and walked by myself to my front-and-center pew and settled in the empty row.  

Since it was a good twenty minutes before the service was due to start, like any modern gal, I whipped out my iPhone and began browsing Pinterest. 

Lost in a sea of too-expensive clothes and too-decadent desserts, I hardly noticed when someone scooted around my legs and into my pew. 

And a good thirty seconds later, I realized. 

Is someone sitting next to me? 

I looked up to see a handsome, clean-cut blonde in a bright baby blue shirt.  He extended his hand and smiled. 

"Hi! I just wanted to introduce myself.  My name is Brooks."

~~~

From the hand of Brooks….

This may seem like a simple little introduction, but this moment was anything but simple and little for me. As calm, cool, and smooth as I’m sure I must have come across,(read with great sarcasm) my stomach was full of butterflies and my heart was beating out of my chest – a condition fairly foreign to me since I am never short on confidence and the word “shy” is not in my vocabulary. But, this was a big moment.

A few months prior to this introduction, I had made the very difficult decision to leave the church where I had been serving as organist for nearly five years in order to return to Brentwood Baptist Church.  I agonized over this decision, as these are the things I knew to be true when weighing the pros and cons. I knew there would be disappointment and hurt feelings upon announcing my departure, and I hate to let people down. I knew it would be a challenge financially as the pay would be significantly less. I knew I would have less opportunity to contribute creatively as the organ is not a central focus. Making this move started to seem very illogical the more I thought about it with my head. But as I quieted my mind and opened my heart to what God was doing, I clearly heard Him say to me, “You need to trust me. Just go where I’m sending you, and I’ll take care of the rest.” So, I knew I had to go, and the decision was made.

I walked into Brentwood Baptist Church that first Sunday in April, having no idea how my life was about to be forever changed. I was filled with excitement and curiosity about why the Lord had been so insistent that I follow Him here. As it turned out, I wouldn’t have to be curious for long. In between services, I stood outside the sanctuary visiting with my family, and soaking up all the sights and sounds of my new surroundings. And then, my world stopped turning. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen walking past me and into the library. Anyone with eyes could notice the sparkle in her big brown eyes, her electric smile that lights up a room, or her gorgeous long flowing hair that fell around her as she floated down the hall. But, only I could see the giant glimmering arrow pointing down at her from the heavens as God said loud and clear, “this is why I called you here.” In that lightning bolt moment I knew I was looking at my future, at the answer to every lonely and expectant prayer I’d uttered, at the fulfillment of His promises to me, and atthe great love of my life. Now what?! I was speechless for the first time in my life. How could I get up the nerve to talk to her?

Needless to say, I planted myself in that same spot outside the sanctuary every Sunday for the next seven Sundays. Every single Sunday, this captivating woman with the glimmering arrow over her head would glide past me. And every week I would pray for the boldness to introduce myself to her, but something held me back. The six days in between these sightings felt like eternities, and I couldn’t possibly endure another week of waiting, so as I headed for the hallway after the service on June 1st, I made up my mind that I was going to talk to her no matter what. I headed to the usual spot, but only in time to see her entering the library, so I followed her in. I must have tried to play it too casually and cool, because somehow I lost her in the shelves and before I knew it she was out the door and down the hall again. Even though I was now bordering on “stalking,” I was not going to break the promise to myself that today was the day. As I tried to catch up with her, she ran into a large group of family and friends and I knew my opportunity had passed. I literally stopped in my tracks, shrugged my shoulders, looked upward and jokingly said, “Lord, I tried, I guess it’s just not meant to happen today.” So, disappointed and dejected, I walked back into the sanctuary and began gathering my music for the next service, which was scheduled to start about twenty minutes later. As I was finishing, I looked up to see that she had made her way down to the very first pew, front and center, and was sitting alone in an almost empty sanctuary. I knew this was the moment – the moment I’d waited for my entire life. This was the moment that all of my hopes, dreams, and deepest desires of my heart perfectly intersected with God’s plan for my life. This was the moment for which He had been preparing, shaping, and equipping me over almost three decades of life. This was the moment that after years of faithful obedience and trust, He had finally led me to my arrow. This was the moment I said hello to the rest of my life….

~~~

 Now the fact that his name happened to be my mother's maiden name was the first of many divine "coincidences" (read: a twinkle in God's eye and chuckle in His throat).  We began to chit chat and quickly found that we had both attended Belmont at the same time, had taken Anatomy and Physiology from the same professor (his most hated class, my favorite), and both greatly enjoyed music.  He mentioned that he was the organist for Brentwood Baptist and had officially started there on April 1 of that year.

Nothing big.  Just my birthday. 

It was a whirlwind of small talk, and the thought kept crossing my mind as I smiled at the friendly man beside me--is it possible he is interested in me? 

No, no, I told myself.  Surely not.  I had just let go of my marriage the day before.  Was this happening?  Was I ready? 

And then something happened that hadn't happened in a solid eleven years. 

A boy asked for my number. 

I fumbled for my words like a butterfingered quarterback scrambles for a poorly thrown pigskin.  He needed to know upfront what he was getting himself into. 

Uh, well, look.  Here's the thing.  You should know, I'm getting a divorce--it's almost final--and I have a daughter.  She's two. 

It splattered out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea and onto the pew fabric wedged between us. 

He smiled kindly and retorted, "Well, I wasn't exactly looking for a wife in the front row."  He chuckled teasingly, and I squinted my eyes in embarassment, wanting to slap my forehead to remedy my extreme awkwardness. 

Despite my social stupidity, he still handed me his phone in order to collect my digits. 

I plugged in my number and sent it back his way, as the chords of the prelude strummed from the platform.  He politely excused himself to go play the organ and promised he would text me so that I could have his number. 

And at 10:57 am, from the bench of the organ, I got a text that read, "Hi! I'm Brooks Parker! We just met :)."

Because I refused to actually date anyone or have a boyfriend until my divorce was final, we communicated as friends--fast friends--through phone and text and quickly learned most everything there was to know about each other. 

What was incredibly fun was learning about our shared love for music--we both sing and play the piano, which gives us much to "geek out" over together.  His personality is unbelievably infectious and his humor contagious, and he was so easy to talk to, that I often lost track of time when we engaged in conversations after Harlow had fallen asleep. 

But what I marveled at was his incredible heart for the Lord.  Without prompting, he invited me into his spiritual journey, filled with both pain and blessing for being obedient to the Lord's calling on his life.  He shared about moments of intense growth and his favorite times of worship and how he longed to be a godly father and husband someday.

We connected spiritually and emotionally, and the Lord began to knit our hearts together in a quick and miraculous fashion. 

And wouldn't you know it? 

Without knowing anything about the presence and significance of them in my life, he sent flowers to my doorstep just days after we began talking. 

Complete with a handful of pink roses.

After some time, we fell mutually head over heels in love for each other--a kind of love I had never known before. 

Because this.  This is the kind of man you only read about in the New Testament.  A man who loves a woman the way Christ loved the Church. 

He took a broken woman with mounds of emotional baggage and a toddler and welcomed us so warmly into his heart and his arms. 

He is full of grace and has already sacrificed much of himself in the way of helping to care and provide for me and Harlow. 

And the most incredible part is that he doesn't view us as broken or as baggage.  He is constantly telling me that he cannot believe how marvelous God is for bringing two women into his life for him to love. 

Some may think we're crazy and some may think it's too fast or nothing but a rebound.  But my counselor assured me, you can't put God in a box.  He doesn't work along the politically correct societal norms of our modern-day world.  It can take a lifetime before He may redeem, and it may take an unexpectedly abbrievated amount of time.  But when He works--W.O.W. 

And I've found God can redeem anything. 

He can turn a melancholy airport parking lot into a welcoming space for a reunion of a brand new boyfriend and girlfriend. 

He can turn a blemished father/daughter wedding dance tune into a sweet love song. 

He can turn a haunting worship hymn that filled the empty air of lonely nights into a song of praise that rings through a sanctuary. 

He can take you--your yuck--your every pain and suffering--and redeem.

He can make all things new in His time.

Oh, how in those lowest moments--the day I first heard him say "divorce," the day he left, the day I had to leave my home, those nights at 5 pm, the day I was served with papers...

How The Lord must have held me as I wept, catching my every tear, keeping my broken heart together, and whispering in my ear...

Oh, Chels. I know this hurts so badly. But I'm already there in your future, and I have wonderful things in store for you. You aren't going to believe how good it's going to get! We may be here in the bathroom floor crying, but I'm also there sitting in a pew with you as Brooks is saying hello for the first time. I didn't leave you, Chels, but you have to trust that what I have ahead for you is worth the wait and worth the fight. I've got you. I'm holding you. Hang on and trust me, my beloved. I haven't forgotten you. I'm in every detail if you look closely enough. I hear your cries for love and romance. I've got lots of pink roses to send you. I hear what you long for in a future husband. I'm listening. And I'm working. Even when you can't see it or think I don't care, I'm here at work for your good. Hold on, Chels. Hold on...

At the end of last year, a dear friend who was my encouragement and support throughout the entire divorce process gave me a mixed CD of worship songs that had sustained her through her own divorce. 

I listened to it nonstop for months every time I drove somewhere in the car, and this one always resonated with me in the pit. 

And oh, how beautiful it is to sing it from the mountaintop. 

The broken, weary and poor

Finding You are the cure

The weak and dying, glorifying You in it all

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus loves me

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus saved me

The song of the redeemed

The echoes of those made free

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus loves me 

The fallen back on their feet

The innocent suffering,

rising from wounding

To find You were there all along

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus loves me

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus saved me

The song of the redeemed

The echoes of those made free

It's the song of the beautiful

Jesus loves me

Sing with me the song of redemption, friends!

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  Blessed be the Name of Yahweh.

Melody on a Mountaintop: Let It Go

I was done.

Done.

Stick-a-fork-in-me done.

I sat slumped in a chair in my attorney's office with the final blow to my stand for my marriage.

The stack of papers was thick with betrayal, and my head was spinning, as I perused the pages confirming what I had known in my heart for months but now of which I had plain confirmation in black and white.

The phone calls. The charges. The gifts. The trips. 

The deception.

There was no denying it.

And thank goodness my dad was in the seat beside me to hear what my lawyer was advising me because I couldn't focus on anything but those papers.

With every line, my hope died a little bit more.

My attorney looked sadly at me and said, "You need to take those home and process them.  And call me when you are officially ready to be divorced."

I nodded with tears welling apologetically in my eyes, wishing I could suck it up for five more minutes to preserve what little shred of dignity I might have had left.

I fell to pieces in the car as my dad transported me back home.  My spirit was consumed with pure hopelessness, and I just didn't know,

How to go on. 

And my dad firmly placed his hand on the stack of papers in my lap and declared, "Chelsea, this is God protecting you."

I'd heard the sentence before from my counselor, who tried to help me understand that sometimes great pain is God's mercy from what could be an even more painful future.

The door was locked and wouldn't open, no matter how hard I tried to jimmy the handle.

And it was the first moment I realized that maybe they were right.

Maybe this was God's way of finally releasing me.  I had given it everything I had for seven straight months, and I was done.  I had nothing left to offer.

He wasn't budging no matter what I did.  No matter how much I prayed.  No matter how much I changed.

I fell to my knees and opened my hands to the Lord.  And I remembered the phrase that I'd heard in the play (oddly titled) The Great Divorce, which my parents had taken me to see in March. 

One of the characters was in heaven and faced with a brilliant angel who asked him to give up a vice that he didn't want to let go. 

May I kill it? the angel asked dispassionately, while the man screamed in anguish at the thought of releasing something so important to him, even though it was destroying him. 

And when he finally offered the vice, shouts of agony echoed in the theater.

But once it was gone, then what was awful and ugly was turned into a beautiful stallion, on which he rode into the sunset.

And I felt the Lord asking me that question on the floor of my closet.

May I kill it?  May I take away your one-track view of how things should end?

I wasn't promised a perfect future or a knight on a horse.

But I knew that this marriage was not going to be saved.

And what could I do?  Hold on to it and succumb to a slow, silent death?

Or let it go and let the Lord take over?

I gathered all of the books I'd bought on saving my marriage and sobbed tears of defeat over them.  All of those hours and nights seemingly wasted.

Take it, Lord.  I give it up.  I can't do this anymore.

That's the funny thing.  The Lord can't fill our hands if they are already full.  They have to be empty in order to be filled.

My marriage was over.  This was it.  It was time to move on with the rest of my life.

Later that night, I took all of those books on divorce in the car with me, and I asked that my parents stop by the grocery.

I got out, books in hand, and walked to the garbage can.

I sighed a sigh of release and dropped them in the trash.

And never looked back.

Melody on a Mountaintop: Fast Forward

Stop.  Rewind.

It was the chilly afternoon of November 3, 2013.

My plane had touched down at exactly 1:00 pm. Right on time and not a second too late.

I swaddled a sixteen-month-old Harlow in the Moby wrap and nestled a pacifier between her lips to keep her calm.

I'd have given anything to have had something to physically calm me at that moment.

But I had to keep it together.  I had to keep my composure.  Don't ask any questions, Chels.  Just keep calm.

With the weight of a week of sleepless nights and unintentional starvation, I carried her out to baggage claim and texted him that we had arrived back in Nashville, so that he could pick us up.

I was tachycardic and sweating despite the November nip, and when I saw him, my body kept moving in normal movements, but my heart.

My heart was breaking in two.

He was cordial and elated to see Harlow, so I slipped her out of the wrap and into his arms so that he could hold her.

I turned quietly and waited like a zombie for the carousel to begin turning.

I must have stood there for the eternity of ten minutes before my bright pink bag shouted its arrival amongst the other luggage, and I pulled it down beside me, rolling it dejectedly behind me.

There he was.  Waiting with the car.  And holding my future in his hands.

I paused and felt the breeze whip against my blue sweater.  Fear began to suffocate me.  And I'm glad I didn't know the future because getting in that car would have been ten thousand times harder.

I didn't know.

I didn't know he was going to leave me when we got home.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a perfectly warm late night on July 26, 2014.

The plane had touched down at 10:38 pm. Two minutes early and not a second too late.

And this time, I found that I was in the same car in the same parking spot that I had been in that fateful November afternoon.

And when I realized the irony, I felt those old nerves wriggle me into a mild panic.

But this time is different, the Lord reminded me.  Calm down, Chels.  And look.  Look at what was and look at what is.

For God can redeem even an airport parking lot.

~~

Stop.  Rewind.

It was a fall evening in 2013, not long after he had left.

And my dad sat miserably at a wedding reception, haunted by the hope and happiness of the beginning of a marriage, and distraught at the crumbling of his daughter's.

And then, the song played.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright, blessed day

The dark, sacred night

And I think to myself...

He hung his head as the sweet melody reverberated.

For that was the song my dad had danced to with me.  At my wedding.

A day when we only thought about for better and not for worse.  When "'til death do us part" felt true.  And we thought the "I do" was honest.

The song that had moved him to happy tears on August 15, 2009 now broke him.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a summer morning in 2014.

And the video sent to my phone had a song specifically chosen for me.

The chords began to sound beautifully from the piano, and then, the words began.

I see trees of green and red roses, too

I see them bloom

For me and you

And I think to myself...

There was a simultaneous eruption of sadness and joy that developed in me that very moment, a tangible definition of the word bittersweet.

And before I could dismiss the song as forever tarnished, I became still before the Father. 

Listen.  Hear what was and hear what is.

And I thought to myself...

What a wonderful Lord.

For God, He can redeem even a song.

~~

Stop.  Rewind.

It was all those weeknights I was living in our house alone with Harlow, and I would haul her to the Target parking lot to put the song and cry of my heart on repeat.

Lord, I come, I confess

Bowing near, I find my rest

Without You, I fall apart

You're the One that guides my heart.

Oh, the sobs that shook the car as my world crumbled bit by bit around me.  All of my fears, all of my worries, all of my "what ifs" had transpired, and there was nothing left to do except surrender.

And worship.

~~

Fast forward.

It was a morning made for redemption on July 13, 2014.

And the song that filled my car as sadness and desperation abounded now echoed in a church sanctuary from the most angelic voices.

Lord, I need You

Oh, I need You

Every hour I need You

My one defense

My righteousness

Oh, God, how I need You.

I had been asked earlier that week what song I would like to hear that Sunday morning, and I could think of none better.

The tears spilled over my cheeks in awe and wonder.  Could it be?  Can this really be happening?

For come and see.

Pause.  And absorb.

What was and what is.

For God.  He can redeem anything.