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Make a joyful noise to the Lord

Originally Appeared in : 9816-8/2/18

Common words that could be used to describe mornings at our house: Cacophony. Din. Racket. Bluster. Noise Commotion.

 

At any one moment, it’s not unlikely to have any of the following taking place simultaneously:

•Simon offering a karaoke rendition of, “We are the Light of the World,” on the piano down the hall
•Isaac tossing his brand-new Melissa & Doug balance beam blocks against the wood floor
•AnnaMarie hollering at Magan from the top of the recliner and,
•Eli sprinting into the living room to shout that he had brushed his teeth “all by myself.”

 

In fact, all of those were what was transpiring at the moment of this column’s penning: “Hazah for inspiration!”

 

I would tell you what this all means in the grand scheme, but you’ll have to give me a minute until Anakin Skywalker finishes telling Eli to, “Use the keyboard to select another dance,” from the kids’ Star Wars laptop.

 

Okay, where were we? Hang on a minute. Isaac is trying to call his Nannie on his toy phone, between banging his alligator xylophone. And, is he calling his Nannie “honey” or is he just randomly saying “hiney?”

 

Anyhow, noise. Yes, noise. It can be found in abundance in our house from time to time. And, by time to time, I mean most of the time. It’s the inevitability of what happens when nine people pile into an 1,800 square-foot house.

 

When the tiny house craze was reaching its peak about a year ago, Magan did the math and we technically qualify as tiny-house living, save the composting toilet. We’ve always joked we were trendsetters. Next thing you know, everyone will be driving church vans and reproducing like jackrabbits.

 

At any rate, sounds of many shapes, sizes and volumes fill our home, so folks with hearing aids remember to turn yours down to one when you come to visit to avoid becoming overwhelmed.

 

Those noises are a far cry from the silence that once filled our town house 11 years ago this month. Back then, a week after Magan and I had said, “I do,” there were only three people inhabiting 1,100 square feet, and the quiet could be deafening at times.

 

Sometimes it could be easy for Magan and me to view the commotion with a defeatist’s attitude, but we regularly remind ourselves that all of this ruckus is actually the vitality of God’s blessing in our lives through each and every one of our little (and big) noisemakers.

 

It gives a whole new meaning to Psalm 98:4’s call to, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth…”

 

Regardless of how much noise fills our house in the months and years to come, it will always be music to my ears, and serve as a physical manifestation of God’s blessing on the coupling he forged between Magan and me more than a decade ago.

 

When we get to heaven, who knows, the angels may all be singing God’s praise while banging alligator xylophones from the top of recliners.

 

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