Doxology

So the man who really loves God, who is working under the Lordship of Christ, could write his poetry, compose his music, construct his musical instruments, fashion his statues, paint his pictures, even if no man ever saw them. He knows God looks upon them.
- Francis Schaeffer

There was a time, not so long ago, although ages ago, when my work began to get attention. A few literary journals saw fit to publish my short stories. A couple of production companies and churches took my short screenplays and breathed life into them. Agents oohed and ahhed over my work. I even finaled in one competition and won another.

Then came the silence. Not the beautiful silence of a starry night when the campfire has faded to embers and the last bit of wine lingers on your tongue. Not the satisfied silence that rings with the symphonies last notes and anticipates the audience's applause. Not the rapt silence of daydreams when the world fades except for the fairies dancing in the trees. This silence neither meditates nor divines. It is not content nor winsome nor magnificent.

It is the silence of ICU rooms, the silence of unrequited love, the silence of the whale's belly. It haunted emails that read "thank you, but." It echoed in the room where I wrote forgotten.

Why do you write, my husband once asked me. I write to converse, to dialogue, to offer up my response to God's creation, our fall, his redemption. I write so that others may know they're not alone.

But in this room, it is I who is alone.

In this space, I read the words, "The Lord himself, he himself hears."*

Like the first lines of Debussy's Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune, a solo rising sweetly, tentatively, the words sneak into my soul, refreshing, reassuring. The Lord sees me. He sees my work. Yes, I write to converse, to dialogue, to offer up my response, but I offer first what I write to him, for, as Schaeffer wrote, "An art work can be a doxology in itself." I write to work through the struggle of the fall. I write because of the beauty of God and of his work that breaks through this struggle.

I write because, like Paul, who interrupts his theological treatise to the Romans with a song of praise, I cannot help but to respond to God with art.

I know it matters, not because the journals and agents and publishers say it matters but because God says it matters. So I sit at keyboard and type. I sit at piano and play. The search for beauty becomes doxology to God.

When I am honest, I know that other eyes see me. Other ears hear me. For Keegan hears my stories and music. He witnesses this doxology, and hopefully through this, he witnesses the beauty and wonder and goodness of God. God is great; God is good.

Praise God from who all blessings flow.

*From an apocryphal psalm attributed to David.

Heather A. Goodman searches for beauty by campfires, in story, and in raspberry pie. She works under the lordship of Christ and praises Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Comments

[Jennifer Peacock]

My husband and I were watching a documentary on Netflix about Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon," and one of the critics was discussing the artistry of the music, how even the rests in the music were important. They spoke as importantly as the notes.

The Bible talks about God directing our path; put that in musical terms, and we can say he divides the measures, makes the harmonies, and installs the rests. All for His glory.

You no doubt could have said that better, but I think you get my gist ;-)(I'm a poseur musician as well.)

[Jeanne Damoff]

"The search for beauty becomes doxology to God."

Yes! Amen. So lovely, Heather. And so good and true. Praising God from whom all blessings flow with you.

Love, Jeanne

[Joelle]

Thank you very much for sharing this. I needed to read it. God knows I complain to him often enough about feeling like a lamp buried under a mountain (Matthew 5:15-16). I needed the reminder that He gave me what I make, whether pictures or stories, and I give them back to Him, even if no one else can spare the time for them. He is the audience that matters the most.

Thank you!

[Glynn]

Who is the first to respond in joy at the act of creation? The Creator.

[Michelle Pendergrass]

Your work matters. You matter. Absolutely.

Sometimes the best silence is between friends who understand and don't need to fill the void.

[Jack Scully]

I have referenced your blog on today's entry: Quote of the Day: The Great Doxology.