Laurie Klein, Scribe

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Learn to Sing out on a Limb

by Laurie Klein 14 Chiming In

I should have packed better clothes for the conference. Everyone else looked so . . . classic. Even the tables outshone me, gleaming with pristine linens, the flicker of candles. Luscious peonies.

perfect peony

With a raised hand, our keynoter invoked silence. Then, with an almost double-dog-dare-ya glint in her eye, she invited us out on a limb. She asked us to hear God speak to each of us, personally . . . in the stillness.

Oh, the pressure. Chairs creaked as we uncrossed our legs, settled our clothing. Eased back.

I felt shy, but so hopeful.

Worry and dismay over work had dogged me for months. You know the feeling. The project’s stuttering along. Mistakes seem to breed. Then balloon.

Confidence sags. Be it home, or work place, seems everyone else starts speaking a language you don’t know.

I’d been writing for new markets that demanded a different approach: a vocabulary more nuanced, complex. Ideally, a tad eccentric. I needed to think in new ways.

Bottom line? This aging brain might never catch up.

“Rest,” the keynote speaker said. “Listen.”

serenity by still waters

Deep breaths.

Shelve concerns, and embrace openness.

Oh, I wanted serenity.

A hallowed, timeless space where it seemed God was breathing in, and through, me.

I didn’t want to miss being a prayer.

“It takes each of us . . . working together . . . to make silence,” I used to whisper, in my teaching days. Two dozen preschoolers seated around me blinked like baby owls. Entranced. Empowered.

We’d sit on the plush, gray story-time rug as if suspended, midair: motionless. Hushed for a whole minute.

Around me now, the collective silence widened. I leaned into the concentrated calm created by others.

And . . . a phrase suggested itself: “Learn to sing out on a limb.”

First thought? Shirley MacLaine.

But the phrase re-echoed. Press on with the work, in other words.

Risk entering new territory, among birds with different plumage, foreign songs. Sure, there might be cuckoos and shrikes, mockingbirds, merlins and birds of prey.

But there would be robins too, wouldn’t there? And cheeky sparrows are never far from God’s gaze.

I am such a sucker for metaphor!

Out on a limb, singing—the imagined branch tip swayed beneath the weight of my doubts. Would it hold?

risk the scary places

As if in answer, our speaker broke the silence by singing an old praise chorus: “I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice.” Everyone chimed in, until the harmonies resounded in my bones.

Sometimes the Great Disk Jockey in the Sky changes things up, to get our attention.

Those people that day didn’t know me. Couldn’t possibly know I’d written that song.

I could hardly breathe, much less join the chorus God gave me, decades ago, back when I was a new mom savoring a few quiet moments, braided hair slung over a shoulder, arms cradling a cheap guitar.

That day, I had been bone-lonely. Sick of my own voice. Emptied of hope.

“Lord,” I’d prayed, “give me a song you want to hear.” While the baby lay curled in her crib, I’d spontaneously sung my praise. Written it down.

It came to me whole. Easily, the way grace does when we’re stuck: pure gift.

“Oh, my soul, rejoice,” the women around me belted out, all spark and vibrato.

If I was still wistful, it was only that, up until then, joy had visited me in subtler guises. For years, I’d felt called to “be a scribe for the mourning dove.”

Translation: Learn how to reach those who ache.

Walk in the light

 

Those who wander uncharted terrain.

Strangers, or those already loved, traveling through shadows where nothing akin to dawn is breaking . . .

snags, at dusk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who is it that needs a kind word? What will it take to learn their lingo?

Not to worry. God, who had just stooped to speak my personal dialect, Master of ten thousand tongues, and more, would mentor me.

Who could predict what that untidy nest of papers back home on my desk might birth?

I said yes.

quill pen with bird inkwell

“Take joy, my king, in what you hear.”

Unable to stifle tears, I wrapped myself with my own arms. And imagined they were God’s.

Inhaled. Straightened.

And then I was singing, out on a limb. Sacred space. A clean slate.

Sing, and insistent fears about our deficiencies vaporize (for a while, anyway).

Sing!—as if grace is a plush gray rug, upholding us all. As if we are forming the words for the first time. Young and innocent.

Entranced and empowered.

Wherever we work, whatever our message, may we be released anew this day, to be a sweet, sweet sound in God’s ear.

MAKING IT PERSONAL:

What does your spirit long to give voice to?

What does “out on a limb” look like for you?

Laurie Klein, Scribe

Here’s a link to a lovely rendition of the song:

http://tinyurl.com/npwyzkq

This post is adapted from “A Scribe for the Mourning Dove,” first published as backmatter in the Holman Personal Worship Bible. Still can’t believe something I wrote appeared in a Bible!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: a sweet sweet sound, finding your voice, mourning dove, scribe, silence, sing August 22, 2015

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  1. Pacia Dixon says

    December 7, 2015 at 7:29 pm

    “Singing out on a Limb”… I burst out in empathetic joyful, crying-out-loud, when I read your line, “…our speaker broke the silence, by singing a line from an old praise chorus, “I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice…” I’m so happy for you, Laurie! What a precious testament of The Lord’s love for you. I loved your writing when I first heard it… I am DELIGHTED to know there is now a place where I can drink,, drink, drink in the beauty of your words! So happy!

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      December 7, 2015 at 7:46 pm

      Pacia, your words envelop me, yet again, as they did when I first met you. It all comes rushing back, those marvelous moments shared. And this re-connection, and your words of encouragement, are perfectly timed, giving the boot to my silly insecurities rising up, yet again, today. Thank you, friend!

      Reply
  2. Carol Scott says

    August 26, 2015 at 10:05 pm

    Laurie, I remember so very well the night that you shared your beautiful song ” I Love you Lord” while sitting on the hearth in our living room so many years ago. It has continued to be a blessing to many hungry souls and to draw people to worship our Lord. Thank you for sharing your song with us that night!

    I love you, Carol Scott

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 26, 2015 at 11:16 pm

      Thank you for opening your home and heart to me, Carol Scott, a gift I will always cherish.

      Reply
  3. Michele Whitlock says

    August 24, 2015 at 5:20 am

    Feeling out on a limb, myself. What a scary, yet safe, place to be when the Lord puts you there. “Let ME be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear. ” My prayer to the Father today.

    Thank you for your encouraging and inspiring words. Love you. ♡

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 24, 2015 at 3:53 pm

      Michele, the air may feel thinner, out here on the swaying branch tip, but there’s something pure and bracing about it too. Glad to be sharing sacred space with you again, dear friend.

      Reply
  4. Carol says

    August 23, 2015 at 7:01 pm

    From the day in 2007 when I first I learned you wrote “I Love You Lord,” I’ve sung and played it with your face and gratitude in my heart. I had counted it for decades as a favorite, having sung, as you, from a place where I felt “bone-lonely. Sick of my own voice. Emptied of hope.” Holy Spirit uses the lyrics ever to assure me that an honest, though desperately meager offering from my heart brings joy to the God of all creation! Truly “sacred space.”That repeated grace has indeed been “a plush gray rug, upholding [me] . . . ” Now comes a second gift–aside from the song itself–your account of the setting in which you first received it, then the Rhema when God again “stooped to speak [your] personal dialect.” Oh the multiplied blessings and sweet fellowship of communing hearts. Oh the joy of being a sweet, sweet sound in God’s ear.

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 23, 2015 at 11:04 pm

      Carol, you say my words back to me and they underline themselves in my spirit, as if I’m seeing them a-fresh (despite how many times I revised and proofread the post!). Thank you. I’m so glad the song and its stories hold meaning for you. So glad for your vibrant observations and loving heart.

      Reply
  5. Katherine deQuilettes says

    August 23, 2015 at 4:47 pm

    Can I just say one word ( for a chatty Kathi that might be hard) HEALING.

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 23, 2015 at 10:56 pm

      Katherine, that fills my heart. Keep singing, beautiful friend. See you at the end of the branch . . .

      Reply
  6. Sue Roth says

    August 23, 2015 at 1:16 pm

    Hi Laurie…good word for me on a Sunday morning when everything seems upside down…and I wonder again where is my place in this world and what is my meaning. Thanks. Now…to the park, perchance to dream. Perchance to take a picture for Day 1 of Beauty In Everyday Challenge.

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 23, 2015 at 3:23 pm

      Dear Sue, may things come into focus today—in your spirit as well as your camera lens, beginning with peace in the unknowing. I’m glad you’re in this world and look forward to seeing/reading what unfolds.

      Reply
  7. Jody Collins says

    August 22, 2015 at 9:15 pm

    Laurie, we have more than a little in common…teaching little ones and all. Until I got to the end, I thought you’d JUST gone to a conference somewhere and was gonna ask which one.

    I love this story, regardless if it’s from a while back….don’t you just love it when God sees us right down to the last little speck.

    (Learning to sing out on a limb?–doing that in October–leading a little retreat in writing and singing. In Leavenworth…you might could come 🙂

    Reply
    • Laurie Klein says

      August 22, 2015 at 9:34 pm

      Jody, common ground, indeed. And yes, we follow a God who loves tending the details!
      email or p.m. me info about your retreat. Sounds wonderful!

      Reply
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