pa rum pum pum pum

I am that little child with that flimsy toy drum strapped around his angular little boy shoulder. Come, they told him. The sticks strike that moon face, commanding air and passers-by to listen to the rhythm, the foolish parade of one. I am that simple, repeat refrain. And even then, he does it better. He found the drum and the sticks and the bravery to begin.

Honest talk, I’m getting a little worked up facing this blank page. I am sad for being gone, sad for not playing my song (foolish as it sounds), sad for hiding my gift under a bushel basket full of distractions – mindless social media and early bedtimes with a tired brain.

My wet mess of a face almost matches the mess I meant to clean in our apartment when Pat left with Zella two hours ago. I don’t know why, but imagining myself into the story of the little drummer boy is just so exactly where I am right now. I guess the small gesture – lifting strap over shoulder and calling on a hidden, inner repertoire – convicts all my defenses.

Whew, I didn’t know I needed this kind of cry – let me take a moment. Let’s all take a moment.

I know – it’s not technically Christmas music. But sometimes the song beating rhythms behind our ribcage isn’t jingling bells. Most times, in my case. The Advent season is not triumphant. It is precious beauty, but it is sad too. We are the reason Jesus came all the way down, all the terrifying way down, from celestial glory to stomachs growling and torrential storms. I am both loved by this act and reminded that there was reason for His condescension. I am the reason.

My proneness to wander so pressed on the heart of God until it broke Him and compassion poured out in the real life of a little babe.

 

Anyway, I salute you – little boy and your silly pa rum pum pum pum refrain. Thanks for being brave enough to bang on your drum and make a grown woman cry while thinking about it. Here is me striking my drum in your honor.

5 thoughts on “pa rum pum pum pum

  1. dang miss C–how i love your heart, and your honesty. you are a beautiful woman. i wish i could see you and P and Z more often…..Grace and peace, UT

    On Sat, Dec 3, 2016 at 12:03 PM, musings in montage wrote:

    > Caroline posted: “I am that little child with that flimsy toy drum > strapped around his angular little boy shoulder. Come, they told him. > The sticks strike that moon face, commanding air and passers-by to listen > to the rhythm, the foolish parade of one. I am that simple, re” >

  2. Caroline, I have so missed this “deep from your heart” writing that challenges my thinking and stirs profound feelings. Your gift for life-to-paper writing is as important to us out in the world as it is to you. I am always blessed to glumpse into your life and your soul. Thank you for picking up that pen and being brace!
    Joyce in Iowa

  3. “But sometimes the song beating rhythms behind our ribcage isn’t jingling bells.”

    so true. and yet the music is beautiful. and you couldn’t stop it if you tried–it’s in your pulse. i believe in your song!

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