Archive for September, 2011

I had a near death experience this morning.

OK, it probably fell short of actual mortal peril, but only because I tottered but did not fall, and still, I could have been seriously injured.

It was a humbling moment, one of those freeze-frame-suspended-in-time-moments devoid of all post The Matrix mojo moves now so commonplace in action films. Fleshy, metaphorically and literally, I fell into harms way in my own closet, unable to execute any judo-spring-flips of escape.

Yeah, that, and my opponent was a thong.

Stop it.
STOP!
Just stop already.
I can hear you laughing.
I have feelings.
Tender, big, bruised feelings.

Let’s begin with some ground rules:

1. Warning: Much of the action depicted and/or described in this post is potentially dangerous. Virtually all of the ridiculous stunts chronicled are performed by experienced, harried mothers. (Mothers may also appear hairy depending on the last time they had the opportunity to shave even one leg.) Do not attempt to duplicate any of these stunts at home. Always wear the appropriate safety gear.

2. Lots of mothers of four wear thongs! Many of us have esteem and organizational issue aplenty without excess resources to manage panty lines.

3. What happened to me could have happened to anyone. Panties are notorious rivals of opportunity. Just when you think you’re safe in your closet, yours too might hold you hostage.

4. I may be able to multitask while meditating, but apparently, I can’t always dress while brushing my teeth. You know how tricky those new sonic toothbrushes are -all buzz and beep-timed to hit each, vital, oral quadrant.

5. No judgement!

6. Stop laughing already. I was in danger! And I’m fragile.

Picture the typical Monday Morning Mamma Drill.

You all know it’s a double time with a weighted pack, uphill march. Each child added to the dynamic increases the maternal incline by 14%. It’s T minus 11 minutes before kids need to be loaded in the wagon headed toward school. Lunches are packed, the kids’ teeth are brushed, their hair’s all reasonably styled, but The Mamma’s still in her jammies. Mind you, I’m not in recline and bon-bon, nightgown mode, I’ve spent the 72 minutes since I rose in mid-sprint as support pad for the week’s launch. I’ve packed lunches, made beds, combed hair, refereed fights, emailed school about two acute issues, cleared breakfast dishes, and helped to track down not one, but three critical items that mysteriously went MIA for children that swear to all the gods of Olympus, “I put it right there!”

All these morning maneuvers left me with approximately 312 seconds to get myself ready to get out the door. I grabbed my Sonic Care toothbrush, began brushing my teeth, and headed to the closet to dress. Holding the toothbrush in my right, dominant hand, I began to pull on my panties with left.

I was teetering toward the floor before I realized what had happened as Sensodyne toothpaste drool splatter-painted my chest and bureau. The innocent, little stump that is my usually well-behaved and quite compliant pinky toe hooked the waist band of my unmentionables. Naturally, this occurred just has the toothbrush timer bleated at me to switch mouth quadrants, so I shifted my toothbrush in my mouth as I simultaneously yanked up my undies, oblivious that my runt toe had shackled me.

If you know nothing else about me, know that I loathe confinement and that I’m strong.

I can also be impatient, so when my initial tug did not produce immediate results, I yanked harder, literally pulling myself off my own feet.

I was falling.
Slowly.
Oh, so slowly.
It was a painful freeze-frame fall
like time-lapse,
slow motion film,
like in National Geographic episode,
just before the leopard’s
strong jaws tear
down the lone antelope.

I had enough time to realize what was happening to me. Already humiliated at the prospect of a severe sports injury from thong misuse, I considered I could break something important if I fell wrong. I wondered if The Husband would have to sell my story to 1000 Ways to Die in order to get the kids through college. Those off-balance seconds lasted long enough for me to wonder if my misfortune would result in an untimely demise stupid enough that at least The Fam could make some Reality TV-cash.

As I deduced that there probably weren’t truly bad choices nor sheer bad luck enough to meet the show’s morbid requirements, my mouth dropped open, the toothbrush smashed to the floor, and my hand pistol-shot out to catch the built-in shoe rack. This bought enough purchase to allow me to counter balance back to right.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How fragile are we as creatures that we can be taken out by our own under garments?

No need for Starbucks this morning, Sojourners.
I had me a Vinte double shot of adrenaline Thong this morning.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah !

 

Coincidence or God-Incident that the very next day after God nudged me to consider a couple of defensive maneuvers from Paul’s Playbook, He pummeled me in practice? Coach Father ran me like a Lou Campaneilli press,”Always acknowledge hustle plays in practice.”

I hustled alright.

Like the first days Here, Friday was a day that there was struggle and victory just to stand and hold space.

Our God is an awesome, generous God, and He gifted me not only with extra practice, but also an interactive, fundementals skills clinic. He ran me hard from before breakfast to after dinner. I was continually pommelled with opportunities to Sack Thoughts and execute Thought Interceptions.

I was exhausted by lunch.
By the kids’ bedtime, my calves charley-horsed and my arms quivered.
By the time The Husband got home, my abs were so tight
I didn’t know whether to heave
or curl into a fetal position and suck my own great toe.

Throughout, I learned another play from Paul’s book. It’s called Hold The Line.

Like the Thought Sack and Thought Interception, Hold the Line references football. The line is the imaginary crossbeam that traverses the field’s width, beyond which a team cannot trespass until the next play has begun. This is where the ball sits at the start of each play, beyond which each team attempts to block its opponent’s progress. Also called the Line of Scrimmage, it is the line the defense attempts to hold and the wall the offense tries to penetrate.

Given what we know about Paul’s life and journey of transformation, I have to believe that he experienced days like my Friday.

I’m no Paul or Peyton Manning, but I am smart enough to hear when an audible’s been called on the field and interpret the posture of my opponent.

Friday wanted me to slam me to the turf so hard I’d pee green for a month.

I shoved thoughts back,
I pushed negative ideas behind me,
I grunted with exertion to intercept passes,
I charged down errant worries,
yet despite my individual attempts to
maintain position,
I flailed.

There simply wasn’t enough Me to make a team or hold the line.

Chuck Dlay observed, “Defense doesn’t break down on the help, it breaks down on the recovery.

Self-reliance is only a virtue when it is Faithful, not a reckless, relapse reflex of a lost child relying on her own strength.

AGAIN

That is, of course, because no one Me can make a team, not even in an individual sport.

We are His Team.
We are eachothers’ team.
We are His Body,
His robe of righteousness
our colors.

So I looked Up.
I called up.
I called out.
I called a friend Here.
I called a friend There.
I looked for a way to serve another.
I got to my knees.
When that wasn’t low enough,
I got on my face.

Guess what?
From the vantage point of berber carpet,
Here and There look amazingly similar.

I used my gifts to Hold the Line.
I leveraged your talents to Hold the Line.
I ministered others to Hold the Line.
I held as a stewart,
fed Faithfully by the Faithful.

And then, “From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work,” (Ephesians 4:16), and the line held.

If we live in the world, we are in constant, competitive contention against a loathsome opponent.

Good teams become great teams when they surrender the Me for the We.

Friday my victory was that I called out for help to hold the line.

Paul was one of the twelve and learned from Jesus himself that,

Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12

I can be overpowered.
You helped me defend myself.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

A plait tween Thee, Here and There Holds the line well.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content, (Philippians 4:11).

As previously posted, the promise that I can learn what Paul grasped through Christ’s strength
 and be glad in every condition stokes my GO! fire.

If interested, you may check out the entire post about my recent infatuation with Paul here.

My thoughts continue to dwell upon Paul and the masterpiece of transformation God crafted with his willing soul.

Paul proffered the young church a godly Where-Our-Thoughts-Should-Dwell-Punch-List in his thank you note to the Philippians for their ready aid when he was in the clink in Rome:

Finally, brothers,
whatever is

  • ______ true
  • ______ noble,
  • ______ right,
  • ______ pure,
  • ______ lovely,
  • ______ admirable
  • ______ if anything is excellent
  • ______ praiseworthy

think about such things, (Philippians, 4:8).

<Aside: That’s exactly how I see this verse in my head.
For me,
it uploads as a check-list,
not a sentence
or benediction.>

I would benefit from this being tattooed on the front of my right forearm where I could not fail to see it before taking action into my own hands.

Through the inspiration of the Holy Dove, Paul equips believers with the spiritual equivalent of a pilot’s preflight check-list.

Just as pilots must file a flight plan to ground control before take off, Paul challenges us to record a metacognitive, quality plan prior to thought habitation.

In other words, Paul directly warns us to responsibly plant what thoughts we allow residence in our minds as they not only germinate expectations, but self-fulfilling outcomes that directly enhance or impede our Joy.

Paul’s assurance to the Philippians that through Christ that strengthens him (representative model) he has learned how to be happy despite his circumstance (and therefore we can too) resonates with his admonishment to manage the soundtracks in our own heads.

Don’t you want that lesson plan?
Don’t you wonder
how that fleshy guy,
formerly known as Saul,
accessed such a feat of Grace?

I do!
I want Paul’s Playbook!
I wear His colors.
Put me in Coach,
I’m ready to play!
I’m ready to burn it up for You.

I imagine one of Paul’s signature plays is the Thought Sack.

I expect Paul clipped thoughts he did not want to live in his mind at the knees like a hot quarterback that needed to be shut down.

A more aggressive maneuver could be called the Thought Interception.

Such a call would be important were an unwelcome thought already in play, and one needed to catch it and run it down the other side of the field.

Here’s a sample of what such Thought Interceptions might look like:

Thought: Grr! I have to drive my son to soccer practice again!
Thought Interception: My son made the team!

Thought: Hmmph! I have to figure out what to make for dinner.
Thought Interception: We have more than enough to eat. Let’s double-batch tonight. Who can we carry a meal to tomorrow?

Thought: Snarg! I am drowning in a vile sea of filthy laundry and, if my kids throw any more clean clothes in the hamper, they can go to school naked.
Thought Interception: My washer and dryer is right here in the house, not a laundromat across town.

Thought: Spit! This bathroom sink is full of toothpaste and cereal slobber.
Thought Interception: My kid brushed his own teeth before school without a reminder.

Thought: Snarl! My kids have too much homework! Don’t those teachers respect our family time?
Thought Interception: My children love their school and want to be successful.

Thought: Huff! All they do is eat! We are out of milk and Cheerios AGAIN!
Thought Interception: My child is home, not in a PICU ward on intravenous fluids.

Thought: Ack! My husband brings his work home! He’s constantly checking his flipping iphone.
Thought Interception: In this economy, where 1 in 10 are out of work, my husband has a job he loves.

Thought: $$$! The family budget kicked us in arrears again.
Thought Interception: The only eternal currency is Relationship.

Thought: Yawn! Not tonight. I’m tired.
Thought Interception: Meow! (Kegel, Kegel, Kegel.) May you never weary of doing good nor want another.

I don’t see a way we can be like Paul and learn how to be content in all situations unless we pray for the Direction, Self-Control and Faith to reset our internal monologues. Paul’s challege to critcally manage and map our cognitive process streams is in it’s own way, like fishing:

Then he said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat, and you’ll get some!” So they did, and they couldn’t haul in the net because there were so many fish in it. (John 21:6)

As for me, I’m going to toss back every discontent idea I net.
I’m only gonna fry the fish fit to feast with Thanksgiving.
Grace & Chips.

I’ve told the truth,
I didn’t come to fool you

And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

 

Faith in Christ makes us more than new creations.

It grafts us into the Tree of Life and maxmmizes our every relationship.

It invites unique indentity in The Body;
It makes human beings of human doings;
It heals brokeness.

It is relational roots
mighty like an oak.

 

 

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

 

Alarm blares
revelry over
our weary home.
Tired babies
cleave to sheets
like static cling.

Bad hair day
melt down
merges with
mismanaged marital
communication,
a relational recoil
of panic,
and we’re talking
about what I
always do again
and what I need to do
that I am not

Actually we’re
screaming.

Friday drag
precedes
the dance
of snails.

We decided
that we needed
to workout
at the beach today.

Sunrays part
the sky slick
like Grandpa’s
Brill cream
as we step bare
foot on the hot
carpet of grains.

Shells scatter
upon the sand
like confetti on
a New Year’s Eve
dance floor.

Marooned snails
on the shore,
too many to count,
castaways
thrown from
Poseidon sanctuary
upside down,
displaced,
confused,
concussed,
and vunerable,
yet like turtles
poke from
beneath the weight
of their shells
a single foot
for traction,
seemingly confident
that the tide
will come back in.

The tide always
comes back in.

Sand dollars
shimmer like constellations
across the sand
and mark their
positions like
Xes on treasure maps.

A woman
pledged to serve
soujounrs
the beach
each day
on a resuce mission
with a bag
and a support belt
around her back
because it hurts
every time
she bends over
since her surgery.

Yet still
like precious,
fresh eggs,
every day she gathers
Neptune’s marooned
and tosses them back
to the sea
like Persrseus.
She personifies
Recovery
colonless,
and glistens salty
Life Force.
She extols
nature’s green,
green ways.
Her arms
pimple chills
when she tells
us how the snails
relocate from one
shell to another
when they outgrow
their homes.

The tide always
comes back in.

We greet
three rescued
grey hounds
in coiture collars
eager for Love’s touch
and its new
track on
beach paradise
with their Mamma.

3 dogs,
their own literal
12 Step program,
a trinity of
Recovery.

We gathered stories
as plentiful as shells
as we walked
Blessing sand
on the beach this morning,
and watched the
snails dance
a marvel of Faith.

The tide always
comes back in,
Amazing Grace.

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Like a good zone workout, to read two books in tandem sharpens a reader’s perception muscles about the content of each like steel against steel.

Two titles I presently drink are John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, given to me for rediscovery by a beloved Mommy friend as we departed There, and Ann Voskamp’s one thousand gifts, another send-off present that has blessed me 1,000+ times already. I binge-read both individually like a First Year gobbles a box of Spudnut donuts, and now savor them together, so that like tea, the ideas sweat, mingle, seep to diffuse me.

One of the Irving quotes that wags its finger at me like only my Beauty could is, “—and when however small a measure of jealousy is mixed with misunderstanding, there is going to be trouble,” (45). It partners Voskamp’s observation like a prom date, “(t)he liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God’s glory, and I heave to enjoy God… and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor,” (90).

Discovery gasps from the back of my throat like the first time I went to the Farmer’s Market in Boston.

So many bushels of fruit!

Fireworks burst behind my eyes as my synapses pop, Pop, POP!

The verb heave grunts Glory as it archives visceral memories of creation,

I heave to crown precious baby heads
all gush
and moist
with dark, wet hair
to Cocreate life.

I heave to press weight
up and down
breath in and out
hard like a locomotion
to Cocreate muscle.

I heave salty sobs
to wash despair
like bleach on
shower tiles
to Cocreate healing.

I heave
white-knuckled
warning to my girls
to focus their
worth lens
ever inward
as they etch
quality pictures
of beauty
to Cocreate esteem.

I heave,
Sojouner,
like you-
push,
grunt,
struggle,
pant,
press Up,
press Into,
and sometimes
pee my own pants
through sheer exertion
as my struggle
fixes the beast to
the floor.

Glory be to God!

The beast is a liar with many names. He shadows his presence through masks of despair, self-doubt, jealousy, so venal vanity clouds clarity and blurs my connection to our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name.

Jealousy heaves heavier than kettle bells and is twice as slippery. Jealousy’s rancid core goes deeper than, “I want what you have,” and includes

“I want what I had,
I want what I expect,
I want ________ (fill in vice of choice)
I want _________ (fill in virtue desired devoid of personal behaviors that align)
I want it now!”

Going back to Irving’s quote: “–and when however small a measure of jealousy is mixed with misunderstanding, there is going to be trouble,” (45).

Jealousy can do more than maim our relationships with each other and self, it can amputate communion with our great God.

When we put our timing
expectations,
demands,
self-righteousness,
greedy-voracious,
selfish self-interest
before God,
do we not
operate with a small
measure of jealousy
mixed with misunderstanding?

How often have you heard a loved one opine, “That’s not the way I’d do it if I were in Charge.”

And that’s in Charge with a Capital C, Captain of all Creation Command.

We are not in Charge.
Thank God, we are not in Charge.
We confuse what we want
with what we need
to prosper.
I must entrust
my heart
to the Father.

 

I don’t have a Batphone. I am not a prophet. I am merely a Seeker.

My very heart’s desire is to see the Face of God.

That hope assigns me as much moral and behavioral responsibilities as this one life might muster. I am plenty busy doing my job as I am a fleshy, inconsistent, spiritual sterwart. I must not only be still and know He is God, I must hallow His Work in my life.

The sweet wine,
the bitter cup,
both His to draft
and mine to drink
as I Praise His name.

Yet we are born with a gag reflex.
Bitter tastes bad!
The tonge recoils
like a window shade,
as it stains the throat
with splatter paint
angst of acrid
after taste
more vile
than fish burps.

Our feelings get so big like air freight carriers on the high sea that we forget to be critical of them as they too often are real, but not true.

Oh, Lord, if it’s one relationship I need to get right, it’s my connect with You. Disconnect with You taints the supply I bring every interaction as you are my Portion Deliverer.

Psalm 121: 5-8 promises that You stand guard over my comings and goings

The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

I hold on to hope and the promise that You bring.
There will be a day Love wipes away all jealousy
and Hallelujah hails
the only things we heave.

That will be a day.

There was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Ok, it’s not that I haven’t tried to post.

It’s not that the technology is beyond me.

It’s that the technology is out to get me.

Paranoid as it sounds, my every attempt to finish the picture tour of the new space was sabotaged by one computer issue or another.

Inevitable user-frustration cross pollinated user-error to further compound the issue.

Visions of the first Well study I ever taught downloaded in my memory like the printer that printed perfectly on Tuesdays would crash every Wednesday.

I’ve tried four times; this will be the final strategic attempt and, if I don’t get more pictures up today,  well you’re just going to have to come visit!

In fact, you need to come visit anyway!

Here’s some morning inspiration I see in the kitchen with my morning coffee.

Be still and know that I am God.
This verse conducts a calm in my heart like none other.
Such elegant simplicity affirms, baffles, and delights me.

I had originally placed the apron on the pantry door to send a photo to a heart sister, but fell for the sass of its whimsy and constant reminder of how versatile a household tool aprons can be.

The yellow stairway is adjacent to the yellow kitchen. I still think of Oz amid all that yellow and have taken to naming the occasional spider Toto.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I read this verse every time I head up the steps
with Thanksgiving
to walk out His plan for us here.
A good plan, if not an easy one yet.
A plan I trust and will obey.

The photography above and below the verse was taken by a friendship doctor, constant reminders of the priceless remedy of his quiet love and boisterous talents.

Check out Sprout!
If you’re late to the party, you can read Sprouts origin story here.
Go ahead and count the number of shoots.
Go ahead,
go ahead!
He cycles anew and is ready to plant.

As respectfully as Mary to the angel, I look at that plant every day and pray, “May it be also with me and my Faith.”
May I cycle anew here.

The kids’ rooms gallery their own art and passions. This is the Oldest Girl’s self-portrait:

Sister The Middle Girl’s silhouette:

The Baby collaborated with her sister on this piece intended to help them embrace the vivid colors of their room:

As they splattered, stomped and kissed, they decided that they wanted bold text as part of the piece.

Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-Control.

Was I proud they independently chose to make art from the Fruit of the Spirit?

Can ya gimme a Hallelujah!

What is missing from this scene?

Look hard.
Harder.
Harder!

 

 

The diaper-changing pallet!
It’s the first time in 14 years that our bed has not had a changing station atop it.

It still looks empty to me that way.

Every day, I miss my LPK babies
and their giggle-coo music
drool persusion ahhhs
and stacata da-da-das
and love smell
that triggers hope dopamine.

 

Mamma love,
palms of peace.


McLove,
faces of peace
through Body’s lens

 

New digs for old tools.

In this space, He often meets me low and lifts me on high.

Not through my strength, but His strength alone.

Grace.

This tour captures snapshots of views my eyes light upon each day.

Where my thoughts dwell.

Consider it one salted peanut.
A taste.
An invitation to come gather at our table
and join us again
and together feast
with Thanksgiving
His daily bread.

I miss you.

I love you.

I trust Him.

There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

 

Beloved Soujourners, I invite you on a tour of this new space.

Thanks to all who wrote to berate me and/or inquire why there were no bh updates.

The Husband and I dove into the boxes for the next round of, “What’s Been Lost, Broken, Stolen or Damaged?”

The bare walls began to blister esteem like too small shoes.

As with every home project, things looked like TJ Max after a clearance sale before order was restored.

Not a big fan of mess, I cycled between
frantic wiping,
and futile vacuum maneuvers,
all very rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic
as I paced around
and went up the stairs,
and down the stairs,
and up the stairs,
and down the stairs
more times than my
calves could count.

In an effort to embrace the vibrant colors of our hone, embrace this season of change and expand our comfort outside our comfort zones, we challenged each other and the kids to invent new ways to use what we had and use space.

Extra credit was given if
the design was totally novel,
volatile creative intuition,
and new room or floor placement
of household item.

The Oldest Girl won,
she saw new possibilities
through fresh eyeballs
and germinated creativity in others
as she encouraged weary parents.

The rule that house and computer projects ALWAYS take longer than estimated, it was more grunt work than inspiration for the parents toward the end.

Here then is a Sneak Peek at our gladiolus garden:


This wall in our bright yellow kitchen publishes the truth.

Children truly are the message we send to the future.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Initially, I thought I would post more,
but I am zonked,
zonkoed,
and crispy zonkers.

We still await judges decision of who won, Team Meade or another round to the Boxes.

I promise more love and a better tour tomorrow!
_Aren’t you glad there’s no price for admission?_

Ha!

What this lacks in length it sends in love extensions.

Yes!

Pink, waist-length, love extentions with feathers!

xoxo

Well I heard there was a secret chord 
That David played, and it pleased the Lord 
But you don’t really care for music, do ya? 
Well it goes like this 
The fourth, the fifth 
The minor fall and the major lift 
The baffled king composing Hallelujah 
Hallelujah 
Hallelujah 
Hallelujah 
Hallelujah!