Music and Breath

Music is a thread that runs through my life. Regardless of what ministry I’m part of, music always creeps in. If I’m asked to preach, then I include a song as part of my message. If I’m asked to lead a retreat, then music plays a big part. If I’m asked to lead a workshop, then music is played at some point during the session. If I’m asked to teach piano lessons, then I can’t just teach piano. I must teach all kinds of music. History, composition, theory, and more.

Music connects souls. It speaks a language that words cannot. It stirs memories, raises emotions, breaks down barriers, and motivates change. I am so grateful that I grew up immersed in music and followed its passion to college. Honestly, there were times in my studies when I began to hate it, yet, as I wrote one night in my favorite college practice room: “Music is the passion that burns within my soul, the passion of God’s heart, the piece that makes me whole…”

Both indirectly and directly, music is a huge part of what makes me myself.

The rest of what I wrote that night said, “But lately I can’t find the beat and lately I just can’t sing and lately I just can’t feel the way I used to feel. So help me…”

I wrote those words during my sophomore year of college. If you’ve heard of the sophomore slump, then you know I was in it. The journey that has followed since that time has been beautifully long and hard and has been met with loneliness, fear of rejection, actual rejection, really poor decisions, life-changing learning, transformed theology, enduring friendships, and acceptance of God’s unconditional love and grace. Through it all, music has been my constant companion, either giving me an outlet of personal expression or providing me with someone else’s story with which to connect.

At one of the lowest points on my journey, one of my closest friends, with whom I connected because of a shared interest in music, kept telling me to breathe. I thought, “Of course I’m breathing. I’d be dead if I weren’t. Why do you keep telling me to breathe?”

Then one night as I wrestled myself to sleep, I noticed that I had, indeed, stopped breathing. After the inhale, I subconsciously held my breath until I couldn’t hold it any longer and then exploded on the exhale. In that moment, I understood what my friend meant. I understood why she didn’t offer cheap advice or words of assurance. I understood that the best thing she could do was sit with me and breathe.

Breath helps calm us. God breathes in us the sustaining breath of life. Breath gives life and rest. Breath turns chaos to music.

“Keep breathing,” she said.

And I did.

And I kept making music.

I hope I always will.

And I hope that you’ll join me.

Well Done, My Child

The first time I remember appreciating silence was the summer after my freshman year of college. I worked as a camp counselor that summer and filled my weeks with the sounds of 12 elementary-aged girls in my cabin and hundreds of other girls around the camp. While I enjoyed my work as camp counselor (it actually took root and transformed my life), I also distinctly remember walking back to my cabin in the hours after campers left and taking in the beautifully sweet sound of silence. It was outdoor silence, so it was punctuated with birds singing, leaves rusting, and squirrels running. But it was beautiful. And in its echoes, I could hear the sounds of little girls laughing and praising God, and that made the silence even more beautiful.

Still, I struggled with silence. It made me uncomfortable. 15 seconds of silence felt like an eternity. I couldn’t understand how my parents could ride in silence for an hour or more at a time. I assumed it meant they were mad. It didn’t. It just meant that they were comfortable in their silence.

The other day, I heard someone say: “Only speak if your words can add to the silence.”

I also read the chapter on solitude in Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline. Foster highlighted the fact that too often we fill time with anxious words of explanation. We want people to like us. We want to be understood. We don’t want anyone to upset. We don’t want to be thought ignorant. So we talk. And we try hard to win the affection and accolades of those around us when sometimes less is more—when sometimes our yes really does need to be yes and our no just needs to be no—when sometimes we need to release control of what others think of us and allow our spirits and intentions to speak for themselves.

This is something that I am learning.

This is something that is growing my faith.

When we slow down and let life catch up with us, we are often bombarded by thoughts, words, deeds, actions, guilts, desires, hopes, dreams, and everything in between. When we open ourselves to silence, we are often overwhelmed by the noise that fills our heads. It’s in the those moments that we are tempted to return to outer noise—music, white noise, television, conversation, constant activity—because it feels normal and numbs our soul.

But if we just wait? What if we push through those initial moments of inner chaos and let the silence surround us? What if we allow our thoughts to pass through our minds with grace rather than giving them permission to play like a broken record? What if we breathe in “Jesus Christ, Prince of Peace” and breathe out “Come sit with me now,” and let our breath hold us on a sacred pillow of silence?

Our souls find rest.

God calls God’s people to be different. God calls us to be set-apart. Counter-cultural. Light in darkness and salt where there is no flavor. Maybe what this means isn’t so much that we are to take a stand on issues of morality and create for ourselves a narrow-minded, hateful reputation. Maybe what this means is that we are to be a people of silence. A people who, at our cores, are at peace with God and ourselves and do not need the constant motion and noise of this world to fill the gaping hole that is Needy Beast.

I’m on a journey toward embracing silence, toward allowing my soul to find rest.

I pray that you will join me and that together we will hear echoes of God laughing and saying, “Well done, my child. Well done.”

Contrary To Popular Belief, Silence Is Not The Enemy

I’m beginning this note in between music lessons with my niece and nephew. We’ve been having weekly lessons for the past few months, and while I’m not 100% sure how much I’ve taught them, I am sure that we’ve enjoyed our time together. Sometimes we play piano, sometimes we play music games on the computer, sometimes we do movement activities, sometimes we listen to instrumental music with the help of Fantasia or a video version of Peter and the Wolf. I’ve been working with them for the past few months…

(Insert writing silence for a pre-K piano version of “Merrily We Roll Along.”)

…and I’ve been reminded of a very important lesson in life: Music is the organized combination of both sound and silence.

Did you catch that?

Music is not music without silence.

When I was teaching school, I realized something: when students get in trouble at school, one of their worst possible punishments is silence. Silent lunch. Silent carpool. Silent free time. Silent anything. In school, more often than not, silence is equivalent to punishment.

Yet.

Music is not music without silence.

There is a time for everything under the sun. Ecclesiastes 3 may not say that there is a time for noise and a time for silence, but there is. Silence is under the sun.

Yet.

We seem to do everything we can to avoid silence these days…especially if we grow up learning that silence is a punishment.

Try singing without stopping to take a breath. Trying playing an instrument without doing the same. Even playing the piano, there must be moments of silence—of rest—lest fingers get tied up and pitches become blurred.

Music is not music without silence.

In fact, music without silence is only noise.

And so it is with life.

The next time you’re driving to work alone, don’t turn on your music, book, podcasts, or talk radio. Drive in the relative silence of your car and truly pay attention to the world surrounding you.

The next time you have a moment between classes at school or meetings at work, don’t fill the moment with chatter and activity. Sit in the silence of your classroom or office. Breathe deeply. Feel the oxygen filling your lungs. You are alive. It’s really quite amazing.

And the next time there is a moment of silence in church, don’t freak out. Whether it’s planned or accidental, silence is okay. No. Silence is more than okay. Silence is good. Silence is crucial to being healthy and hearing God’s voice. Actually, I challenge you to plan a time to visit your church sanctuary alone. You will be amazed at how holy silence will surround you if you let it.

Silence is not the enemy. In fact, silence is our friend.

(Selah)

Beyond My Own Front Porch

This evening was cleaning night. Gigi was cluttered and dirty and crying to be cleaned. So I cleaned her.

But before I busted out the vacuum cleaner and Armor All, I washed the porch.

It was yellow.

A couple of weeks ago at Nana Camp, the boys and girl and I cracked open geodes. We put each unbroken geode in a sock to keep pieces from shattering into someone’s eyes or skin and then hammered the rocks until they cracked open. With deep excitement, we poured out the broken pieces of rock to see what was inside. Each geode opened differently. Some had thick outer walls. Some had thin. Some had white crystals. Some had black. Some were shiny. Some were dull. But they all were neat in their own ways. And the kids and I loved doing them.

As soon as we were finished, though, the kids and I abandoned the socks, hammers, and tiny left-over pieces of rock and came inside. I planned to clean the porch later.

Later was today. Socks, hammers, and tiny left-over pieces of rock all covered in pollen.

Chip, my across the street neighbor, was washing his porch when I walked outside to clean my car. That’s what inspired me to wash my porch.

I turned on the hose. Watched water cascade. Saw pollen flow off the hammers, left-over rock pieces, rocking chairs, and porch. And as I worked, I thought: “There are people around the world who don’t have clean water, yet I’m standing here using clean water to wash my porch.”

Then I prayed, “God forgive me when I take for granted the blessings that surround me. Forgive me when I waste and forgive me when I’m apathetic to issues of human exploitation. Help me use my blessings to help others and help me make a difference in cleaning up the world beyond my own front porch.”

Amen.

David And Goliath Have Spoken

I’m thankful that the words and stories of scripture are alive and active. I’m thankful that they speak to different persons in different times and different places depending on what thoughts, experiences, and emotions the reader is carrying within the context of the reader’s culture. I’m thankful that scripture can serve as testimonial points of reference on our faith journeys. I’m thankful that new points of reference can be placed and that stories that once didn’t resonate with my story do now.

Yesterday. A dear friend’s installation as the first female pastor in a congregation.

This season of life. Searching. Discerning. Learning to live authentically. Trying to honor past experience and unique giftedness instead of trying to act as other people think I should act or do what other people think I should do.

Just prior to this season of life. A three-year focus on issues of human exploitation, one of which was bullying.

In general. Understanding the power of words, especially words of blessing. Believing that each of us has worth and value. Knowing that wearing protective armor can weigh us down. Feeling the sting of not being believed in or given a chance because my ideas and beliefs are different than the norm.

Now insert the story of David and Goliath…

David said to Saul, “Let no one lose heart on account of Goliath; I, your servant, will go and fight him.”

Saul replied, “You are not able to go out against this Philistine and fight him; you are only a young man, and he has been a warrior from his youth.”

But David said to Saul, “I, your servant, have been keeping my father’s sheep. When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep from the flock, I went after it, struck it and rescued the sheep from its mouth. When it turned on me, I seized it by its hair, struck it and killed it. I, your servant, have killed both the lion and the bear; this uncircumcised Philistine will be like one of them, because he has defied the armies of the living God. The LORD who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.”

Saul said to David, “Go, and the LORD be with you.”

Then Saul dressed David in his own tunic. He put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head. David fastened on his sword over the tunic and tried walking around, because he was not used to them.

“I cannot go in these,” he said to Saul, “because I am not used to them.” So he took them off.
Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag and, with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine.

Meanwhile, the Philistine, with his shield bearer in front of him, kept coming closer to David. He looked David over and saw that he was little more than a boy, glowing with health and handsome, and he despised him. He said to David, “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?” And the Philistine cursed David by his gods. “Come here,” he said, “and I’ll give your flesh to the birds and the wild animals!”

David said to the Philistine, “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the LORD will deliver you into my hands, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head. This very day I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds and the wild animals, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground.

So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him.

What is this story saying to you in this time, in this America, in this societal and church climate today?

There Is Beauty Yet To Come

Six years ago, when the world turned yellow, I wrote a song.

A few weeks before, I had gone to counseling for the first time. I was finding a new vocabulary. I was finding a new sense of self.

After walking to the mailbox and back and clearing footprints in the yellow sand, I sat down at the piano and began to play.

The song that emerged was a prophetic declaration of who I am and who I want to be.

I thought of this song today as I exited white halls and emerged into a yellow world.

I thought of how I’d been living into its words ever since they sprang from my heart and how I will continue living into them in the years to come.

I thought of how I’d been finding my voice, my colors, my identity.

And I thought of how beautiful it is to know that we are created in the image of God, loved because of who we are now and who we are becoming rather than because of anything we have done or ever will do.

Friends, we are becoming whole, one day, one moment, at a time.

Hold to that truth today.

Let the yellow world remind you.

There is beauty yet to come.

Amen and Amen.

---------

Whole

A cloud of yellow comes and settles on my soul
Replacing sheets of white—cold
Nature has been waiting for this yellow on my soul
Agonizing in the pains of death

Tender, warm, new buds they bloom and yellow floods my soul
Bitter, stale the old passes away
My throat is scratchy from the yellow on my soul
My words are hoarse from the dark night

But listen now: this is my voice
It’s bursting into life
Singing with the colors of our God…

Three short months extended into countless draining years
Deceiving lies leading astray
Destructive screaming from this world created chaos here
Whispers of the truth could not be heard

But listen now: this is my voice
This is who I am
Created in the image of our God
Loved not for the things I do
But loved for who I am
And who I am learning to be

I’m not perfect—I will fail
But I believe in God’s grace
I am gifted and unique
I am worthy of God’s grace
I’m authentic—I’m okay
And I stand upon God’s grace
I’m on a journey—not alone
I’m a member of God’s grace

So listen now: this is my voice
This is who I am
Created in the image of our God
Loved not for the things I do
But loved for who I am
And who I am learning to be

Yes, listen now: this is my voice
It’s bursting into life
Singing with the colors of our God…

A cloud of yellow comes and settles on my soul
Replacing broken sheets—whole…

Names

We took the boys to church yesterday as part of Nana Camp. I proudly and lovingly sat beside them and felt my heart warm as I watched and listen to them sing the hymns. I was so present in the worship service that I completely forgot that I was supposed to be playing the offertory with my mom.

As the usher began the offertory prayer and I bowed my head to pray, I heard a loudly whispered, “Dee!” coming from piano bench. I looked up, saw my mom getting our duet music ready, whispered, “Ooooh!” and immediately moved to my place on the piano bench. I was so amused at myself for forgetting that I was supposed to play that I laughed through a good portion of the piece. Added to that, I knew the boys were giggling at me from their pew and that two of the choir members were carefully watching my mom and me (although I didn’t know why at the time). Needless to say, our offertory yesterday wasn’t our best, but it was certainly memorable.

And what made it more memorable is that it was followed by a five-year-old unabashedly offering her dancing as her worship during the next hymn and then being called by name from the pulpit during the introduction to the pastor’s sermon on being called by name.

Names.

Names are so important.

Whether being said in response to a mess-up like my name was called yesterday or whether being called for something beautifully sweet like the five-year-old’s or whether being called out of compassion and love like Mary’s was called in yesterday’s scripture (John 20), names are important.

Names are the written and sounded symbols of who we are. They hold our personalities, hopes, dreams, fears, failures, moments of forgiveness, and stories of redemption.

While none of us want to hear our names called for messing up—as the pastor said on Sunday morning, when we hear our First, Middle, and Last Names, then we know we’re in trouble!—all of us want to hear our names called for doing something good, for being respected, for being loved.

In thinking about names, I realized, maybe for the first time, that some people go for days, or sometimes weeks or months, without hearing their names. What’s more, some people go a lifetime without hearing their name lifted in prayer. There is something special about hearing your name lifted in prayer.

When is the last time someone called your name?
Or, as I’ve been thinking today, when is the last time you called someone’s name in prayer?
Or someone called your name in prayer?
Or, as the pastor hinted yesterday, God called your name as you were praying?

Names are important.

And evidently when my friends and choir members Jes and Rebecca think of Sandra and Deanna, they think of a mom and daughter who both raise their eyebrows in the same way at the same moment while playing their offertory piano duet.

When Life Takes Your Chickens, Grow Fish

Hello. My name is Deanna. I am the head counselor for Nana Camp at Deatonmanor. As part of our educational curriculum, I assisted Nana, the Camp Director, Poppy, the Camp Gopher, and Dana, a camp mom, in taking our five campers to an aquaculture farm. Poppy, the Camp Gopher, arranged our trip.

An aquaculture farm is a farm that raises fish. The farm we visited today is one of the only farms of its kind and is pioneering the way for more. They are growing salt water striped bass and flounder for food consumption, as well as koi and goldfish for decorative tanks and ponds. Realizing an increased demand for “seafood” because of our overfishing and polluting our waters, the farm owners are working with two state colleges to develop the farming program. It is truly cutting edge technology.

Here’s the amazing thing:

The aquafarm used to be a chicken farm.

Many chicken farmers in our area have been laid off (for lack of better terminology) over the past couple of years. Their livelihood has been taken from them and they have been left scrambling to find work. Such was the case with the owner of the aquafarm. He found himself with a farm equipped with chicken houses but with no chickens to grow. He looked at this very difficult situation and decided to take a creative risk. He decided to convert his chicken houses into fish houses.

The conversion has been long and slow. It has been met with error and complication. The farm is still growing and changing. But it is there. And it is pioneering the way for many more farms of its sort.

When life takes your chickens, grow fish.

That was our lesson today at Nana Camp, where education and laughter are important, games are played, dominoes are knocked down, geodes are cracked, jelly beans are eaten, Fantasia is watched, forts are built, and all campers are asleep by 10:30pm.

No April Fools

I’ve never been a prankster. I feel too bad for the person being pranked. As such, I don’t think I’ve ever played an April Fools Day joke on anyone. Today was no exception.

In fact, I don’t even really think of April 1st as April Fool’s Day. I think of it as:

The Day Jack Was Born.

The day Jack was born was the day I became an aunt.

The day I became an aunt was the day I learned to love more fully and completely.

The day I learned to love more fully and completely was the day I began praying without ceasing.

The day I began praying without ceasing was the day that changed my life.

In review:

The Day Jack Was Born = The Day That Changed My Life.

No April Fools.