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.