Musical notes

It's a classic April day, wet and cold and gray. I turn up the radio as if the beat can drive out the chill and the gloom. I'm humming along, and I realize the tune is "Call Me Maybe", a song that went down in infamy and parody. But I am smiling, and there are tears forming, because this song means Rosy spinning in circles, singing every word into her hairbrush microphone, a sunny summer when her very best friend came to live with us. It means the smell of coconut oil, the glisten of children's skin in the long shadows of evening, crickets singing us through the night.

Music is woven into my very soul. I wonder sometimes if it is my framework, my foundation. Songs become part of memories, and I am used to the saudade that comes with theme songs of friendships, lovers, family. Not until today did I realize that entwined with the faces and places of my 35 years are strands of specific times, vibrant, almost piercing memories of my children's paths to adulthood. It is beyond bittersweet, that unbearable ache that accompanies the joy of our most precious memories. Longing because we wish we were in that time now, in this moment. Sadness that it was so beautiful and now it's over. Ecstasy - a little taste, at least - because you experienced it.

I am learning to walk something called the "middle path". I can hold a burning coal of pain now in one hand, and a bouquet of happiness in the other. My past has been very black and white: people, activities, possessions, goals, hopes and dreams, inner longings and outward behavior - they were all neatly divided into two piles, good and evil. As my eyes adjust to the many shades of gray that is life in this beautiful, tragic existence, I slowly gain a tolerance for ambiguity. I can rest even if I don't have something figured out. I've learned to put deep questions on a shelf in my head when life needs to be lived instead of figured out.

My everyday playlist includes a song from every decade, every genre: because music is paired with memories, not taste. Local Bon Iver is tucked next to Pearl Jam; Chopin's Raindrop prelude is followed by Regina Spektor...
Rascal Flatts for a pity party...
the Weepies for rainy days...
Jewel for my first girlfriend...
the Allman Brothers and Jackson Browne because of my papa...
Bonnie Raitt for the ups and downs of marriage...
Coldplay for a year my best friend spent in Europe...
Linkin Park brings back the dance of snowboarding.
Simon and Garfunkel for the almost suicides...
Rufus Wainwright for babies and children tended on death beds...
Alicia Keys and Nelly Furtado for the summer my first baby girl was born.

Follow this link, click full-screen and turn your speakers up.

The song that never ends

I've walked away too many times.

I try to make myself stay, but I get distracted,

and I walk out on You.

When I remember again that I need to go home,

I walk back in and find the music is still playing.

It never stopped.

The song of Your love is as constant

as the rising and setting of the sun.

You have been my rock

since I was small.

In these darkest days,

I've learned You are also my comfort.

I've learned the tender faithfulness

of Your everlasting love.

You shower me with notes of grace -

favors undeserved -

You cover me with mercy -

Your plans for me always turn out to be

better than I deserve.

Even though I walk through trouble and tribulation

You shield me,

You walk with me

Through the valley of the shadow.

I will sing this love song back to You

unabashed

because love unrequitted is the saddest thing of all.

Writing on "Song"

On finding beauty everywhere: Why I turned Christian radio back on

I suppose I could take photographs for money if I wanted to. But I don't. There's two simple reasons. One, it only seems to work for me when there's true love involved - that relationship flowing back and forth between subject and photographer that makes the photography session a synergistic hour of magic, laughter, and a time when true beauty shines through and unequaled joy is shared. And two, because I refuse to discard the outtakes: you know, the photos that are out of focus, not quite perfect, or unphotoshopped to perfection.

I see beauty in the rough edges. I see real life in the raw. 

We sing hymns at church these days, the old kind, those written pre-1900. Sometimes you have to listen hard for the raw. The pentameter is perfect, everything rhymes, and the music is classical perfection. One of my favorites, written by Helen Lemmel, based on Hebrews 12:2, was inspired by a simple line from the writings of the impoverished and embattled missionary Lillias Trotter, whose writings on suffering have brought comfort to many on the hard path marked out by our Savior. Lillias wrote, “So then turn your eyes upon Him, look full into His face and you will find that he things of earth will acquire a strange new dimness.”

Helen recalled that the melody to her hymn, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, came into her head immediately upon reading these lines, and the lyrics were perfected within 2-3 days, with what she felt to be the obvious direction of the Holy Spirit. In the lyrics you hear a rawness of reflection on the brevity of our life here and a bittersweet comfort found when focused on the hope we have in Christ, although Helen doesn't record any particular suffering in her life history as a gift concert pianist, voice professor, composer, mother and wife.

O soul, are you weary and troubled?

No light in the darkness you see?

There’s a light for a look at the Savior,

And life more abundant and free!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of His glory and grace.

Christian radio offers up more rawness than I hear on Sunday in the meticulously practiced performances of a concert choir accompanied by a professional organist and pianist. There are the dissonant diminished chords of rock music, the harshness and brashness of unpolished solo voices, lyrics about the realness of 21st century Christian life. For some time after I left the Evangelical Church in 2010, all of this, so familiar to me that I had most of the songs memorized, grated on my soul like rubbing course salt in a fresh and bloody wound. I switched my radio pre-sets, and my kids listened to Kidz Bop instead of Jeremy Camp. I was on a search for Jesus in the lyrics of the lost on pop stations and in the rock anthems of my dad's hippie days.

But I still wake up, I still see your Gospel
Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know...
(Some Nights, Fun.)

The past two months have been tough. My schedule is busier than it's been in many years. There are days when I feel like I am failing at everything - mothering, my job(s), my friendships, my relationship with my husband, my duties at home, and any semblance of caring for myself. I have friends wading through some serious hard stuff. I can't seem to focus for 5 minutes, let alone let my mind still long enough to hear a whisper from God. I'm gritting my teeth through Bible reading, and prayer feels like a disciplined work-out rather than a conversation of souls.

That's why I finally turned my radio back to Christian radio. Yes, I still think most of it is pretty bad, musically speaking. The poetry is forced, every third melody sounds virtually the same, and I'm generally unconvinced about the worth of any of it. But it seeps into the cracks of this dry ground of my soul, and every now and then a word catches..."Ancient of Days"..."You were the first, You are the last"..."Here I found my home". For these few phrases, I'll let it be the chatter in the background when I'm in the car. The songs are mostly new, and the wounds are mostly healed. And He is speaking to me again through the musical "outtakes" that make up most of Christian radio.

What's your station tuned to?

It's the simple things

 The days are dark and dreary, and I am penned up at home, feeling a bit cabin-feverish. Like a jewel in the dust, sparkling in the sunlight, are the moments with the kids that remind me how blessed I am. Amy's music is a constant source of deep joy. Today I recorded her singing "Joy to the World" while playing her guitar. Hope you enjoy as much as I did!

A discovered symphony

My heart pounds all night, 160 beats a minute, and the instinct to run, hide, is high up in my throat. I can't slow my heart, and I begin to panic. A prayer, a pill, a liter of electrolytes. Another movie to watch, a distraction. I don't understand why these nights of the racing heart. Psychological? Physical? Who knows anymore, with PTSD knocking on my door although it knows it's been shut out. My cancer rearing it's ugly head (literally) as I lose my hair and my body changes shape, and I fight off pneumonia and then Lyme's disease. I lose track of where the trials are coming from, and so I just rest, instead of running, and pray that God lifts the racing heart so I can sleep. At four a.m., it finally slows to a tolerable 120 beats per minute and I sleep deep and restless.

I wake, though, listening to the song of the world with different ears because of this video (if you can't watch the whole thing, watch from 42:00-50:00. It will blow your mind). The trees are aflame in the valley and the crickets still sing their high percussion. A bluebird lands and lends his whistle to the symphony. The buck grunting in rut, the moose's high trumpeting call, the caw of the hawks and the wind through the trees...all part of the way that rocks cry out His name.

I sit and listen, and add my voice,

"Holy is the Lord, God Almighty,

the earth is filled with His glory.

Holy is the Lord, God Almighty,

the earth is filled with His glory.

It's rising up, all around,

the anthem of the Lord's renown.

It's rising up, all around,

the anthem of the Lord's renown."

I am struck with the vastness of God's creation and the constant praise it sings - the pulsing stars with their chords of melancholy, the percussion of handdrums from the larger stars, the animals in the deep singing to each other, and the whole firmament constantly aflutter with noise and beauty. He whispers a verse I memorized as a child, For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. (Psalm 50:10)

I listen again to the music of the pulsing stars, the whale song. I think of the rushing sound of the wind blowing snow, and the thud of hail on the wet grass in summer. The fireplace in the living room crackles alive with sound, and the waves rush in from the ocean, caught in my miraculous conch shell.

Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights! Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his hosts! Praise him, sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens! Let them praise the name of the LORD! For he commanded and they were created. And he established them forever and ever; he gave a decree, and it shall not pass away. Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all deeps, fire and hail, snow and mist, stormy wind fulfilling his word! Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Beasts and all livestock, creeping things and flying birds! Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! Young men and maidens together, old men and children! (Psalm 148)

What more is there to say? I breathe the words of the Psalm to my God, whose praise is rising all around like mist from the cold earth. Tonight I get to join the symphony as I play in worship for a whole group of His wounded warriors. Praise God, indeed! For voice to sing, fingers to play, harmonica breathing it's vibratto over a chorus of wonder. For a spirit of peace instead of a spirit of fear. I am buoyed up on the earth's song and in wonder that I can join in again, my spirit set free from the chains that bound just a year ago. 

God is good, and He is with us, in every cricket song and sunrise, in every note played and every word written. God is with us.

Thistles and weeds

Yellow stonecrop

Sedum caeruleum

Red clover up close

English daisies

Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams,

Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams,

I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind,

Alone in the wind and the rain you left me,

It's getting dark darling, too dark to see,

And I'm on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems.

Corrupted by the simple sniff of riches blown,

I know you have felt much more love than you've shown,

And I'm on my knees and the water creeps to my chest.

But plant your hope with good seeds,

Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds,

Rain down, rain down on me,

Look over your hills and be still,

The sky above us shoots to kill,

Rain down, rain down on me.

But I will hold on

I will hold on hope

I begged you to hear me, there's more than flesh and bones,

Let the dead bury their dead, they will come out in droves,

But take the spade from my hands and fill in the holes, you've made.

But plant your hope with good seeds,

Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds,

Rain down, rain down on me.

~Thistle and Weeds, Mumford and Sons~

Different kinds of music

Words

they are my fingers on a face

~Frame the Clouds, Christa Wells~

My father plays his music on guitar.

My mother dances her, sings her, shakes it out with her tambourine.

My baby brother sings in a husky tenor unabashed.

And my Father in heaven?

Sometimes His music is in the golden yellow - my favorite color -

of a muted photo.

Today it was a symphony of suffering.

Amy has been having seizures, because she has a fever and head cold.

I slipped and fell and may have a hairline fracture on my femur 

- the big bone in my thigh -

(whatever it is, I can't bear weight on it and it hurts like, well, you know...)

Off to bed.

Hoping for a sweeter serenade tomorrow.

Milk

It's what Abraham chose to serve the angels that visited him to announce the upcoming birth of his son in Genesis 18.

It's how mothers have let love flow since the beginning of time.

It is a reward (Exodus), a blessing (Leviticus), and provision (Psalms).

In the Old Testament, the Law is compared to milk given back to children already weaned.
Who is it he is trying to teach?
To whom is he explaining his message?
To children weaned from their milk,
to those just taken from the breast?
So the word of the Lord shall become to them:
Do and do, do and do,
rule on rule, rule on rule;
a little here, a little there.
(Isaiah 28:9 & 13)

In the New Testament, these verses hit me hard.  I just failed my

comprehensive exam.  The doctoral degree that was just about

within my grasp...nay, my strong grip...seems elusive.  Whether

this latest bout is blessing, curse, punishment, or persecution, I

cannot say.  But the Word speaks, and I must bend to listen.

We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. (Hebrews 5:11-13)

Do I know righteousness?  Have I allowed myself to drink spiritual milk too long? Have I ignored sins God was trying to squeeze out of my gently?  Will I ever be done learning the "elementary truths of the Word again", ever?  Is there an end to this learn, do, forget, repeat?

Robbie conducted a symphony for my camera, a silent song of mother's love and baby trust, provision and silence and awe and beauty and mystery.  A symphony of words, too, that came tumbling back from Scripture long ago read.  As I stumble through, trying to make sense out of latest catastrophes with a jumbled brain, I simply thank God for witnessing the symphony.

Praise be to the Lord,

for being here to see,

for seeing,

for hearing the Word whispered oh so softly, sweetly,

for a symphony,

for baby love,

for "milk",

for life.

One (girl) band

Thanks to the suggestion of a friend, I have started experimenting with recording "one man band" songs, track by track and instrument by instrument (Pomplamoose is my favorite band of this sort - although they use two musicians, not one). I probably should invest in a better microphone - I am using the headset I use for videoconferencing for school! I enjoyed the creative outlet of recording this song in 11 tracks, errors and all. The story of the past 2 years begs telling in some sort of synoptic form. I pray that the suffering we have undergone leads many "sons to glory". There are two things that make it worth the pain: knowing I will have jewels for this to cast at my Savior's feet; and praying that our example of faith leads someone to Him. It will be worth it all, when we see Jesus/Life's trials will seem so small, when we see Christ/One glimpse of His dear face, all sorrow will erase/So bravely run the race, 'til we see Christ! (Esther Kerr Rusthoi, When We See Christ)

If you interested in trying your hand at the "one man band" thing, contact me and I will send you the links to the free software that enables you to do so with a laptop and a microphone.

Echo in a dark valley

There is no end to this story

No final tragedy or glory

Love came here and never left

Now that my heart is open

It can't be closed or broken

Love came here and never left

Now I'll have to live with loving you forever

There's nothing here to throw away

I came to you in the light of day

and Love came here and never left

Christ-ones see echoes of Christ in the ashes everywhere. This song by the dark, beautiful, belated Lhasa de Sela would be my song to my Savior. She speaks elsewhere of le Diable j'ai choisi le plus (the Devil I have chosen, "La Confession") and Je n'ai pas peur de dire que tu me fais peur avec ton espoir et ton grand sens de l'honneur ("I am not afraid to tell you that you scare me with your Hope and your huge sense of honor").

Road trips to and from Rochester provided lots of time to listen to music - and lots of time to ponder what to listen to when children listen along. I grew up on a steady diet of jazz, classical, and sacred hymns, and infused that mix myself with everything secular I could get my hands on by middle school. Believe it or not, Christian music was worse in the 1990's than it is now. There are few musicians - even today - who play contemplative, jazz-infused music, with the possible (and notable) exception of J.J. Heller, who is overplayed because of her unique offering. Her music is similar to the strangely laissez faire but sunshine-infused Indie soundtrack of Juno. A young pastor reflects on the plethora of poor quality Christian music releases and ultimately quotes Madeleine L'Engle:

If it's bad art, it's bad religion, no matter how pious the subject.

Ultimately, God assures us that, if Christians are silent and void of praise, even the rocks will cry out! Is it too difficult to draw connections, then, between the lyrics of secular artists and the great Truth of the universe? So, what makes the mix at our home? There is a lot of the blues, a lot of jazz, some country, even some metal and rap. Who knew that Bible verses are paraphrased by Linkin Park ("I will never be anything 'til I break away from me"), Pearl Jam works faith out on their knees, and former-rebel Sinead O'Connor is now putting Psalms to melody?

Where do you hear the echoes of God's Word? What blasphemy do you deny access to your home, the ears of your children? Do you have a favorite radio station or music mix? Those who listen to secular music may appreciate the Glimpses of God column from Christianity Today as a place to start discovering hidden sheaves of wheat among the tares of the music scene.