The Rhythm Came First by Joylene M. Bailey

 

  Image by Frauke Riether from Pixabay

~~~~~

Music is never far away from my mind. I usually wake up with a tune in my head. Sometimes it's a worship song we sang in church three Sundays ago. More often than not, it's a melody I've listened to in the past few days. Instrumental, of course, because that's what I listen to most.

Even when there's no music in my head, there's rhythm. Always rhythm. When I'm walking, when I'm sewing, when I'm baking, when I'm listening to the birds or the trees, even when I'm just breathing, I'm hearing rhythms.

So, that busy Christmas season six years ago, it wasn't unusual to have a rhythm bouncing around in my brain. But there was something special about this one.

Something tingly.

In light of the fact that I was extra busy preparing for the arrival of nine people, including two active toddlers, who would be staying for ten days, you'd think I wouldn't have time to take note of this particular rhythm. But, as I said, there was something special about this one. So, I paid attention.

Ideas started snowballing and my Christmas preparation time intensified. I'd be in the middle of making a bed or adding icing sugar to a recipe when an idea - a word or phrase - would hit, so I'd leave what I was doing to run up to my little study and write it down.

Something about this writing felt important, felt like it wasn't just me writing. It was a collaboration between Father and me, and it was so fun! Him giving ideas, me rushing up to my study to write them down before I forgot.

I wrote lists of words ending in ING, lists of familiar Christmas song phrases that met the DUM de DUM DUM DUM rhythm, all the while consulting with Father - is this the phrase, or is it that one? 

Over the course of three or four days the creativity flowed, and it truly felt like a collaboration. Like He and I were sharing ideas, and I was doing the work. I felt Him watching over my shoulder, MmmHmmm that sounds good. No, try something else there.

A week before Christmas, the poem was finished. I shared it that year as my December InScribe Writers Online post. (You can find it here)

Since then, I've often wondered what it was that made that particular time of writing special. Why did it feel so significantly collaborative?

I like to think that Father knew me well enough to understand that a rhythm would capture my attention. But then it was up to me to stop in my tracks and really listen. And I did. I listened while I worked; while I baked and cleaned and wrapped gifts. And I was willing to interrupt the task at hand (so unlike me) to do the writing work.

I also like to think that the work of the collaboration, and the result, delighted us both.

I don't know how Father God likes to capture your attention, but I've learned that it could be through something that's very every-day. It's then up to us to stop and really listen. 

For me, the rhythm came first. 

~~~~~

Joy is delighting in her new country home where she listens to music, rhythms, and her Father's voice, not necessarily in that order. Find more of her Joy-infused view of the world at her blog, Scraps of Joy.

Merry Christmas, everyone!