gratitude | The Writings of A. K. Frailey

As I sat in the Chapel at Greenville University on Sunday evening, I realized for the ka-billionth time that though our music on Earth may not exactly transport us to Heaven, it certainly builds a beautiful bridge.

This is the second year I’ve encountered The Greenville Choral Union and Orchestra, and this time they not only played selections from The Messiah but also beautiful compositions in Russian, Nigerian, and Spanish.

As I sat in the packed room, two college kids in front of me swayed to the rhythm, an assembly of older folks listened in rapt attention, and couples joined hands. Even small children stopped squirming. A remarkable feat in this technology-dominated era.

The glory of the voices mingling as an intertwining chorus and the skill of the musicians drew my attention to sublime realities.

One major thought that struck me was the sheer cooperation that had to take place for such an event to happen. There must have been well over fifty musicians and support people who set this evening as a priority in their lives, arranged their schedules, their family’s schedules, and accomplished all the seriously hard work to prepare for the occasion. For faith-filled music? And considering this was a donation event, it’s clear they weren’t doing it for the big bucks.

As I listened, I imagined different places in the world at the same moment in our shared human history. A God’s-eye view, perhaps. I thought of all the Illinois families trying to put their lives into some sort of order after the recent tornadoes, the Alaskan families struggling with the massive damage due to the recent earthquake, various people across the globe—some living in squalor, some sleeping in soft beds, and some suffering from addictions, violence, and terror.

But the music played on. The glorious sounds stretched beyond our globe of human pain and suffering—and for a couple hours—some of us knew peace, joy, and pure gratitude.

I can’t help but believe—for that moment—God knew it too.

It’s not often that humanity offers a perfect gift to God, but the Greenville University Choral Union gave a supreme effort. On behalf of humanity, I’m grateful.

Beyond words.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

The other day I was speaking to a woman on the phone who, for practical reasons, needed to know a little more about me and my family. When she discovered that I had eight children, and worse yet, that my husband died when they were all under 18, I thought she would have a stroke. She left little doubt in my mind that I must be crazy.

I’m not sure what exactly she thought I should do—renumber my kids or simply never mention them, but her tone suggested I had made an indelicate mistake in even admitting I had eight children—under any circumstances.

In some kind of perverse reaction, rather than crumbling into a heap of repentant grief, I further distanced myself from decent society by proclaiming that I also homeschool my kids, and I really enjoy being around them.

Her response: “Whatever!”

I was clearly beyond all hope.

Did I fall upon my knees in prayer for the poor woman’s soul? No. Good idea—it just never occurred to me. She would undoubtedly be baffled by my pity, so I’ll call it compassion, but honestly, it would be pity. I pity anyone who sincerely believes that children are little more than burdens, or that no one could seriously want and welcome eight kids—especially under trying circumstances.

When my husband was diagnosed with Leukemia, my youngest was only seven months old. Besides the terrible grief I felt for my suffering husband was the realization that we would never know the joy of welcoming another baby into the world. As it is, the eight children I’ve been blessed with have shared their strength, their candor, their honesty, their love, their hard work, their sense of honor and their noble spirits with me and many others.

The other day, as I stared at two large feed sacks I knew I could not lift, my eldest son stepped over without a word and swooped them into his arms and put them where they belonged. God knew what He was doing when He gave me son #1. And #2, who has a sense of humor that lightens the mood even in the hardest moments. And #3, who is a world-class student, manages the chicken establishment on our place, and mops floors on the side. #4 is the family cook and storyteller, #5 is our artist par-excellence, #6 helps me organize, #7 helps keep the critters happy, #8 keeps us laughing.

There will always be people who think I’m crazy for having eight kids.

Whatever!

I couldn’t be more grateful.