An Orchestral Metaphor

I walked, and by my side a man, shining in white robes, guided me with a gentle hand.  We came upon a great cliff, overlooking an endless expanse below, a space that stretched out beyond eye's capacity.  Below, an orchestra covered the ground, blanketing it like heavy snow.  It sprawled, so sheer in size it made tears well up in my eyes and my whole form huddle with wonder.  Instruments, all that are known to man, were being played, from the harps to flutes, violins to bass drums.  I watched the musicians, anonymous faces furrowed in concentration.
My gaze wandered in fascination over the scene, but indeed, most wonderful of the picture was the Conductor, set on a platform high above the orchestra.  He shined, and I realized that no sun shone here, and everything I saw was by Him and His radiance.  The orchestra below performed solely by His light.  He held His baton, poised with natural precision, and conducted in inconceivable, spectacular movements which never wavered and held such a position of logic and divinity as to be paradoxical.
The Conductor smiled, indescribable, as if every one of the players He conducted was His child, one who He delighted in above all.  It filled my heart, my very soul with ecstatic, fantastical joy.
"My Father," said the man beside me, gesturing to the Conductor.  "The Great Conductor."
It was at this moment I realized a curious fact.  Surprised, I gazed down again at the uncountable number of instruments, all in use, fingers on strings, pressing stops, mouths blowing through reeds.
"Why!" I exclaimed.  "There is no music.  None at all."
"There is music," said the Conductor's son.  "You cannot hear it, for it would destroy."
"But the sound," I protested.  "The sound must be incredible."  I looked with longing at the orchestra, and at the Conductor, for anything under the guidance of Him must surely be perfection.
My guide looked on me with love and compassion.  "I will let you hear a small portion, so that you will understand," he said.  He placed his hands to my ears.
I listened, holding my breath.  First, silence, but then a note swept into existence, long and clear, bowed from a violin.  All at once, the music crashed in around me.  Whatever I had expected, it was not what I heard.  The music weighed on me, an unbearable yoke of sound.  The flow of the melodies moved like liquid over me, saturated with such sorrow, despair, and loss that my entire body began to tremble.  The great pitch of sound swelled, louder and louder, deafening and defeating.  Through it all, from melancholy harmonies to tragic rhythms, I could hear instruments harsh and out of tune.  The screech of a wayward violin, the wobble of a dissonant oboe, the shrill squeak of a cracked flute.  Notes rushed in, their voices quick and fleeting, and notes were held far beyond the time they were meant, drawn out to long disarray.  My very existence could not cope with the vast, woeful sounds.  But for all its ugliness, it captivated something inside me, deep within me something surged up.   
It was horrible, but it was beautiful.
My soul sang with it, and I wept into my guide's shoulder.  He took his hands away from my ears, and the music faded away.
"How does He bear it?" I cried, staring at the Conductor, standing in the midst of all that terrible, wonderful sound.  "How does He bear it?"          
"Because He loves.  My Father loves each one of those players, unconditionally and forever.  He has written out a Part for each and every one, He has delicately structured their instruments and He wrote the Great Score for them.  But they try to rewrite it, or change it, or play their own melody entirely.  Most of them do not even look up to see that they have a Conductor, and they perpetually play the Broken Song.  If they would only look up...
"But my Father knows the plans He has.  He will create a New Score, soon.  For the melody heard is nothing compared to what is coming - the melody both heard and unheard, where Perfection shall play in the Heavens, and even the unbound stars shall sing."
I looked again on the endless sea of faces down below.  Everywhere, heads turned down and away from the Conductor, and I realized, with an ache in my heart, that many of them wept at the ground with dark eyes turned away from the light.
And above it all, the baton swung in divine motion. 
As I watched, the Conductor turned and looked at me, directly into my eyes, and I found my surroundings melting away.  I was in the orchestra, a violin in my hands, among the grand and sorrowful melody, contributing my own soul to the Great Score.  But I kept my eyes on the Conductor, and I let His hands guide me, and I played for Him.  I magnified His melody and it brought me joy surpassing all understanding.  This was but a practice, a preparation for the New Score, for a much greater melody, written by the Conductor for all who sought to play in the Orchestras of Heaven. 
Behold, this is true love.    

This Is Not Your House

We're all someone.  We all have likes and dislikes and types of clothing we like to wear and music we like to listen to.  We each have a unique personality that allows our friends to go, "I saw these shoes at the mall that looked so totally you."
We all enjoy being 'ourselves."
Last Sunday the pastor of my church preached a sermon that I liked a lot.  In it, he compared our personalities, our likes and dislikes, who we are as people inside and out to being our "houses."  As humans, we like to think we own our houses.  We like to think we sit on a big fat piece of land in a nice house and say, "I own this, this is me."  But, as my pastor said, we don't actually own any of it.
God has the keys to your heart if you've accept Him as your Lord and Savior, but God also wants the keys to your house.  He wants every bit of furniture in every room.  And, myself included, when you hear this you don't like it.  I like being myself, I'm me, this is my house, I built it.
But none of us built our own houses.  God did, from the foundation to the chimney.  We don't have a right to throw Him out the front door and say, "I built this, get out."  He wants His keys back, and things get so much easier when you hand them over, because He'll help you with the upkeep.  When your house starts falling apart, when a storm comes, God'll be there to help you with repairs.  But first, you have to surrender your housekeys and let God into every room.  Every closet.  Every cupboard.  Don't close any doors, don't go, "Oh, not that closet, that's my stuff."  Or, "Please don't go in there, I'm ashamed of what's inside."  Those latter doors are the one that you should leave wide open for God, for He's the only one who can clean out and remodel it.  It may be embarrassing and shameful, but don't worry, God understands.  It may hurt to show Him these private rooms, but it will hurt only as thorn hurts as it being pulled out. 
It's hard to give up control of things, we as humans like to be in charge of ourselves.  But, if you think about it, this isn't even our permanent house.  Soon it would will crumble and rust away and we'll move into a perfect mansion in Heaven, and since that's eternal, how much do our earthly dwellings really matter?
God wants every part of us.  All of it.   He wants every door wide open.  He gave you a wonderful house to live in it, so live in it, don't try to own it.  Really, so much stress goes away when you give Him everything.  He wants to fill your house with peace and joy, so why not let him?
Giving up control is hard, but things get easier after that.  So try it.  I have faith that you'll see the blessings immediately.           

^(OvO)^