October 18, 2020 - #4753 Music & the Spoken Word
The Music & the Spoken Word broadcast airs live via TV, radio, and internet stream on Sunday at 9:30 a.m. mountain time. For information on other airtimes, visit “Airing Schedules” at musicandthespokenword.org.
This encore performance of Music & the Spoken Word has been specially selected for airing while the Choir and Orchestra are practicing social distancing.
Conductor: Mack Wilberg
Organist: Andrew Unsworth
Announcer: Lloyd Newell
“Antiphon” from Five Mystical Songs
Music: Ralph Vaughan Williams
Lyrics: George Herbert
“I Sing the Mighty Power of God”1
Music: English melody
Lyrics: Isaac Watts
Arrangement: Mack Wilberg
“Menuet Gothique” from Suite Gothique (organ solo)
Music: Léon Boĕllmann
“Come to My Garden” from The Secret Garden
Music: Lucy Simon
Lyrics: Marsha Norman
Arrangement: Kurt Bestor
“Where Love Is”2
by Joanne Bushman Doxey and Marjorie Castleton Kjar
Arrangement: Sam Cardon
“How Firm a Foundation”3
Music: J. Ellis
Lyrics: Robert Keen
Arrangement: Mack Wilberg
The Spoken Word
When Children Stray
Is there such a thing as a “perfect family”? Obedient children, abundantly patient parents, with endless bliss at home. We fantasize about it, because that’s exactly what it is: a fantasy. In reality, we all have struggles seen or unseen that pull at the fabric of our family. And that cloth knows both tears and tears as we watch loved ones make choices that break our hearts.
What’s the right thing to do when this happens? It certainly isn’t to give up, abandon hope, or live with despair. Instead, what if we tried to see things through the eyes of God? He who created us all loves us perfectly—even if He doesn’t love all of our choices. He sees not just who we are now but who we can become. He celebrates the good in His children, patiently waiting for us to recognize it in ourselves.
When a family member turns away from the family’s values or even the family’s love, it doesn’t mean the end of every wonderful trait he or she ever had. Maybe what’s needed is to focus not on the disappointment we feel but on the goodness we see. That’s where the potential for growth lies; that’s where hope lives. Besides, isn’t this how we would want others to see us?
One father and his son became estranged over some deep-seated differences. In time, however, he discovered how much he missed his son—his creative ideas, his sense of humor. It was then that the father realized he’d been too quick to judge. When he determined to nurture their love for one another, rather than their disagreements, a new and even deeper closeness developed.
Sometimes we label a loved one “wayward,” but that’s a box that is actually large enough to fit everyone. All of us fall short of perfection; all of us have room to improve. If we do not draw a hard line of exclusion, we can live softer, gentler, more peaceful lives. We can then patiently invite change for the good—in others and in ourselves.