A snippet of Sing! Conference 2018

Our team of 16 met up together in Nashville on Monday morning (after a late night arrival for the majority of us). And also after a crazy good breakfast at “Biscuit Love.” Cappuccino and bonuts for this sweets-girl. [Bonuts are a mix of fried biscuit dough rolled in sugar (think biscuit-donut), topped with creamy lemon mascarpone and blueberry compote…the rest of the world stands still when you eat them, trust me.]

Conference hall bustling with anticipation, and where is the elevator, and hopefully we can find seats together. They said last year there were 3,500 people, and that this year was at least double, and thank the Lord the weather held out so that rain didn’t add to the navigation pile-ups in a very large, very confusing building.

Anyway, we found a great two rows to double up in with a decent view of the stage, all things considered. The stage was centered in the room, with chairs surrounding it and the choir on the backside, the bands taking their turns on the stage alongside speakers throughout the conference.

I’ve seen Keith and Kristyn Getty in concert once before, but this was different. There was an excitement in the air that you just couldn’t explain immediately, and even now the right vocabulary words escape my fingers. When they stepped up onto the stage, it was as if emotions halted in silence for a split second, knowing this would mark a memory very great and very special, and no one wanted to miss it. The audience was hushed. They held their breaths. And then they erupted.

It was a conference on worship, and worship we did. Even in those opening moments, singing “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty” together, the stage had been set months before to prepare hearts for God’s unique working this week. Before and after each session, we were brought to the throne of Grace to either prepare for the holy food of Scripture, or to respond to what we had just feasted upon. And the songs they introduced as new releases brought tears to my eyes in almost every session. Yes, we sing in corporate worship to encourage those around us, but ultimately it’s for the Lord’s ears, and several times I forgot there was anyone else around as I poured out my heart through song to my Jesus who loves a wretch like me.

But you don’t sing for the emotion. At least not at a Getty music Sing Conference. You raise your voice to the Lord out of gratitude for all that He is, all that He’s done, all that He’s doing, and all that He’s promised to do. The tears flow because the words you’re giving voice to are rich and deep, and they hit at the core of foundational, biblical truths – truths that acknowledge the necessity of the cross because of who you are, standing sinful before God holy – truths that don’t stop at Someone else paying up what you owe and couldn’t ever ever pay – truths that bring hope because of the empty tomb and the risen Savior.

And oh, how my heart needed those truths this week. How it needed those powerful musical reminders of overflowing mercy and never-lacking grace. The longer I live, the more I see my black heart wrestling, wanting so much to please itself, yet also desperately begging God to conform it to resemble His. I tend to camp out too much on Mount Sinai’s law, judging my inescapable, leeching sin and how that grieves the Father, when instead I should be resting peaceful on Mount Calvary’s hope.

So the fact that Keith & Kristyn Getty, Matt Boswell, Matt Papa, Matt Merker, Jordan Kauflin, Bob Kauflin, Stuart Townend, and many other guest artists led us all in musical worship for three days, with songs that revive the heart and restore the soul and bring light to the eyes – well, it was pretty amazing. Powerhouse hymn writers and composers, and I’d add theologians, because the “Christian” songs on the radio rarely, if ever, have as much depth and understanding of Scripture as these songs. It’s a balm your soul craves to be fed excellence that thunders at the heart of why we’re created. More so than the newest/popular/catchy tunes on the radio or Spotify or even that might be added into the mix on Sunday mornings. But this. You will never regret feeding your soul truth. Deep, glorious, gut-wrenching truth. Both in song and in preaching.

And that leads to the other aspect of the conference: the men who followed up a time of worship through song with a time of worship through solid teaching. The top three highlights for me were Dr. John MacArthur, Alistair Begg, and Ligon Duncan. Each unique in their style and presentation, and each so passionate for their listeners to know the God of the Bible in a true way, not merely an experiential way. I can still hear MacArthur’s words echoing through my mind. “Song is in the heart before it’s ever heard aloud,” and “Go to the Psalms to fight for joy.” Then there’s Ligon’s breakdown of the various types of psalms and how they all point to God as the center, with us frail humans needing to reconcile our feelings to true worship. And Alistair Begg showing how creation tells God’s story, even in the Old Testament with limited “official” teaching on it, like in Psalm 8. Goodness gracious, I’m thankful for these men.

Another highpoint of the week was attending breakout sessions taught by various speakers. Bummer you could only choose five, but I didn’t regret any of my choices (another Thankful journal entry, because sometimes, let’s be honest, you just kinda wish you would’ve gone with something else). Hearing Andrew Peterson share his heart and parts of his own story; listening to Matt Boswell teach through Charles Spurgeon’s journey with the psalms and congregational singing; joining the four horseman of the hymn-writing apocalypse (Matt, Matt, Matt, Jordan) as they walked us through some of their recent musical brilliancies and then singing together. My insides wanted to burst so many times this week.

But my favorite was the Ryman. We picked up tickets for the early show, with seats seven rows from the front and a clear shot of the artists. Sure, it was the same ones who led our musical worship in the conference center for three days, but that concert at the Ryman was the closest place you could be to heaven on Monday night. It was a memory for me that, again, would be too difficult to describe accurately, so I won’t waste time trying to come up with clever words for it. But I’ll say this. I’ve been praying a lot lately for either Christ’s return or my time on earth to close and my time in heaven to begin, and that concert, singing along with the Gettys and others, solidified that even more. There’s less and less that attracts me to this fleeting vapor called life. I look around me and I look inside me and I see so much brokenness. So much pain and sorrow and hurt and conflict and shortcomings and sin. Yet as much as I long for eternity in perfection, “I will wait for You, I will wait for You, on Your Word I will rely…til my soul is satisfied.”

Tickets are already on sale for next year, and people, it’s un-regrettable. As in, you couldn’t even regret it if you tried. Save on a trip to Disneyland, skip eating out a little more, budget entertainment more wisely if you need to.

Your heart will be exposed. Your willpower will be broken. Your hands will be empty. But your deep, matchless, heaven-joy will be full. “Safe in His arms I’ll cling, praising my Savior King, forever more I’ll sing – Jesus is mine.”

come to me

come to me, He said
cry to me, He said

and I did.

He definitely saw the sin. I know He did. but He did not reproach me. He did not scorn or cross His arms. No. He looked with tenderness and said, "I love you, dear one." which made me cry more. this love. I don't get it. but oh, how much it means to me. thankful, this heart. our own standards--so high. His love is greater yet.


in Him I rest with peace.

H

8.19

Bidding adieu to a somewhat sticky afternoon, I stood by the window. A welcoming breeze swept through, and I paused. For a moment. Just a short moment. And I looked at the sky, that beautiful, cerulean-kissed peaceful, and I thought. For just a short moment. And a little twinkle, so proud to be the first one out tonight, he winked at me. And I winked back with a smile of contentment. 

There are times my heart feels as though it will never stop growing. That it fights to make room for the loving and tender that so quickly capture its attention. Again, this late August, I welcome in nineteen more spots for loving and tender, and I beg for wisdom. For faithfulness. For words of Truth. 

I am full. Thankful, joyful, peaceful. And I rest now in the arms of One who loves me so very much. 

H

open palms.

I wish I could chase the sunset.

It runs, quickly, like early summer peaches enveloped in their hot baking house, and arriving out again as a pie or cobbler. Funny how the sun sinks, and yet it still emits such brilliance to the surrounding wisps of cloud. Strangely enough, too, I hear birds. Chirping. Singing their evening lullabies, just as they do to wake me at dawn. There is order. Routine. The comfort of knowing what to expect.

And yet, not.

For each time the ice cream sun melts away, a new and different one takes its place. Each melody hummed by the sparrows and swallows is not the same as it once was.

And I remember--as I am so prone to forgetting--that although I cannot decree nor determine the color of tomorrow's sunset, some things will always stay faithful. For this I am thankful.


H

my life is not my own

scene 1: it was obvious she was flustered, though she tried to hide it. the almost inaudible sigh, the concentrated breathing, trying to sound steady, the coolness and calmness with which she moved about the room. but mostly it was the wetness of her eyes, like a spring rain threatening to spill from a cloud, doing it all it could to hold it in. who knows what had already transpired that morning, but she was late, and it seems as though the coffee always spills and the copier breaks on the day when you are late.

scene 2: help me, the hazel eyes begged. she looked up with uncertainty, with hurt. won't you please help me?

scene 3: as it comforts, so also it convicts. and to know the comfort, you must first know the conviction. where the next twenty-five minutes would take them, she could not imagine, but throw the lesson planner out the window, for this--which was not written in the job description--was what was most important. it was just the two of them and a worn, chalked up Bible.  the young mind raced in curiosity and fear, while the other pleaded silently for a "fitting word, like apples of gold in frames of silver."

a word. a glance. a sigh. a smile.

these are the things which often act as catalysts for the choices i make during the days. is this right? i wonder at times. i dont think i've quite decided the answer to that question, but it does make me contemplate the outcome of these decisions and question the initial motivations.

this day is finally coming to a close, and what a day it has been. how thankful i am for the little opportunities in life, and more especially for the times when my eyes are opened to the truth...and the way the Lord gives us the right words at the right time.

scene 1 closed with a potted orange star and twenty little names on a card, delivered at the right time to return a smile to her lovely face. scene 2 was given hope, and the reminder that there is One who will never leave. and scene 3, though it brought tears to both, was a sweet embrace of the gospel, and of His great love, despite our failings.

may I ever be faithful to stop...
...and to listen to the things you have to teach me
...to encourage, to comfort, to exhort, and to show forgiveness


if they saw nothing else today, let them each have seen You.


H

get up, soldier

the rat-a-tat-tats
they come
far off cries echo through the night
and the only lights left
come from twinkling stars
high above their heads

another gunshot rings out
the stench of the enemy advances
and three choices hang in the bitter, black air:

the first is to run
to retreat
to cower in the overwhelming fear that threatens to swallow
their souls

the second, to charge
full-speed ahead toward the battlefield
with reckless abandonment for orders
to believe in one's own strength
and might
and power

so often have i been that soldier.

how the tears have fallen
as i thrash and slash my way through the mines and the mud
only to realize that i'm falling
that my best efforts come from weak and unsteady hands
only to realize that i, in fact, haven't even strapped on my armor tightly
if at all
that the Commander was right all along

he staggers and collapses
his opponent takes aim
more is injured than his pride
what use, he groans
this is not the tell-all
and he will obey the next time
but
for now he cannot see
[nor does he want to]
am i giving up? he wonders

while the enemy continues to pry open wounds, to inflict the poison deeper
he turns
writhing in pain
and searches desperately for that familiar face behind him
their eyes meet
one set filled with regret and shame
the other with loving rebuke and strength
he knows what's coming
or, at least, he thinks he does
and as the Commander shields the blows and carries him to safety
as his suffering comes to a temporary halt
he prepares his mind for what is next.

but before any words are spoken,
the soldier looks at his team
they tell him stories of His bravery, His faithful leadership, His care
and the soldier turns again to those eyes

"Get up, soldier."

that was all.

no harshness
no sigh
only gentleness
and a call to obey--
to love to obey

"There is one more way. And I will show you."


H

a little tired out

what does a teacher do, someone once asked me.

well....not much, i suppose. i "teach" children. just tell 'em what to do, and they should readily, cheerfully, and immediately comply. that can't be too hard now, can it?

a teacher fixes sore throats and headaches.
she tells children to give their best for the Lord, not for a grade book or her own happiness.
she reads directions multiple times.
she saves glue bottles at the last minute before their insides are squeezed out onto a project.
she ties shoes.
she reminds students to write their names at the top of their papers.
she encourages literature reading during reading time, but usually not during math time.
she finds homes for lost pencils.
she gives lots and lots of hugs and high-fives.
she cries for her students' hearts.
she wipes out sticky, smelly, nasty, dirty desks.
she uses red pens to help students see their mistakes.
she talks in chinese, french, indian, british, and scottish accents.
she writes her spelling words on the board.
she divides 4-digit dividends in her head within 10 seconds.
she staples projects to the walls (and ceiling).
she eats lunch...sometimes.
she prays.
she hides notes in students' desks.
she drinks lots of coffee.
she laughs at homophone drawings created by her students.
she crosses her eyes at someone every so often.
she exhorts boys to practice being young men.
she advises girls to love each other and be friends.
she referees basketball and warball games during recess...at the same time.
she stays in during lunch to help someone make up an assignment.
she emails parents, administrators, office staff, and other teachers.
she snacks on peanut M&Ms.
she wipes down doorhandles, windows, desks, and chairs.
she carries four conversations at once.


oh yeah, and she teaches.

sometimes i think the "teaching" part is based more on the list above, rather than opening a textbook. don't get me wrong--i love my job. today was a day, though, that reminded me how much my Teacher does for me. and He never gets tired out.

thanks for your love & strength today, Father.

H

my dears

drip-drops threatened to fall this morning outside the panes of room 327.

inside was a bustle of nine-and-ten-year-old energy, begging for details that would accompany the strike of eleven. up they came, silent as a rippling stream, which of course, still contains bubbles here and there. the thought struck me today how much they are handling on their own, as compared to early weeks, and though their own precious mommas were elsewhere at the moment, i suppose the maternal tendencies in my heart groaned a little at seeing how they've "grow up" within four swift months. soon they will be closer to fifth grade than third, but i'll save those thoughts for another time.

miss olewiler, do you think...? miss olewiler, why does...? should i...miss o?

at times the weight of my role is great, and i suppose i could tally up hours and hours [from 3pm-8am] during which their little souls come to my thoughts. but as much as i kick off the heels at the end of the day and plop onto a sofa, too exhausted to make dinner, i also treasure the thousands of times i hear my name. not, mind you, because i have a wonderful name, nor because i'm always eager to solve little problems, but because of the love and trust that comes with their questions. how i love those 19 laughs - all unique - and the serious faces of attentiveness when their eyes comprehend that the Bible isn't joking.

oh that they would go to Jesus even more than their teacher! to shower Him with sweet words, their concerns about friendships, their joys over simple pleasures. that His name would be the one they thank for a field trip or a surprise ice cream snack or a hundred-percent-test. that they would seek His wisdom during intense kickball games and investigate God's word on their own, setting patterns now.

and that i would trust Him with that, not taking the reigns.
let me rest in Your peace, sweet Savior. let me be found your good and faithful servant.


H

drawing near

there are days when i stop...

and think about the things with which i've been blessed

and it often overwhelms my weak soul.

tonight it has happened again

where the Lord took fears and negative expectations

(of last spring)

and proved them wrong.

i admit--i was scared back then, timidly entering this year

letting my fearful heart & the past control my thoughts

but again and again, he has shown me

so gently, so lovingly

that he knew all along how things would be

and how much i'd fall in love with that which i once feared

and when i thought my world was falling apart

he was actually planting the seeds for it to really take off

and burst into vibrancy and color

so now, i draw near, with an abundantly abounding, thankful heart

to the throne of gentle grace and sweetness of my dear Jesus.

H

...but that He loved us first

tonight, i have the urge to write again.

it has been a little past 2 months since my last post, and though 'twas brief, i have wanted to write again very often. but something has always stopped me. so here at last i am again, rambling through a keyboard, not minding if it is read or not, but just wanting to grace ink to these thoughts.

my heart is full.

i have everything i could ever want. yet, there is only one thing that can fit this description. many emotions, many possessions, many ideals vie for first place, but the most important has taken the lead. and this makes it the most special. and, to be sure, the most powerful. otherwise it wouldn't have won. and with that, the others aren't even worth mentioning tonight.

i love my sweet, sweet Jesus. cliche perhaps, seeing as we've known one another for almost 20 years now (i am so very very blessed). but nonetheless, i am overwhelmed with gratitude for my dear Lord and for the lessons he's taught me in the last year. he has become so precious to me, and has so kindly led me--to borrow from the children's book i read my students--across the desert of trials, past the sea of loneliness, and up the mountain of injury because of the greater rewards in store.

because even more amazing than my love for him is his own precious love for me. i marvel that he chose a stubborn, fearful, controlling, depressed girl as myself to be his beloved daughter. in the past, this scared me even more, and i hid in fear and guilt from such love. but now, these journeys we've traveled together have shown me how much i don't deserve his grace and yet run toward it and toward the safety of the shepherd's arms. (*yes, there is a tear threatening to spill, but it is a tear of joy).

thank you, sweet Lord. written words do not do justice to the depths of the Character whom i will never know fully this side of heaven. i only remain your humbled servant, quieted by the gentle power of your Words.


h