There I was, alone in the house with Julie at work at the sweet shop twenty miles south. Our youngest son was waiting for his flight from Kentucky and the weather was turning windy and cold.

The stove was glowing in the parlor and I was attempting to write a column about a short piece on judgment I had just read by C.S. Lewis. I had no ideas and so decided to put the shoulder rest on my old 18^th century viola and play a mazurka in the key of F. A few harmonic notes on the A string to start with and I was lost in creating beauty I had been hearing while I read Jack’s wonderful writing.

Does this resonate with you? Do you read or hear someone talking to you and are at the same time completely lost in another world? It helped that I was alone this time. I was reading Jack’s brilliance on our free will to reject our free salvation. A greedy and self serving man that some people say is capable of enjoying eternal life because we are all saved.

You know this man and would anyone deny him eternal happiness? If he stayed enjoying what he is? Free will after all. We were created that way for love can’t exist without choosing who we love. We do not have to judge that greedy man as he has judged himself.

As I began the fast piece it was working pretty good. B then C up to D and then the harmonic of A. An F# now and then. I found the closer to the bridge I bowed, the louder that old French viola would sing. I raced up to the next string, the D string and started to have fun. Even getting the vibrato on the lowest C string as I went to a low D.

Suddenly, I was playing better than I thought and having a great time with double stops and fast grace notes and I began to realize my self judgment of being pretty poor at playing was a mistake.

Judgment is usually my biggest weakness. Lewis wrote that was reserved for the only judge of our hearts. Knowing without a doubt that I am loved in spite of my weakness’ poured over me as the notes flew off that instrument.

It was fun and it was the joy of my creator dancing with me in the parlor, in front of the warm wood stove. He told me to do these things when my muse seemed to be dry. He said play, and he likes play as only a good Father and Son do. The spirit overcame me and I danced along. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator the Scribe