I have been teaching a music class in my home this week. It is a lot of fun. The kids are great, respectful and interested, and my girls really enjoy having so many visitors to our house.
I've been working hard on putting together this class for the past couple of weeks, along with giving the girls exams and nursing them (and myself and Mr. Honey) through colds. There has been a lot going on, and I just haven't felt the inspiration to write.
On Sunday we had a Bible study in which we talked about who wrote the Bible, among other things. As we discussed the process and people God used to pen the Bible, our pastor brought up an wonderful definition of the word inspiration. He pointed out that it literally meant that God breathed the writing into the authors.
Another definition of the word inspiration is: the act of inhaling.
I love that.
I want to inhale God. I want the Lord to breathe out around me so that I have to inhale Him. Oh, that is so glorious.
Anyway, I was thinking about that in terms of teaching all these children this week, and in terms of raising my own girls. I often get nervous in situations where I am put on the spot, and I can't think of being more put on the spot than in front of a lot of children who all expect you to know something. Think Maria in The Sound of Music. But I don't want "Confidence in Me," as she sings. I want the Lord to deliver me, oh yes. I've seen me, and I've done me, and when I rely on me, I really fall on my face.
The class is going quite well, as I said before. I entirely attribute it to the Lord, because when I have been tempted to begin thinking it was me, I have made funny mistakes.
Oh, that I could extend my faith in God, make it one seamless line of love, obedience and trust from birth to death, with no tangents toward fears and doubts. But despite my fearful hiccups, it is grand when the Lord delivers and carries me through in little and big ways. He still loves even me.