The Day the Angels Sang

It Was The Day the Angels Sang

That particular Sunday in 2015 was different. The morning worship service was reserved for praise only. The songs, scripture, and spoken word were all focused on speaking praise to God. The congregation was a joyful assembly. They liked to rise to their feet when the song lyrics spoke of God, his majesty, and who he is. This Sunday was no different.

The singing was empowered. Happiness streamed across the congregation like a banner being unfurled. Joy and more joy. Life filled every heart. Some were almost dancing. God’s name was being lifted up in worship and heartfelt praise. Song after song was jubilantly sung by young and old, releasing ‘something beautiful, something good’ in the name of  ‘Jesus, there’s just something about that name.’

Then she heard them. Musical voices were sounding extra beautiful, their melody and tone especially vibrant. Such lovely singing, more beautiful than she’d ever heard in the church before. Their voices filled the room. Her heart warmed and thrilled. Goosebumps. God was close as if he were there in their very presence.

It was a special service, everyone knew it. Praise filled and remained. The interim pastor had planned and led the service. He knew it was a good fit because of who they were. He loved the joy in the little country assembly. The tenor of the service was genuine and lively. Amazing, really. You don’t find that often in a church.

I always loved the services too. The spontaneity yet reverence combined in freedom. Like others, there were times I could not stay in my seat. Praise filled my heart and overflowed from me into the room. Sometimes the whole congregation soared to its feet as one body in worship of the King of kings. It was unique, precious, genuine.

After the praise service concluded, my friend, a new believer, mentioned the glorious singing to another woman.. Had she noticed it? “I did,” She said, “Those voices were the angels singing.” No wonder it sounded so marvelous. Understanding came in, and she knew in her heart it was true. What she had heard were angels joining with the congregation in singing praises to God. It was a moment to cherish.

I’m wowed that an angel choir visited my church. I’m glad they were there. Not everyone heard them, but those who did were blessed by their joyful singing.

I’m wowed that Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and Zacharias had angel visitations and were given messages concerning the Savior throughout that first Christmas story. Angels are a part of Christmas. You can’t tell the story without them.

When my grandad was nearing the end of his life and dying from cancer, in the middle of the night an angel entered his room and stood at the foot of his bed. The angel remained for awhile in silence, solemnity, and peace. Grandad was greatly comforted by this, and his faith renewed and regenerated. He was more at peace after that and more interested in spiritual things. He’d been disenchanted by a minister’s wrong behavior, but he let that go and his heart healed. It was an answer to my grandmother’s prayers.

God’s angels are his messengers. We never know when we might meet one. They can look like us and talk like us if they’re working undercover. God’s word says we have met angels unawares. Thank you God, for your supernatural beings, the angels.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace and good will to men,” sang the angels to  the shepherds. Certainly, that is what God gave us through his son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

To God be the Glory.

Do you have an angel story? Feel free to share it here.

MY PRECIOUS MOTHER

For Mother’s Day

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Proverbs 31:28  KJV

A Loving Tribute to Evelyn F. Brumbaugh, my mother

Mother’s Day makes me think of my beautiful mother. Mother lives in assisted living now. Dad still lives on the farm. My father and mother’s love has a sweetness the years have nurtured. She brightens when Dad walks into her room, and she is happiest when he is there with her.  For sixty-six years they have been joined in marriage and in name. They and we continue to adjust to their world as it changes.

Mother is a wise mate to a strong husband. Being a farmer’s wife is not the easiest of occupations. Mother was resilient and uncomplaining throughout the lean years and years of hard work. She supported my father through the ups and downs and made the best of every situation; things like bringing Dad an egg, bacon, and toast sandwich while he was tractoring in the early hours, sewing a canvas umbrella for his Caterpillar D-4 tractor when the sun was too bright, mending his jeans and shirts because they were his favorites, and respecting him with her actions. I realize now how difficult this may have been, for times were not always easy.

When Dad planted yet another orchard at age 80, my mother wasn’t so sure about it but she didn’t stop him. Planning and growing a new orchard has always been one of the things my father loves best. She understands this about him. He’s reciprocated in his own way, attended her orchestra concerts, accepted her penchant for artistic endeavors and buying of material to sew, and his saying thanks for a good meal. Their favorite activity together that they both enjoyed was, and still is, playing cards together, in a foursome, or in a group. Also, homemade ice cream in the summertime was a staple in their home that we all looked forward to enjoying every visit.

I’m the baby.

1960. The family is complete. Juanita, Marilyn, me, baby Lois, and Paul.

Mother is also a loving and strong mother to her children. She demonstrated the depth of her love through her thoughtfulness and strong parenting. Mother did not raise her voice at us, and she never was one for much conversation. She taught by example and by showing us how to do many things. We girls were expected to act responsibly. We sewed, baked, practiced piano, cleaned, and did some artsy crafts over the years.

2015. Mom, Dad, and I canned produce from their prolific tomato garden.

There were always good meals at our home, and lunches, and hot breakfasts, too. She sewed my sisters’ and my clothing from childhood throughout my high school years, and she helped me with my sewing projects until I became adept at sewing my own clothing. All of us helped with the vegetable garden and canning (tomatoes, string beans, corn, peaches, apricots, and pears). Mother encouraged book reading. We went to the county library and were given books as gifts. We were blessed by my mother. Blessed indeed.

1990. Mother, Grandma Weigold, Me holding Forrest, and LaVonne at Greenville Baptist Church for a Mother’s Day Luncheon. Mother played a violin special and Grandma accompanied on the piano.

I think, though, the greatest heritage my mother gave to her family is in the spiritual realm. When we were children, she read bible stories and true life stories to us. We would pray while kneeling at the couch. She led me to faith in the Lord when I was seven on one of those nights. Mother made sure we were honest, kind, obedient, and responsible. She also made sure we were at church for youth services and regular church services. It was the expectation. The youth group came to our home on occasion for singspirations and pool parties. She drove us up to college in Salem, Oregon and went the extra nine yards to make sure we were ready for college

My parents with their great grandchild, Titus, my grandson.

These days I see my mother three or four times a week. She is appreciative of the visits and always tells me to come again. I put my arm around her shoulders and pray with her before I leave. Sometimes I feel a lump in my throat during this moment of closeness. I find that a loving touch means more to her now than it used to. I like to think back to the days when she was energetic and able to do what she enjoyed. One of those things was putting on a big meal for the family. She always enjoyed having us around . . . and feeding us!

I like to make Mother happy. I like reading to her. I like bringing her flowers. I like telling her about things that are happening in the family. I like being with her. I like reading her articles I’ve written (she listens intently to them). She needs me more now than ever before because life has narrowed for her. She needs being loved for who she is. She thrives on tender care. She loves being loved on by her family. I think she gets lonely. I don’t want her to be lonely. I want her to know she is appreciated. It is my turn to give unconditionally and love unconditionally. Mother and I say, “I love you,” to each other a lot more than we used to, and it feels natural to do so.

Mother has a quiet grace about her. Her kindness and care are always with her even though her health has declined and the years are not so promising anymore. Staff who assist her often tell me that my mother is sweet. It makes me glad that she has cultivated this part of her life and it hasn’t left her despite other changes and memory lapses. Mother blesses me with her love.

I think I will read this to her when I visit her on Mother’s Day. That will bless both of us. Be thankful for your mother and any “adopted mothers” in your life. They are easy to spot because they love well and come along side when you need them (and they love your children).

“I love you, my dear Mother.”

1980. Special moment between my mother and me. She made my wedding gown and silk flower bouquet.


NEXT WEEK: My meeting Wm. Paul Young for the first time at the Jesus Center Luncheon 2018