Melodies from the Past

Whenever I smell baby powder, I instantly remember a time when Meghann dumped a whole container of it on the carpet in her room ... and then poured her juice on top of it and made a paste that she then used to paint a picture of a cow on the wall. Whenever I smell clay, I instantly remember the infatuation Brad had with modeling clay and how he would sit at the plastic little kid picnic table in the corner of our kitchen for hours creating all kinds of things. Whenever I smell sugar cookies, I instantly remember Matt standing on a chair at the counter next to my mom insisting that she be more meticulous in the rolling, cutting out and placing of the sugar cookie dough on the cookie sheet when she would visit us at Christmas. Whenever I smell shaving cream, I instantly remember watching Daddy put powder into a white porcelain container, mix it with water, put it on his face and use a straight-razor to shave. Whenever I smell corn cooking, I instantly remember Mom standing for hours over a hot stove as she prepared hundreds of ears of corn to freeze so that we could have fresh corn throughout the winter. I'm sure many of you have similar experiences ... certain scents, certain sounds, certain places spark memories within you that are powerful and strong ... memories that instantly transport you to events and places from your past.

Last Sunday, I had one of those moments ... a moment that instantly sent me back to my teenage years. The worship minister sang the first few lines of a song that was written by one of my favorite Christian artists when I was a teen. The minute he began to sing, I was back in my hometown of Red Bank ... shopping at The Vine bookstore ... purchasing a Keith Green album ... curling up in my bed ... listening intently as the music filled my room. After the worship leader sang the lines, he talked to the congregation about the song, about the man who penned it, and about the deep meaning contained within the words. And as he spoke about prayer and need and hurt and pain, my eyes filled with tears as I instantly remembered sitting in the small Baptist church I attended in my youth ... sitting in a pew in the church with all my friends hearing the truth spoken to me time and time again ... sitting in church for years and never getting it, never really knowing what it was to have a real faith, a deep commitment, a passion for God's Word, a longing to know Jesus Christ as more than the man the preacher always talked about. As the worship minister led the congregation in singing the rest of the song, I instantly remembered ... I instantly remembered so many times of listening ... to music, to preachers, to everyone except God.

I haven't been able to get the words and the melody of the song from Sunday off of my mind, and I also haven't been able to get the swirling memories from the past that were evoked by the song to leave my thoughts either. Youth conferences ... Bible studies ... late-night conversations ... so many melodies from the past ... so many, many times God called me to come to Him ... so many, many times I wouldn't listen.

"Thank You, God, that You kept calling ... thank You, Lord, that You reminded me Sunday once again of Who You are ... of what You desire from me ... of where I belong."

"My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me

Oh what can be done for an old heart like mine
Soften it up with oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew in the wine of Your Blood

My eyes are dry, my faith is old
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me."

--Keith Green