First Week

Well guys, I'm at the end of my first week in Hesston, KS. Here are some pictures of the dorm (I finally got settled in, Mom). This afternoon we watched the Hesston girls soccer team win in muggy (Ryan?) hot weather. Notice my Big Joe cubbyhole, Tara? 

Overheard at the Music Shop

     The bell jangled as I pushed the  front door open and let it close behind me. Compared to the dark and wintery night outside, Larry's Music embraced me with brightness. The wall's, painted light green contrasted with the rows and rows of shiny guitars lent a cheerful aspect to the little store. Although there were two comfy brown couches perched just by the doors, I moved on. I had a purpose in coming to Larry's this Friday night. The G string on my cello had broken and I was scheduled to play on Sunday morning. So while in Wooster for another reason that evening,

I had just enough time to pick up a new string and skedaddle. 

     "Welcome to Larry's, how may I help you?" a new guy spoke up behind the counter. Larry's is- used to be- as familiar to me as the grocery store, yet I couldn't place this guy. He was helpful though, and handed me the string in exchange for an ungodly amount of money (highway robbery). My business completed, I headed for the door. But wait a minute... I glanced at the time. I had at least a half hour before I had to be somewhere else. So now what to do with time to kill? I asked myself. I used to spend hours browsing sheet music at this store - perhaps there was something interesting on those shelves, I hoped as I backtracked.

      "...I'm the best drummer in the world." I caught the end of a sentence and the eye of the tall young man who spoke it. He was the one I'd talked to when I called ahead to order the cello string. General manager? Something. I had no idea why someone would blurt out something so arrogant, but he was smiling - so did I. I turned, my attention caught by the music books again.

     Yet I couldn't help but eavesdrop, because the young man kept talking: talking with somebody whose head I couldn't see. His coworker chimed in now.

     "Are you sure you can afford us? We charge, like, forty bucks an hour. Per person." (what on earth? I thought. Why so discouraging to a potential customer?) But now the kid ( the one I couldn't see) was talking, and I began to understand this strange conversation.

     "But we would be a good band!" said the bold little seven year old "I've even written some songs of my own." obviously trying to impress his two prospective band members.

     "Oh you have?" General manager guy again ( I think his name is Kyle).

     "Sing one for us then." Coworker said. 

     "Geez, you wouldn't want to even know the name of one of the songs I wrote."

     "Come on, tell us."

     "Okay" ('easily convinced, kid', I thought to myself) "it's called 'The Lady Of My Dreams'." he announced triumphantly.

     "Hey!" Kyle encouraged "there's a hit single right there! Think of all the other hit titles - that fits right in." The coworker agreed. 

      "You could be the drummer - " spoke the seven year old (to Kyle )"and what can you do?" turning to the coworker.

       And then as they talked music hit history for a bit I tried to pay attention to my music books and act as though I wasn't listening. The smile on my face said otherwise, though, so I kept my head turned until I heard the kid's mother join the conversation.

        "Honey, your teacher wants to talk to you about your practice log time" the kid's Mom called from the back of the store, where she'd been speaking with his teacher. 

      "Oh. Um. Mom, do you remember that deal we had about practicing, since I was too busy and stuff last week?" the kid asked cautiously. 

     "That means you will practice at least twice this week, right?" the music teacher cajoled, joining the conversation.

     "Two times! That's so much!" (wow kid, you really are new to this whole practice makes perfect thing, aren't you?)

      "Whoa whoa whoa - we have decided to make a deal with you." Kyle and the coworker intercepted the kid's complaining: "you practice 15 min a day, and we'll be in your band." Kyle smiled.

     "Really! But 15 min every day! That's a lot!"

     "Do you want a band or not?" the coworker glanced out the corner of his eye at the seven year old.

Sometimes I suppose a different perspective can change many things: at any rate, the kid picked up a guitar, started strumming. "I'll start practicing right now!" he declared. 

      "Honey, we are headed home instead" the kid's mom picked him up. "Thank you guys!" she yelled over her shoulder. I stood and smiled to myself. Kyle, the teacher and the coworker headed back to their respective duties, mission accomplished, the cause of music furthered. 

    Then I looked at the time and scrammed.

    Funny thing, when I restrung my cello, I found an entirely new G string in my case, where it had been the whole time.

The story was worth it. 

Concerning College Visits and Christmastime

     Merry Christmas, everybody! It's been a while since I wrote and, you know, maybe it's time for an update. I am sitting in the washroom at Mom's battered green desk, waiting for my wax to melt. Candlemaking is a tradition here at home. The dryer hums, the water boils. My fingers tap. Cranberry scent fills the room. Hesston College is on my mind. I visited over Thanksgiving weekend, asking myself is this my future? Maybe some of you wonder as well. So I will use the rest of this post to talk about Kansas.
     Since the middle of summer, I'd been toying with the idea of visiting Hesston College campus sometime this winter. At first I thought Thanksgiving break would be a good time since Mom has a weekend off of work. I hoped both Mom and Dad could come along. September, my admissions counselor, Kate Mast, was traveling through Wayne County, so we met and talked about college. I filled out my application (and got a free tee shirt). Kate thought perhaps Thanksgiving wouldn't be the best time to come to campus, since there are more festivities than everyday college life. Plus there wouldn't be any classes and probably no room in the guest house. I started planning for January instead.
   Then came Jerrel and Amanda's wedding. We girls (plus Daryn) played the wedding music for them. At the reception, Amy and Alisa Murray snagged me to say that I should join Bel Canto, Hesston's choir. Amy went on to offer a ride up to Hesston, since Alisa and Randy were already headed there for Thanksgiving and had an empty seat. Personally, I feel like it was a nudge from God. Every time I feel doubtful about his directing me to Hesston, I get another little nudge in that direction. Older, wiser people have asked what's wrong with Malone, or something online? Why go so far away? Honestly, I think it's essential to my development, to put it seriously. I think every kid needs some great divide between kid years and adulthood; kind of a license to be his own person, or something. A couple years on my own could really do the trick (at least that's my theory). Anyway, so I went.
     Boy, that was a long drive. First, I arrived at the Murray's house. Then Randy and I traveled to Goshen, IN to pick up Alisa, who is finishing up college there. Randy and I had many and interesting talks. Mostly, I was curious about his views on Anabaptist heritage. We talked about pacifism, and some of the bad things I've heard about EMU, and gay rights, etc. That conversation started me thinking thoughts that I spent the rest of the weekend mulling over. I have never met someone who is passionate about pacifism before. Randy, a retired Mennonite paster turned STNA, is. After we picked up Alisa, we continued driving to La Porte to pick up Alisa's boyfriend, a commercial pilot instructor. Caleb (boyfriend) wanted to fly the rest of the way to Hesston, since it could shave nearly ten hours off our travel time. Randy actually considered it for about an hour, but then weather conditions changed his mind, and without further ado, we four buckled down and started driving again. That was at 4:30. Alisa started driving at 9 pm, and I rode shotgun. I learned that you can really get to know a person in a short time if you are all in the same vehicle for 20 hours! Alisa and I talked favorite authors, mission trips, college majors, pros and cons of Hesston, and the true purpose of education while driving on Rt 36 through ice and snow at midnight. This talk was just another great thought provoker that set me up for the weekend.
     We pulled into Annali (Alisa's sister) Murray's drive at 6 am Thanksgiving Day, and I was showered and in bed by 6:15. I don't remember much for the next few hours.  Close to eleven, I woke up, had breakfast, and Saralyn (another of Randy's daughter's)  walked me over to campus. Annali (also an admissions counselor) can walk to work in two minutes - the college is literally next door. So there I was. My host for the week , Erika Byler, took me to a buffet brunch in the dining hall. You know, orange juice, (amazing) coffee, and all sorts of breakfast goodies. The Hesston kitchen staff served us great breakfasts all weekend. After breakfast, Erika Byler showed me around campus. There are a jumble of buildings that I don't even remember the names of. Northlawn stood out to me because that is where I would take the majority of my classes, if I major in music education.  There is an arboreteum five minutes away from campus, and it's beautiful even in the winter. Tall brown grasses and winding pathways, a pond and a stand of trees with some stone landscaping. Also little prairie sections. The arboreteum staff were preparing for a luminary walk Fri and Sat evenings. Unfortunately I didn't make it to that.
     That afternoon Erika's pleasantly large family showed up and kept us company. I loved her four youngest siblings, all adopted from China. I think they loved me too. And I was especially glad for their company since I was so far from my own family for the first holiday I can remember. About four pm I walked to prospective student meeting at the campus church. The admissions vice president opened with a reading from "Jesus Calling" that I am sure was another God nudge. The passage was about focusing on Jesus and the present instead of worrying about all the twists and turns of the future. So appropriate for me, trying to figure out if God is really calling me all the way out to Kansas. The evening Erika's family and I spent at the annual Christmas concert (excellent music) and the talent show afterward. Alisa told me later that Randy Murray nearly split his sides from laughing so hard at the talent show. The student's definitely had a good time. Even later yet, Erika, her little sister and I went to Druber's Donut's with her friends. Apparently, that is one donut shop that doesn't open until 11 pm, and closes again at 10 am. Strange hours indeed! But they get all kinds of student business (for good reason, their donuts are delicious). And finally, bedtime.
     I managed to lock myself out of the dorm on Friday morning (they have specific hours when you can get in and out), but, happily, that was after I was ready for the day. I spent the rest of the morning auditioning for a scholarship and a part in Bel Canto. I am fairly confident about the scholarship part of the audition, but feel nervous about the Bel Canto part. Bradley Kaufman, the 'judge', will tell me my results in April... a long ways away. The rest of the day I spent touring campus and talking with different professors about majors. That evening the Byler's and I ate at Applebee's in nearby Newton, then drove back to campus in time for cabaret. Students put on little snippets of plays, songs, or other theatre pieces in Hesston's little theatre. I wish I could show you all some of the pieces - "Being Alive" sung by a guy with a great big voice about letting someone get too close for comfort; a section of "The Importance Of Being Ernest" (Oliver Wilde) played by two world class snoots; "I Could Have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady. I got a front row seat (not that it would've mattered with the piddly size of the room), and clapped the whole way through.
     After caberet, we walked over to the gym for one of my very favorite things about Hesston: the hymn sing. It's by far the most original hymn sing I've been apart of. Here's what happened. All the hymn sing people gather in the raquetball courts (you know, with the high ceilings and close walls) and sing hymn after hymn. Such amazing sound! Eventually the lead hymner person turned the light off and we sang a few songs that way. I tried to record a few songs to show people back at home but couldn't capture the echoes right. Some things you just have to be there for! At the hymn sing I met a student from Central Christian who is now a Hesston College student. Small world indeed.
     Saturday morning I sneaked out of the dorm and walked to the arboreteum, where I spent an hour writing and getting caught up with home. When returned to the lobby, Micah Raber (Central Christian guy) was visiting with Erika Byler's brother. Since Erika wasn't around yet, I hung out with them until breakfast. After Erika's family left campus, an African American dad started up a conversation with us. We talked about a lot of things, diversity and racism, chiefly. I appreciated the chance to ask someone on the other side of the issue for perspective on Ferguson, Missouri, and other instances like it. Honestly, I've been convicted of racism since I talked with Mr. Mann. One aspect of racism, I now believe, is not taking the time to understand where the other race stands. (Yes, I have done that). See, back home at work I'd been talking about racism and Ferguson with Bob Moomaw and Ray Davies. That's what got me really thinking. Interestingly, Mr. Mann's son has no Mennonite heritage and still loves Hesston. Mr Mann said his son has come to realize that Mennonites are simple. They aren't materialistic, and he admires that. Anyway, I enjoyed the conversation. One basketball game later, it was time for me to head back to Annali's. I repacked, thanked Erika for her hospitality and left. Randy Murray and I got safely home to Kidron at 2 am on Monday.
    So there you have it. I keep being amazed at how everything keeps falling in place. Life is an adventure, never boring, always new.
   Thanks for reading.

Wonder

     I am sitting on my sister's porch swing, listening to the creak of it's motion. Off in the distance I see pink yellow light claiming this sky back from the threatening clouds. A big rain has just passed through the little valley, and here I am in its wake; bringing my scribbles to you. Last weekend my family spent at a cabin in the woods, relaxing. That Saturday afternoon, I had time to wander on the trails, and time to write. So I did, and here is what I wrote. 
     "I see a runner through the golden leaves, hear the shush shush shush crackling of those leaves he scuffs as he makes his way up the sloping forest path. He cannot see me. Hidden in the cleft of two fallen trees, I am safe from view. He passes. The wind whispers through these maples and a woodpecker keeps an irregular rhythm on a nearby tree.

     I meant what I just said - the leaves really are golden. But they are not just tinted yellow. Actually, they are the color of fairy dust, but here they are in this woods. Every now and then a large gust of wind sweeps through and these leaves flurry about, a blizzard of gold instead of white. Fall is indeed come upon us, almost gone, and I barely noticed it at all. So now I snuggle down into my downy blue sweatshirt, look around and listen to the cry of the crow somewhere beyond the next hilltop. As I shift my position on the log, my thoughts turn to something Mom said in passing this afternoon.
How do we soak all this in? she had wondered. Her words were inadequate, she said to me, and all she could do is take pictures and try somehow to get the beauty inside. Yet the beauty doesn't last, and soon it fades away. So how?
     I know why she asked -- I get what she means. Because I have wandered in to the fresh blue dawn, lost my breath for the glory of the sunrise and lost my heart to the ache of not owning it. Not keeping the magic of beauty. So often I have racked my brain for a solution to this ache, a way to truly feel as though I had taken it in like I meant to, possessed the wonder of creation as I long to. There is not a single way to capture it. Though I am able to enjoy His too-much-for-me  glory in His mountains and streams... still I cannot keep the wonder. Does anyone else feel this way when they experience beauty? The majesty of a symphony, a dazzling bride, a thundering waterfall; am I the only one who feels the crippling ache? Imogen Heap said it well in her song "Can't Take It In":

                                                               

                                                               Can't close my eyes

I'm wide awake
Every hair on my body
Has got a thing for this place
Oh, empty my heart
I've got to make room for this feeling
It's so much bigger than me

It couldn't be anymore beautiful
I can't take it in

Weightless in love...unraveling
For all that's to come
And all that's ever been
We're back to the board
With every shade under the sun
Let's make it a good one 

It couldn't be anymore beautiful

It couldn't be anymore beautiful

I can't take it in

    In his letter from my previous post, Mr. Nelson says "I loved how you described feeling the Spirit and the love of God as 'that funny ache inside.' I know exactly what you mean." So maybe it isn't just me after all. And that ache has something to do with the fact that I want so badly to keep what is good and holy but I somehow can't.  Whether I am seeing the Ohio State Stadium through a silent snowfall in a quiet, sparkling city; or  horse back riding in Indian country, The thing I want stays just out of reach. I tell my sisters that sometimes I want a giant straw to point at the world and suck in all the goodness until it's in my marrow. They shake their heads at me: straws like that simply aren't on the market. Beauty is transient, fading. Just when a moment has reached its peak, just as it's finally hit our hearts like it was meant to -- it's gone. 

     So what conclusion am I supposed to come to here, anyway? What is the purpose of beauty if not to frustrate me with its elusiveness? C. S. Lewis called these stabs of joy, 'sign posts' along the path to heaven. Maybe he was right, you know. In "Surprised by Joy" he writes how he came to realize that all the things that ignite longing in a heart are not to be hated but seen for what they are: reminders of heaven. Landmarks of that place where there is no sorrow. Perhaps that's why I can never possess the wonder in the world. Because it's mine in heaven, and it is only leftovers of Eden here on this little planet. 

     As the old saying goes, beauty is passing. I agree, earthbound beauty doesn't last. It doesn't invade us and cleanse us the way we feel it should. But heavenly beauty? that's another thing entirely. That beauty will never fade, the wonder never cease. Instead we will be completely immersed in his glory until we become glorious purely by osmosis. 

     I look forward to the day.

The Reply

 You all know by now how much I appreciate The Piano Guys. If you read my previous post, you will know that I mustered up my courage and composed an email for Steven Sharp Nelson. Who knew such a busy guy would have time to reply? But reply he did. So after a long and hectic day of work Thursday, I came home to this!
 


---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Steven Sharp Nelson <steve@stevensharpnelson.com>
Date: Thursday, September 25, 2014
Subject: 
To: Cheri Baer <cheri.baer95@gmail.com>

Dear Cheri,

Thank you so much for your email. I have read and thought about it so many times. It has inspired me so much. I loved how you described feeling the Spirit and the love of God as "that funny ache inside." I know exactly what you mean. I wish more people could feel that too. Music is a perfect way to spread that feeling. Cheri, I wish I could tell you how many times I have felt like I'm not a very good cellist. I still feel it all the time. But I have noticed that this feeling of inadequacy is the opposite feeling of the "funny ache inside." And that tells me it's not from God. I believe there is opposition in all things. Were it not for the bitter how could we enjoy the sweet? Were it not for the moments of self-doubt how could we know what faith feels like? When I have those dark moments I pray with all the strength I have that I can feel the "funny ache" instead - that I can feel the love of my Heavenly Father. It works every time. Sometimes not right away, but it always works. I have 4 children. I don't want them to feel self-doubt and sadness, although I know that's necessary for their growth, I want to help them to experience joy. It is the same with our Father in Heaven. He wants us to learn and grow and will let us go through trials but He is always there to help if we ask Him. I've also learned that faith is a principle of action, not just thought. So when I pray for help to get out of a "I'm not a good cellist" moment - I try to do something for someone else. The minute we serve another is the same minute we forget about our own problems and weaknesses. Something tells me that you already are a natural at this. Music is such a great way to serve. I've found that I feel best about my cello skills when I'm using them to bless the lives of people around me.

You don't have to be perfect. I am so far from it. We all are. Even the people that we think are perfect aren't even close. But life isn't about perfection. I look at my cellos. What makes them beautiful are their imperfections. I honestly have NEVER had a perfect concert - getting all the notes right. But I've had lots of concerts that felt like a piece of heaven, and that is a much better feeling than getting notes right. Music should always be about joy, praising God, communing with others soul to soul, rather than about what notes were right and what notes weren't. I'm so glad this is the case or else I wouldn't be able to be a performing cellist! I am just too ADHD to perfect everything!

I too wish we could sit and chat, Cheri. I know that God loves you. He loves you for your good heart, child like faith, and desires to make a difference among all His children. Thank you for making a difference in my life.

Sincerely,

#

Letter to the Cello Guy

Dear Mr. Nelson,
     I remember hearing "Love Story Meets Viva La Vida" when it first came out and just falling in love with it. It was morning, and the smell of breakfast was drifting through the farmhouse. We were all gathering around the table to eat when we heard your music. My sister had clicked on your youtube video. I remember that all ten of us gathered around the computer like barnacles to the side of a ship and just watched. We replayed the video maybe ten times. I play cello, so I have an idea of the perseverance involved in playing like you do - you play cello like Rumplestiltskin spun straw! But you know what was better than watching the skill? Seeing the joy written all over you and John Schmidt's faces while you played. I mean, I know that feeling. That moment when I manage to coax the music to come out of my fingers just like it should... it's amazing.
    I actually started playing violin when I was about eight. My parents are dedicated to music and bought each of us kids an instrument around that age. I took private lessons from friends for a while, until I played moderately well. At the age of fourteen I switched to cello, after watching the closing scene from"Master and Commander". (If you have never watched that movie, at least watch the end. It's a beautiful duet between a cello and a violin.) I was hooked. So Dad bought me a $1000 cello off ebay, and I started lessons. Eventually I convinced my cello teacher to help me play that song, and I performed it twice last year. As for where I am headed with cello now... well, it's kind of unknown. So far, my sisters and I have been playing at churches and weddings. I love it: love the chance to harmonize, love to watch the audience, love to hear the music! Now my little brother Dustin wants to be a cellist when he grows up.
    The reason I am writing this letter to you is that you are a hero of mine. I was at your concert in Cleveland last night and I was just blown away by the show. Probably my favorite part of the show was towards the end, when you said "People like Jay Leno ask us 'where do you get these ideas?'" and you were like "where do we get these ideas?" and freaking out a little, and then you heard a clear voice tell you that "I gave you the ideas". And it was God. I sat there listening and I just about jumped out of my seat yelling "I knew it!" Because your music is like nothing I have heard before, not because of the instruments or talent, but because I hear heaven in your music, and I was wondering if it was just me, and now I know it wasn't. See, that is why I started playing - I want people to hear heaven in my music. I want them to get that funny ache inside that I get when I hear something beautiful. I want to inspire and encourage with my music. You and Mr. Schmidt do that. As I was sitting in the State Theater I was thinking earnestly on the subject of heroes. The image of a lamp prism came to mind. You know, when light shines through a prism, that prism shines like a jewel. Yet, the prism is only reflecting the light. You guys have been prisms to me, reflecting the character of God through your music. Thank you.
    I have a question that I would love to sit down and talk out with you. But since that is improbable, here it is. Do you ever feel like you aren't a very good cellist, even though you are? I do. Often.
     Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you for your music.
                                               Sincerely,
                                                         Cheri Baer

Hope

Hey guys. It's been a while - I've been busy, been working through some hard stuff. It's late - looking out my window everything is dark, and the lights of my little town shine through foggy dark. Beautiful. Today God's grace was obvious, popping up everywhere, through family, friends. Even through change. I have work in the morning. I need to sleep; but I found a poem that I'd penned a few months ago that I want to share.

It's my cellar

I tell them

my friends and my family

My cellar

And it is

I don't let them in

and when they ask why

That's what I tell them

Why?

Because of fears lurking

Lurking in those dark cellar corners

My fears, I suppose

Human's fail me

time and time again forever

That's true, I know

My cellar

And I

I haven't let anyone in with me

I don't go in myself

Into my cellar

Well, unless I have to --

sometimes those fears make lot's of noise

I have to shut them up

somehow

How?

You tell me.

 Then the light came

You know light

It shines in corners

and I heard him say

May I come in?

Dubious.

Holding not my own head high

but

holding his hand tight instead

We walked into my cellar

Walked in with light

the light of understanding

showed up those dark corners

Dark, dark corners

with my old enemies, fears

I saw them fade

Because fear, really, it's abstract

it doesn't stand, solid, in light

it's vapor

 Only terrible in the dark

And then, my tired soul

he carried through my cellar

and it became our cellar

and now

I don't go in there anymore

It's filled with good, good earth.

And that's what he does

with every cellar

in my heart.

Goodnight, everyone.