Christa Wells

Writing and singing when I should really be sleeping…

Feel that sting?

Little Samuel points to the “boo boo” on his forearm, scrunches up his face and says: It stings, Mom.  Feel it.

I don’t understand as he presses his wound against my forearm, holds it there.

His eyes fix upward on mine, searching: “Can you feel that sting, Mom?”

Oh.  I realize.  He believes he can transfer the physical pain, share it by touching skin to skin…

And I so want to say: Yes!  I do feel it exactly!

But even though I know what he is talking about, even though I deeply love and care, even though we share blood…I can only share his suffering so far.

I wish we could fuse minds and hearts…experience each other’s joy, pain, memories.  Sometimes life feels so…solitary.

So much of our lives are experienced apart from other human beings, even the ones in our homes, beds.

Only God knows the exquisitely unique joy you felt when you realized you’d fallen in love for real…or the burn inside your heart, throat, when you were betrayed…the falling feeling when you heard the doctor’s prognosis…your insides alight when the lightbulb went on in your mind and heart…my loneliness that day I ate my lunch hiding in the bathroom stall in high school.

God knows…

And yet…it is enough.  Creator and Created are in sync.  We are never actually alone, even in our thoughts.  The Created are fully known.  The Created are fully loved.

The Created can touch wounds to our Maker’s heart: Feel that sting?

And He says: Yes. I feel it exactly.

IJM: 5 Weeks for Freedom – Nashville

(Me, IJM Staffers Daria Wilson and Amy Lucia, Sara Groves)

I’ve been hearing about International Justice Mission for a while now, primarily in association with my friend Sara Groves who has been a passionate supporter and contributor to IJM.  Interestingly, we had just recently talked about IJM and the possibility of my contributing at some point, when I got a call from the coordinator of the Nashville 5 Weeks for Freedom event, asking if I could participate.  This was just a couple of weeks ago, and the event took place on Saturday (July 10).  It seemed meant to be, and I was excited to be with them and learn more about their work.

I am still shocked by the numbers and the stories…more slaves today than during the entire trans-Atlantic slave trade (four centuries!)??!!?  How is this possible?  Why don’t we hear more about it?  Young children (like yours and mine), women (like you and me), tricked and trapped into brothels, violently abused every night.  Widows and their children forced off their own land, left to wander without provision or shelter.  This is happening.  Right now it’s happening.

There are laws in place, laws that prohibit slavery.  IJM’s investigators, attorneys and social workers are entering into the gap and not only rescuing and rehabilitating the victims, but going after the source of corruption and bringing oppressors to justice.  They are currently at work in 13 developing countries around the world and have brought thousands of people out of slavery It’s no small thing.

There are lots of ways to be a part of this good work.  You don’t have to be famous or rich or available to travel.  Check out the numerous possibilities…all you really need is to care enough to act.  To do or share what God puts in your hands to do or share.  In the face of tremendous need everywhere in the world, we can become paralyzed and do nothing, since we can’t do everything.  Doing nothing can’t be an option for people who have been given everything that is needed for Life.

By the way, a super easy way you can join in right now:  Grab your phone and TEXT “FREEDOM” to 20222…$10 without even having to put a stamp on an envelope.  Could we together ask 100,000 people to do that once this summer?

(My sister Mandy played & sang with me.)

I gave a few songs and it’s not enough to save even a small village. But if we pass out the bread God has entrusted us with, can we not trust God to make it matter?

Where deep gladness and deep hunger meet…

It’s obvious she has the bug.  She is 6 and can’t keep from it.   Small brown fingers push the sound from the ivory and I watch her do what I do.

Play.  Evaluate.  Try a new way.  Repeat.  Build a pattern, wonder where it must go next.

She is emotive.  Sometimes loud.  Often tragic (her favorite song being Taylor Swift’s “Love Story”).

She pulls words from the air as she goes.

”Wheeeeeeeeen will you coooooooooooome, will we eeeeeeeeever be togeeeeeeeeeether agaa-aa-aain…”

Then suddenly she sweeps into a rhythmic dance number, shoulders pulsing as she pounds and sings lyrics that may or may not match:

“Jesus, you died, uh-huh, you died for us, Jesus, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!!”

I say:  I love this, but you really need to practice your lessons now.

Swiveling toward me on the bench, her smile and eyes light up like fireworks: “But I LOVE it!!!!  It’s SO MUCH FUN making up songs!!!!”

I can’t stop my grin, overjoyed to have this in common with her.  To hear her say it out loud, the feeling I know so exactly.  It is SO MUCH FUN.

I’d choose songwriting over many things.  I’d choose a day at the piano over a day at the pool.  And I like the pool.

I’m still finishing Paula Rinehart’s book, Better Than My Dreams, which I can’t recommend highly enough to every woman I know.  In it she quotes Frederick Buechner:

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness

and the world’s deep hunger meet.”


I knew early on where my deep gladness was, but I did not know it would intersect anyone’s hunger.

Have you seen the intersection? Realize how you have been asked to participate in bringing food to the poor in body and in spirit?

We’re like the disciples of Jesus who saw 5,000 hungry people but had no idea how to feed them.  They forgot, like we forget, that it all begins, not with what we have, but with what the Father has.

And what He has is the power (and desire) to make a feast of our crumbs.

We cannot satisfy anyone.  He will satisfy.

Our part is to run like children with the kite of “deep gladness” we feel when we do what we were designed to do.

last week, through the lens…

at the Biltmore in Asheville, NC…

Andy’s mando…

Hitmaker Billy Montana with lovely wife, Donna

Dale Baker seeks refreshment pre-concert

Christa, Dale, Nicole, Billy, Jamie, Andy

Austin’s David Lutes performs in our family room…

Three days later, we considered moving the furniture back in.

Smallest boy makes a splash in his first meet…

and seeks a little personal space after…

brown shoulders on a lapping girl…

where every good day begins…

I begin by seeing.

I begin by seeing (I’m a visual learner).  Feeling waves roll in, scales fall, the earth shift slightly underfoot…how have I lived this long and not known this?

A secret overlay becomes visible and wheels turn…scaffolding is erected on the interior walls of the mind, frames hung, phrases chalked alongside, and I start the climb…

In tenth grade, a skinny, self-conscious girl, I sat at our hand-me-down piano and felt things I couldn’t identify, longings I couldn’t name.  We had moved back onto American soil as I entered 9th grade.  I hated most everything about our new home.  Mostly I hated everything about myself, and managed to feel both invisible and painfully conspicuous all the time.

Maybe that’s where the first song came from.  Maybe I couldn’t write about the experience of a sad teenage girl, because writing it seemed even more boring than living it.  Instead, I imagined a conversation with a homeless flutist on an unnamed street, who talked to me about his life – the losses and disillusionment.  (The flute wasn’t silent, so I’m not sure how that ended up in the lyric.)

Back then I wasn’t thinking that the homeless street musician might reflect something of my own experience.  Not consciously.  Later, high school and college literature classes showed me how to search beneath top layers and seek out subtle connections between people and circumstances.

Now I make an effort to listen and watch.  That’s where the writing begins for me.

I begin by seeing.  What a mountain has to do with faith…what medicine and children have in common…how my grandmother and I are one…why repentance feels like dying but makes us free…

*And you?  Tell us what you see?*

living in time…

Great songs are born when they are born.  Great books are read and digested slowly.  The tide of spiritual understanding ebbs and flows to a rhythm we can’t force.  There is a time for working the earth and a time for letting it rest.  Relationships and households require awesome amounts of time and energy.

Email, telephone, doorbell break in and disrupt flow.  Children need, always.  My “lizard brain” (www.sethgodin.com) sabotages my creative efforts.  The mere knowledge that I’m responsible for preparing and recovering from three meals a day can cause panic.

Where is the time, Lord, to do what You ask of me?

My pastor one day says, “God gives us enough time to do the things we are called to do.”

I’m comforted.  I think, maybe the things I manage to get in are in fact, those things I’m called to do.  And the things that never happen – the songs I don’t write – just weren’t meant to be.

One thing I know: I don’t want a rushed life.  I don’t choose to be hurried.  I won’t be a sighing, frowning, huffing person complaining about “the busy-ness.”

At least, I don’t want to be…

So I set, and reset, my eyes on things unseen, things invisible, undying and of infinite value—and in that I’m better able to create space for us to live beautifully moment by moment.  I won’t achieve perfection this way, but I hope to walk in peace.

I like that idea – holding eternity in a temporal world.

what it means to be “Held”

(This was originally a “page” on my former blog…since I don’t yet have a place for it in this new blog format, I thought I’d share it again as a “post.”)

I’m sure I have it documented somewhere, maybe on a piece of notebook paper, but I can’t recall it.  I do know it was several years ago–several years before Natalie Grant released it–when I first heard the stories which prompted the lyrics that became the song called “Held.”  Because I am still being asked the background of that song, how it came to be, I thought perhaps I should write a little something about it.

I could talk all day about the three women whose lives I so greatly admire, who so inspired me and continue to mentor me in one way or another.  But for now, I’ll briefly introduce each one and tell you how they participated (unknowingly) in this song.

Patti

Patti had been a widow for less than five years when we first met.  And she was only about 4o-years-old.  With three young daughters.  My first encounter with Patti’s family was when I heard her then 10-year-old daughter sing…wow.  Her raw talent and beauty were stunning.  We soon met her other two daughters who were equally remarkable and we thought: How is she doing this??  Patti had only had a year to prepare for her husband’s death.  And her husband, by the way, was young, tall, handsome, strong, athletic, intelligent, devoted and successful.  How does this happen?  Toby and I fell in love with Patti’s family instantly…here was a woman who had lost her HUSBAND, the FATHER of her very young children and she was still LIVING.  She was transparent in her grief and questions and struggles and she was determined in her faith.  She shared her heart and her story with us over dinner, coffee, in the swimming pool…I particularly remember her talking about the idea of us “giving” everything over to God, except for some unspoken “sacred” parts of our life.  We mean to say: “Of course, you won’t ask this of me.”

Vaneetha

Vaneetha was already a survivor before the tragic death of her baby boy.  She had contracted polio as a baby and spent her childhood in hospitals around the world.  She continues to live with the effects of the disease, but when I met her she was (and still is) a beautiful, vibrant wife, mother, friend, leader.  A handful of months after we met, but before we became real friends, her infant son, Paul David, died from a heart defect that had been treated at birth.  Paul was doing remarkably well and had just been celebrated at a church-wide baby shower, when he died unexpectedly in the night.  The first verse of “Held” refers to Vaneetha and her son, Paul.  She has always spoken to me about how knowing sorrow has allowed her to also know joy…and about the strange reality of feeling God’s presence most keenly in the moments of deepest grief.

Sherry

Sherry is my mother-in-law.  She had mentioned her daughter Erica to me at different times, but I remember one conversation in particular when she talked about Erica’s birth and death in detail.  She spoke through tears about the pain of carrying a child to term and then having to let her go without even getting to take her home from the hospital.  She told me about the still, small voice that spoke to her in the delivery room, saying: You have to choose how you will carry this loss after this moment.  You can choose bitterness.  Or you can choose to let me wrap you up in peace that can’t be explained and that will lead to hope.  You can choose to trust that you are not alone, and that everything you suffer here will someday be redeemed.

This conversation with Sherry eventually helped write the third verse.

Other words from these women became the second verse, taught me that no person of faith since the beginning of time has ever lived without suffering.  In fact, they said, those who are students of Jesus have been promised that we certainly should expect pain and suffering in this life.

BUT.

But.  In the middle of that heartache.  At every lonely, dark, lost moment…the Truth.

That in those moments, even then, especially then…we are held, held up, held together, by the the One who has walked here and knows the pain, and who also holds all of time, every story, my story, your story, the Greatest Story in his hands.

Every word was chosen with loving care, because I didn’t write this song for a market, or a record label, but for those three women.  I wrote it and recorded it with my old 8-track and made a cassette copy for each of them.  Before I even had a publisher.

What has become of “Held” has meant a whole lot to me.  It has meant something to many people–maybe to you and your story.  And it has meant a great deal to Patti, Vaneetha, and Sherry–to see their stories used to minister to so many others is an affirmation that John, Paul David, and Erica lived and died for at least this purpose…there is so much we can’t see or fathom.  But at least this one beautiful, healing thing exists because of them and is part of their legacies.

All That You Need…new song

All That You Need
Christa Wells

You work to be loved
You love to be known
You know how to hurt
You hurt on your own
But your soul is a desert

You’ve dried up the pools
That’ve kept you alive
They were never intended
For long-term survival
Your soul is a desert

But your eyes are an ocean flooding over the levy
Storms keep on coming before you are ready
Oh, and they’re taking the whole place down to the seed
Til all that you have…is all that you need

We circle the sun
Turn in and away
But the sun keeps burning
Always the same
Oh, the sun keeps burning

There’s no way to earn
What you’ve already got
There’s nothing to lose
When you’re loved from the start
Oh, the sun, the sun keeps burning

But your eyes are an ocean flooding over the levy
Storms keep on coming before you are ready
Oh, and they’re taking the whole place down to the seed
Til all that you have is all that you nee
d

All that you need, all that you need
He’s all that you need

There’s no way to earn what you’ve already got
Nothing to lose when you’re
Loved from the start

you can do a lot of things…

“You don’t HAVE to do anything, but you CAN do a lot of things.”

She was 16-years-old and said it with a comical grin, referring to my dilemma over whether or not to feel obligated to patch a small hole in my skirt.  She’s a free spirit.

I have never been as free as I want/could/should/will be.

Her hair changes shape and color frequently.  Her opinions are strong, independent and well-supported.  She sees through people and things.  She was intimidating to adults when she was only 14, though she was almost always laughing, smiling, and teasing.

She had no idea that such a small, impromptu comment would linger and replay in my mind over the years. She probably had some idea that I have never really believed it.

My functional belief has been more like:

“I have to do a lot of things, and I can’t do just anything.”

I’m a follower of Jesus Christ, and I’m not implying we should follow every impulse without concern for our motives or the effects on others.  Freedom doesn’t equal self-indulgence.

But wow, we put a lot of bogus expectations on ourselves (and others) that have nothing to do with the pleasure of God.

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Eph 2:10, NIV)

One of the works to which I’ve been called is the creation of music.  Simple.  At the same time, I’ve been entrusted with a rather large family, as well as church and neighborhood communities.   You have been entrusted with works, good gifts, and responsibilities.

If you’d take a second to name them and then scroll down your mental list of expectations you put on yourself within each category…my guess is that most of us have too many things on that list.

We bury the beautiful, simple purpose (simple: make music, share music) in extraneous details and become passive participants in our own daily lives.  We aren’t choosing anymore. We’re swept up in a current of amplified priorities and task lists that come largely from what we think the rest of the world thinks we should be or do.

Because of the current, I forget to play the piano…

I forget to look my family members in the eye and listen…

I forget to give thanks…

I forget to laugh…

I forget that God is sovereign over my vocation and that drivenness is not a fruit of the Spirit.

I forget that as far as this life on earth goes, the present moment is really all we have.

Here’s the truth.  There is no one right timeline for bringing a baby home, or releasing a record, or posting a blog, or running a half-marathon.  I don’t have to choose one approach to writing or one style of music or one way to interact with people.  We don’t have to make anything happen.

There is no “right” house size or style of decorating.  It doesn’t matter whether my mother likes the color of my walls (LOL sorry, Mom) or whether my countertops are formica or granite.  There is no condemnation for having zero functioning towel rods hanging in my house.  It.doesn’t.matter.

In her song, “Conversations,” my friend Sara Groves sings,“The only thing that isn’t meaningless to me is Jesus Christ and the way He set me free…”.

Because of this, I can wear a skirt with a hole in it, and leave it that way.  I’m free to not think about it.

I am free to do (or not do) a lot of things.

Inhale

Truthfully, I inhaled.

On the blacktopped road, late spring, early evening, I rolled windows down, drew in the honeysuckled air and felt alive.  I could have been 7 or 70 or any number of years in between.  There’s just something about 75 degrees, blowing in through the car window at dusk.

I joke that I’m a nicer person in spring and summer, but I’m sorry to say it’s not really a joke.  I am nicer.  It’s easier to exude warmth when I feel warm, and easier to be light when I am actually in the light.

And it’s easier to exhale grace and peace,
when grace and peace are the oxygen we breathe.

In his book, The Peacemaker, Ken Sande writes:

“Peacemakers are people who breathe grace.”

I want to learn to forgive.  I want to be able to imagine a “side of the story” different from my own and to say, “I’m sorry” without choking.

What I tend to do is hold my breath and count the injuries.  Or run to the people or places that affirm my perspective, and there take in…what?  Bitterness.  Self-righteousness.  Judgment. Complacency.

But I want to be a real peacemaker, so I will have to learn where to go for grace.

And here it is:  We must go to the Living Word and meditate on the most scandalous story of grace ever told.  We return to our own scars and failures all graciously dressed, bandaged, and covered with new cloth.  We seek out the sages who unfailingly ask us to point to the evidence of the Creator in our lives, yes, even mid-winter.

And at the end of a May day, we roll down the windows and breathe deeply the ever-returning beauty lavished on a turned-away world.   Spring keeps coming back!  Every year she saves us from the cold and dark.  Restores joy!  And we, surprised, say: Yes!  You have come again afterall!

No matter what we’ve done or failed to do in the months of her absence.

And the branches we were so sad to see bare shoot out longer, greener and fuller than before the frost.

The return of the sun is God’s grace exhaled over us.

The truth is, we must inhale.

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