Inspired by two very special ladies (Angie Smith and Beth Edwards), as well as John Piper who wrote that in every thing He does, God is doing a THOUSAND things. Sometimes, just telling your story can start a chain reaction, and we may have no clue what’s going on…
On Monday I turned 37.
(That’s me, second from the right, the day Mandy came home.)
This is nearly impossible to fathom, because wasn’t it last week I was celebrating my 12th birthday in Kaiserslautern, Germany? Weren’t we riding the train, my aunt and grandmother and two girlfriends and I, trying on new clothes in the closed compartment, giggling and squealing, “I LOVE everything I bought!”
The day after that, I was celebrating 18, with a houseful of friends in the suburbs of Chicago, days before leaving for college.
And then, just hours ago, I was a newlywed and waking to 21 in our first house…
I’m quite sure that was NOT 16 years ago…
And I’m quite sure that these days, in the music industry,
it is a dreadful mistake to admit your age in a blog post.
But I think it’s time we tell the truth. We who are ripening like wine and finding our voice “late.” :)
Listen up. I’m going to be bold. What I’m about to say may not be true for everyone, but it’s true for me, and MAYBE some of you babes will find hope for your wrinkly futures in hearing it.
Despite the obvious pleasantries of youth (plump skin, anticipation of first experiences)…
I like these years gathering behind me.
I relish the increasing FREEDOM I feel (contrary to pop culture, I am far more free in my 30s than in my youth).
I understand now that I have something to share, and an obligation to do so…truths that have been told to me in time and experience. And that none of the work is ABOUT me. This is incredibly liberating.
I’m learning to live and more importantly, learning to die and let go of things that only weigh down. This is a lifelong journey…
Learning to understand myself, and all of us, not in terms of our talents or looks or relationships or belongings or achievements or personality–frankly, all things which can be taken away—but in Christ alone.
I enjoy increased connectedness with ALL people, regardless of age. The numbers matter FAR less. (Remember when you were 18 and though 24 was over the hill?)
Best of all, hunger for personal gain lessens, thirst for knowledge grows, and we realize that the nearer we get to Him, God becomes only more magnificent.
Don’t be afraid of turning 25. Or 30 or 40 (okay, I’ll admit I’m not quite feeling that one yet) or 80.
We need more people going ahead of us in JOY and WISDOM and GRACE, clearing the path and pointing out the beauties.
I want to tell you about Masterpiece Project 2010.
Our theme this year was “Frame the Clouds,” and you’ll just have to believe me when I say I did not have anything to do with that. But I was humbled, so grateful that the concept resonates with others.
The staff at Masterpiece are not all of a kind. We are songwriters, musicians, graphic designers, painters, poets, photographers, calligraphers, pastors, dancers, and counselors.
We are all passionate about our art forms and passionate about the work of God’s kingdom.
In particular, we are passionate about encouraging young artists to be fearless in their faith and in their work.
We all feel inadequate in one way or another.
We wonder what’s next in our own lives.
Above all we believe there is a big, big beautiful true story happening and that it is our responsibility to participate in the telling of it. By making art. And by living in love with God’s art.
The students at Masterpiece are not all of a kind. They are songwriters, musicians, painters, poets, photographers, calligraphers, dancers, novelists, cartoonists, designers. Public-schooled, private-schooled, home-schooled. Funny, dramatic, shy, mysterious, hardworking, uncertain, open.
They feel inadequate and wonder what’s next.
But above all they suspect they have something in common with other storytellers, past and present, across the globe and in the next cabin. Some small part of them, at least, believes they have been given a uniquely powerful way of representing God’s True story.
In one little week in the rural midwest, we are together and changed.
We, together, have listened, walked and talked, written, collaged, and played, danced, cooked, and cleaned. We’ve sung prayers, read the Word, and represented a Creed.
We tried to frame the clouds.
And yes, we even built a giant iPod.
*The following was copied (with permission) from a Facebook “Note” posted by one of our campers:
“When we were released by the kitchen staff the people who were helping and I were sitting around a table and someone asked if I had any of my drawings with me and I did. I showed them the one I was working on and I ran back to my cabin and grabbed my three boxes of my drawings and brought them over to the gathering area. I opened them up and gave them up for viewing. This is something I do not do often, generally I am not comfortable with groups of people looking through my art for whatever reason, but I knew it could be appreciated. Now there was a little crowd of about eight or nine people chattering and oooing over my art. Now this was unique being that I have drawn them and made up my mind whether or not I like them or not. There was stuff from a couple of years ago to present and some of those pieces are somewhat embarrassing to me but much to my surprise people were pointing out things in my art that I never saw and were explaining how much they enjoyed them. Compliment after compliment kept coming about drawings that I had nearly forgotten about. It was an encouraging moment and something I remember clearly. In that moment I knew that I was in the company of friends…”
I realize I’ve been away from this writing place several weeks, and I’m tempted to feel guilty for not following my own weekly regimen. Especially since watching Julie & Julia last night. But then I remind myself that I am, afterall, a songwriter who does some blogging and not the other way around. So…thanks for sticking around when you don’t have to and when nothing new is showing up for weeks…
Sea
We don’t live near the sea.
In the three years since our last visit
I’ve thought of it little,
Content with grass and pines, gardens and topsoil.
Afterall, it’s good to be home.
Now that we’ve returned, I’m humbled to know:
Neither my absence nor lack of remembrance
Affect the life of the sea.
She exists without us;
Her magnitude is not even slightly diminished.
Waves roll in
From places under the sun we’ll never lay eyes on.
Her roar continually fills our ears–
A “white noise” that surrounds us all
and depends on no electrical outlet.
She has no need of me.
But watch those children slice and kick the foam,
Squeal as she slams their shins in play and
We turn backs to the crash, try to keep upright,
Even as we laugh at the fall.
I was pleased for a while simply to feel sand sink underfoot
Stand guard at the shore and count heads.
It’s easy to stay put.
But when the time came, I grabbed board, and friend,
And we waded against the push
Leaned hard
Into the current
Got ourselves deep and
Removed.
We felt privileged,
Small and strong.
I thought we might stay out there forever.
It’s heavenly to float.
And a momentary pleasure.
The sea doesn’t ask approval
But swells and swallows according to her own purpose
And when she lifted and catapulted our bodies
We could not but submit
We could only lay down and close our eyes
As we rode galloping water steeds all the way
Back to the shallows.
Transported by the tide.
Wild wet-haired creatures rose up laughing, whooping, exhilarated–
Dripping, sand-scuffed, ecstatic.
And I realize—
It’s home to be alive.
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.
(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?
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.
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’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?*
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.
