PETRA

Last week, Sarah and I went through a picture album from my childhood. We came across a silly pic I'll try to describe: little Israel was about eight years old, wearing red sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a black jean vest with way too many zippers, a very 80s look. I had a broom in one hand, holding it close to a singing mouth. But if you used your imagination, you'd see it wasn't a broom but a mic stand. The other hand was raised in a rock-n-roll fist. Pictures have no sound, but I can hear the soundtrack of this moment. Our living room stereo loudly played Petra, an 80s Christian rock band. I sang along, performing a Petra concert with my older sister Enid.

The church influenced every part of our lives growing up. All the music we listened to was Christian music. In the 80s, I enjoyed a lot of Petra. To my church, this was a rebellious Christian rock-n-roll band. We loved it. Grandma took Enid and me to see Petra in concert. Afterward, she bought us Petra cassette tapes and posters. Having Grandma with us at a rock concert seemed weird. Grandma liked Sandy Patty. Sandy Patty was contemporary Christian music, sweet and gentle, the kind of music a church Grandma would like—nothing like Petra. Petra had electric guitar solos and songs about going to war with the devil, stuff that inspired a young Christian kid.

We had a fireplace that was the perfect stage for kids with imagination. With brooms as guitars and mic stands, we entertained the babysitter with our Petra concerts. I was a gifted broom guitarist in the 80s. Looking back, I wonder what Martha, our babysitter, thought about the crazy kids she watched jumping off the fireplace mid-guitar solo. Poor lady didn't speak English but was forced to watch our act.  

We were musical kids. We sang a lot. My idea of good singing was loud. I'd sing as loud as I could. Enid would join in. We'd stop, look at each other, and say, "That was real good!" Martha wasn't a fan. One day, I was singing at the top of my lungs, and Martha shouted at the top of her lungs, "Callate (or shut up in Spanish)!" I was shocked. Martha was shy, kind, and quiet. But I finally pushed her over the edge. My singing broke Martha. I stayed hushed for the rest of the day.

We were used to the stage growing up. Our family had a singing group: Mom, Uncle, Aunt, and Grandma. As toddlers, we'd stand on chairs and sing along.

As we got older, Enid continued singing and recorded several albums. I was her songwriter. One day, Enid opened for Sandy Patty in concert. Grandma came to see Enid as she performed the songs I had written. Things had come full circle. We'd come a long way from our living room Petra concerts.

I'll admit to you that on my darkest days, it's Sandy Patty's music that encourages me. There's something about the kindness of her voice that's inspiring, grows my hope, and strengthens my faith. The only way I can describe it is that often, I feel like my faith battery needs a "jump." This may not sound rock-n-roll to you or punk rock enough, but Sandy Patty's music puts me in a place where God is strong and powerful. Her song "More than Wonderful" puts everything into proper perspective. I often struggle with minimizing God. My problems seem immense compared to Him. But by the end of Sandy Patty's "More than Wonderful," everything is set right: God is again more than wonderful, and my limitations are so small in comparison.