I had the privilege of sitting beside Griffin and behind Amelia at church yesterday. Spread over two pews, Dad, Dana, Finley, Mom (when she wasn’t at the piano), Griffin, Amelia, and I attended Easter services together at Antioch Baptist Church. I loved seeing Amelia’s beautiful smile extending from her pretty little dress and helping Griffin stand on the pew beside me so that he could follow along with the hymns. I loved seeing them walk confidently down the aisle to the children’s sermon and triumphantly back to their seats with Easter bunnies of candy and children’s worship packets.
Griffin didn’t use his worship packet, though. He made sure he knew where his bunny was at all times, but he didn’t choose to color during the sermon. Instead, he sat and listened. And when we got to a part in the sermon when the pastor shared some of the events of Jesus’ life on Good Friday and said, “It’s Friday…” and we were supposed to respond with, “But Sunday is coming,” Griffin said it with everyone else—over and over again...until he whispered to me, “Dee. Why do we keep saying Sunday is coming?”
As best as I could in a whisper in the middle of a momentarily interactive sermon, I explained that on Good Friday Jesus was killed but that on Sunday he came back. That on Friday, a whole bunch of bad things happened but on Sunday a bunch of good things happened.
Griffin said, “So today is Friday?”
I thought, “That is what we keep hearing and sort of saying.”
I said, “No, baby. Today is Sunday. Today we’re celebrating that Jesus is alive. Sunday is already here.”
A moment later, Griffin said, “Dee. Are talking about Jesus or God or both?”
I thought, “That’s a heavy weight question that people spend their lives trying to understand.”
I said, “Both. Jesus is God’s son.” I chose not to mention the Holy Spirit and/or the Trinity for the time being. After all, Griffin is only six…and this conversation did happen during worship.
Last night at supper, as all twelve of my family members were somehow comfortably crammed around the table, Griffin responded to a question of what we were all doing tomorrow by saying, “Today is Friday, isn’t it?”
Understanding his confusion, I said, “No, baby. It’s Sunday. Remember? We were saying it was Friday because of the bad things that happened to Jesus on Friday, but Sunday is already here. It’s today.”
Because dinner conversation continued while I was reminding Griffin that it was Sunday, we quickly moved on and didn’t return to the subject… but it obviously stuck with me.
Maundy Thursday. Good Friday. Lent. They are dark times on the Christian calendar. They are full of surrender and sacrifice and culminate in what I imagine to be a time of heavy stillness and numb shock—a time of having no idea where to go or to whom to turn and of wondering how the world could go on. 2000 years later, because of what we know happened on Sunday, those dark times—and all dark times—are weathered by the reality of hope, the belief in redemption, the pardon of forgiveness, and the living presence of a life-giving God.
But yesterday wasn’t Friday. Yesterday wasn’t dark. Yesterday was Sunday. Yesterday was Resurrection Day. Yesterday was Christ alive.
Yesterday was, “Friday was Friday. Dark. Ugly. Full of betrayal. Hopeless. Awful. Terrible. But today is not Friday. Today is Sunday. Sunday is here! What was dead is now alive! What was dark is now light! It’s Sunday. Resurrection Day! Now let’s celebrate. True life is here!”
Yesterday wasn’t, “It’s Friday but Sunday is Coming.” Yesterday was, “Friday was Friday. But Sunday is here!”
Had we said, “But Sunday is here,” over and over again, I imagine that Griffin would have said, “Dee, why do we keep saying ‘But Sunday is here?’” I probably still would have had to whisper the meaning of Friday and Sunday and Griffin still might have asked about Jesus and God…but…I don’t know…I think the message of “Sunday is here” is different than that of “Sunday is coming”…and I think it’s always good not to confuse a kindergartener about his days of the week .
Monday, April 9, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Broken Gardens
This morning on Facebook, I asked the question: If you could go back in time to be with Jesus on this Thursday of Holy Week, would you rather be with him when he washed feet, served "the last supper," sang a hymn before going to the garden, or prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane?
While I don’t usually publically answer my own questions—I always answer them in my head as I type them—I want to answer this one aloud.
Even though I think that having Jesus wash my feet would have made me cry and thus washed, also, my face; that sharing the Seder meal with Jesus for the last time would have been lovely and powerful and symbolic; that hearing Jesus’ singing voice would have been super-duper neat; and that if I were given an opportunity to witness any of those events then I certainly wouldn’t turn it down…if I had to choose, then I would choose to be with Jesus while he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane—not because I want to be a disciple hero and stay awake when the others go to sleep—but because I find his struggle in the garden so raw and real and passionate that it is one of the beautiful, gut-wrenching images of my life.
Earlier this morning, I received an e-mail from a dear friend. She shared with me a bit about her family and how they have influenced her life. I’d heard a bit of her story once before. We’d watched a film together on a retreat and the film hooked something deep inside her and made her weep. I vividly recall those tears and I vividly remembering my respect for her strengthening tenfold. In that moment of raw brokenness, I saw a depth of humanity that I’d not seen in her before. And when that happens to me, my respect and care for a person sky-rockets because I know just how genuine they are. I know that they feel their emotions and aren’t afraid of the ups and downs of life’s journey…and those ups and downs can be so frequent and so extreme.
Jesus was the son of God. It’s easy for us to focus on his divinity and forget his humanity. It’s easy to forget that Jesus got tired and hungry and weary and angry and needed both time with friends and time alone. It’s easy to forget that Jesus once wore diapers and had to be potty trained (or something like that). It’s easy to forget that Jesus laughed and hummed and followed customs and used manners. But Jesus was fully divine AND fully divine. And Jesus actually seemed to like his life in this world.
In Matthew 26, we read that Jesus prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.” I don’t know about you, but I hear anguish in that prayer. I hear Jesus not wanting to be arrested, beaten, and hung on a cross. I hear Jesus not wanting to leave his disciples and friends and mother. I hear it even more in John 17 when Jesus prays for his disciples…and for us. I hear this struggle…and this deep, deep love.
Just as I already respected my friend before she wept that night, I already respected Jesus and his life without this plea of anguish. But this plea—this prayer—this hope against hope—this moment of desperation—this raw cry of brokenness that ends with ultimate surrender…it makes my respect for Christ so much deeper because it helps me see the honest courage with which he faced his human life’s journey. It helps me know that I can face my journey with that same honest courage, too.
To see Jesus tired and spent. To watch him cry a weary cry. To see him surrounded by signs of life in the garden. To hear his voice praying aloud to God…that is where I would want to meet him…fully divine…fully human…and fully the man I adore.
While I don’t usually publically answer my own questions—I always answer them in my head as I type them—I want to answer this one aloud.
Even though I think that having Jesus wash my feet would have made me cry and thus washed, also, my face; that sharing the Seder meal with Jesus for the last time would have been lovely and powerful and symbolic; that hearing Jesus’ singing voice would have been super-duper neat; and that if I were given an opportunity to witness any of those events then I certainly wouldn’t turn it down…if I had to choose, then I would choose to be with Jesus while he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane—not because I want to be a disciple hero and stay awake when the others go to sleep—but because I find his struggle in the garden so raw and real and passionate that it is one of the beautiful, gut-wrenching images of my life.
Earlier this morning, I received an e-mail from a dear friend. She shared with me a bit about her family and how they have influenced her life. I’d heard a bit of her story once before. We’d watched a film together on a retreat and the film hooked something deep inside her and made her weep. I vividly recall those tears and I vividly remembering my respect for her strengthening tenfold. In that moment of raw brokenness, I saw a depth of humanity that I’d not seen in her before. And when that happens to me, my respect and care for a person sky-rockets because I know just how genuine they are. I know that they feel their emotions and aren’t afraid of the ups and downs of life’s journey…and those ups and downs can be so frequent and so extreme.
Jesus was the son of God. It’s easy for us to focus on his divinity and forget his humanity. It’s easy to forget that Jesus got tired and hungry and weary and angry and needed both time with friends and time alone. It’s easy to forget that Jesus once wore diapers and had to be potty trained (or something like that). It’s easy to forget that Jesus laughed and hummed and followed customs and used manners. But Jesus was fully divine AND fully divine. And Jesus actually seemed to like his life in this world.
In Matthew 26, we read that Jesus prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.” I don’t know about you, but I hear anguish in that prayer. I hear Jesus not wanting to be arrested, beaten, and hung on a cross. I hear Jesus not wanting to leave his disciples and friends and mother. I hear it even more in John 17 when Jesus prays for his disciples…and for us. I hear this struggle…and this deep, deep love.
Just as I already respected my friend before she wept that night, I already respected Jesus and his life without this plea of anguish. But this plea—this prayer—this hope against hope—this moment of desperation—this raw cry of brokenness that ends with ultimate surrender…it makes my respect for Christ so much deeper because it helps me see the honest courage with which he faced his human life’s journey. It helps me know that I can face my journey with that same honest courage, too.
To see Jesus tired and spent. To watch him cry a weary cry. To see him surrounded by signs of life in the garden. To hear his voice praying aloud to God…that is where I would want to meet him…fully divine…fully human…and fully the man I adore.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
On This Tuesday of Holy Week
I’ve quietly been pondering Holy Week today. It’s been the underlying thought of my hours…Christ’s journey to the cross…how one week could move so quickly from shouts of praise to shouts of hate. Without meaning for them to do so, my thoughts came into view as I opened a window to my soul while writing an e-mail yesterday. I want to share part of that message now because it’s part of my own journey to the cross:
…I like to stay informed on what's in culture and try to find points of redemption and truth wherever I can. Sometimes this reality drives me crazy because the two sides of every issue are always fighting so hard against one another.
I think that the issue of bullying is tough. Much of the really good material on bullying has been produced by groups that Southern Baptists don’t often associate with. I've wanted to use some of the material simply because it's good material--it has nothing to do with controversial issues the surface but everything to do with respecting differences and treating people with dignity and respect--but I haven't been able to use it because of associations that some would question and hold in contempt. While we, as Christians, don’t want to get labeled as bullies, we often do...and I think it's because of the tension between right/wrong, good/bad, being in this world but not of it, speaking truth while respecting differences, sharing faith and following Christ and knowing when to leave things to God...
It's sometimes hard to know how to be true to one belief system while not damning others and standing in a judgmental place of condemnation in the process (which I don't think Jesus wanted)--especially when issues of life/death, heaven/hell, saved/unsaved come into the picture--and especially when things are extreme and polarized...with violence running rampant and individualism/consumerism/feel-goodism/entitlementism (yes I realize I'm making up words) being the norm of the day.
I think maybe this is why I try to stay informed on what's out there...to try to find common ground and weed out God's truth and grace in the middle. In counseling the other day, my counselor really upset me. She said some really hard, really difficult things and I left her office very angry and very hurt. After many years of work learning not to absolutely hate myself and think myself a horrible, terrible individual by virtue of just being alive (we're all depraved sinners, right?—isn’t that what we’re taught?—that we’re worthy of nothing save for Christ?—that we’re really horrible people without Christ’s blood?), I didn't shut down, turn the pain inward, or allow it come outward in a self-harming way. Instead, I simply prayed, "God, help me to hear what it is you want me to hear in this. Help me to hear your truth, your words, and to take from this session and these feelings what you alone would have me to take." Over the past few days, I've let her words pass through my mind and sit on my heart occasionally, praying for God's wisdom and discernment each time it’s happened, and I've been able to weed out the anger and ickiness and lies and land in a place of relative peace--even though what I had to name and accept was not easy or what I'd originally believed.
I write all of that because...well...I don't know really. Maybe because every day is this journey in seeing where God is working and what God is teaching...even when it's different than what I expect--which is a lot. It's taking in all of the information and expectations and stereotypes and negativity that are thrown my way and trying to find points of goodness and redemption and love...which is where I believe Jesus was going on his journey through life that led to the cross.
…I like to stay informed on what's in culture and try to find points of redemption and truth wherever I can. Sometimes this reality drives me crazy because the two sides of every issue are always fighting so hard against one another.
I think that the issue of bullying is tough. Much of the really good material on bullying has been produced by groups that Southern Baptists don’t often associate with. I've wanted to use some of the material simply because it's good material--it has nothing to do with controversial issues the surface but everything to do with respecting differences and treating people with dignity and respect--but I haven't been able to use it because of associations that some would question and hold in contempt. While we, as Christians, don’t want to get labeled as bullies, we often do...and I think it's because of the tension between right/wrong, good/bad, being in this world but not of it, speaking truth while respecting differences, sharing faith and following Christ and knowing when to leave things to God...
It's sometimes hard to know how to be true to one belief system while not damning others and standing in a judgmental place of condemnation in the process (which I don't think Jesus wanted)--especially when issues of life/death, heaven/hell, saved/unsaved come into the picture--and especially when things are extreme and polarized...with violence running rampant and individualism/consumerism/feel-goodism/entitlementism (yes I realize I'm making up words) being the norm of the day.
I think maybe this is why I try to stay informed on what's out there...to try to find common ground and weed out God's truth and grace in the middle. In counseling the other day, my counselor really upset me. She said some really hard, really difficult things and I left her office very angry and very hurt. After many years of work learning not to absolutely hate myself and think myself a horrible, terrible individual by virtue of just being alive (we're all depraved sinners, right?—isn’t that what we’re taught?—that we’re worthy of nothing save for Christ?—that we’re really horrible people without Christ’s blood?), I didn't shut down, turn the pain inward, or allow it come outward in a self-harming way. Instead, I simply prayed, "God, help me to hear what it is you want me to hear in this. Help me to hear your truth, your words, and to take from this session and these feelings what you alone would have me to take." Over the past few days, I've let her words pass through my mind and sit on my heart occasionally, praying for God's wisdom and discernment each time it’s happened, and I've been able to weed out the anger and ickiness and lies and land in a place of relative peace--even though what I had to name and accept was not easy or what I'd originally believed.
I write all of that because...well...I don't know really. Maybe because every day is this journey in seeing where God is working and what God is teaching...even when it's different than what I expect--which is a lot. It's taking in all of the information and expectations and stereotypes and negativity that are thrown my way and trying to find points of goodness and redemption and love...which is where I believe Jesus was going on his journey through life that led to the cross.
What Do You Think?
I first met her when she was in her mother’s womb. My most vivid memory of her was when she pushed on her mom’s bladder during Church History class one night and forced out the statestion, “Pregnant woman here. May we please have a break?” A break we had so that her mom could pull herself out of her cushioned chair and waddle down the hall.
Her mom’s waddling again these days. Pregnant with a boy this time. And while we don’t have the pleasure of sitting through Church History together for this pregnancy, we do have the pleasure of seeing each other quite often and spending time with that little girl at the State Fair and the zoo and the pedicure place and the Farmer’s Market.
The last time we saw each other, my dear friend Christina, waddler though she be, mentioned that her awesome daughter Kara wanted a “real Bible”—one with “the full story of Moses.” She said they’d been having a lot of great conversations and that Kara was asking a lot of good questions. We discussed this topic a bit more and then moved to other conversation—like we always do—but the seed of Bible buying had been planted in my mind…and it sprouted yesterday on my day off.
After bringing some delicious little treats to my office staff (brown sugar topped, bacon wrapped, Ritz cracker sandwiches with crème cheese in the middle), I went to the zoo to see the bears. After seeing the bears, I went to run some errands. While running errands, I thought to myself, “Self—you should go buy Kara a Bible.” So I bought Kara a Bible, and I smiled. I had her name engraved on the front. I said a prayer of thanksgiving that I could hear her mom saying her full name in reprimand and prayer of hope that I spelled her name right. And then I delivered the Bible to Kara’s house. Kara wasn’t home, so I left the Bible with her waddling mom. I didn’t get to see Kara’s reaction to the somewhat random gift. Her mom made it even more special by insisting that I sign the front page and then gift-bagging the Bible for me.
Later last night, I sent Christina a text asking how Kara liked the Bible. The response that I got was so simply beautiful that tears filled my eyes. I received the picture at the bottom of this note, and the text simply said, “What do you think? :-)”
What do I think? I think that this image is one of the most sacred images I have ever seen…and I think that I am extremely blessed to have had the honor and privilege of giving Kara her first “real Bible.” Who knows…maybe she’ll carry it to Church History class one day.
*Note: I wrote this post on 3.29. Christina had her baby boy on 4.1. He is beautiful...and she is no longer waddling!*
May There Be Peace Within Your Soul
Today, may there be peace within your soul.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you be content with yourself just the way you are but may you always strive to grow deeper in wisdom and knowledge.
May you remember the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself, God, and others.
May you use the gifts you have received to bless others and may you pass on the love that has been given to you.
Today, may you let truth settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.
Today, may there be peace within your soul.
Today, may there be peace within your soul.
Amen.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you be content with yourself just the way you are but may you always strive to grow deeper in wisdom and knowledge.
May you remember the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself, God, and others.
May you use the gifts you have received to bless others and may you pass on the love that has been given to you.
Today, may you let truth settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.
Today, may there be peace within your soul.
Today, may there be peace within your soul.
Amen.
A Little Peaceful Moment
A couple of weeks ago, I went to a conference called, "Caring For Creation." The conference was wonderful, but it left me feeling as if I need to go live on a self-sufficient compound. Since the conference, I've done my best to stay focused on the very real world in which I live. As such, I haven't let myself fully process everything I heard. But I will share this:
On the Friday afternoon of the conference, as part of one of my workshops, I went outside and sat on a grassy hill overlooking Lake Junaluska. While lake levels were very low because of cleaning and dam maintenance, the moment was still very beautiful.
As I sat there, trying to be fully present in my surroundings, I saw two red birds, two blue birds, and one brown bird sitting in a nearby tree. Shortly after spotting the brown bird, I noticed that he/she was singing a pattern that was then repeated by another bird in another tree. The two birds continued their exchange for at least ten minutes, and it was fascinating to hear how every slight change was noticed. I hear birds singing all the time, but I’d never paid close attention to the songs or echoes or communication therein.
Later that night, I returned to that same spot. I wondered where the birds were sleeping. I watched the water blow in the wind and felt God’s spirit touching my face. I cried for just how badly we’ve messed up God’s creation. And I walked back to my room with one little poem in my head:
I heard two birds speak today.
Rhythmic echoes back and forth,
Call and response,
Till one flew away.
The end.
On the Friday afternoon of the conference, as part of one of my workshops, I went outside and sat on a grassy hill overlooking Lake Junaluska. While lake levels were very low because of cleaning and dam maintenance, the moment was still very beautiful.
As I sat there, trying to be fully present in my surroundings, I saw two red birds, two blue birds, and one brown bird sitting in a nearby tree. Shortly after spotting the brown bird, I noticed that he/she was singing a pattern that was then repeated by another bird in another tree. The two birds continued their exchange for at least ten minutes, and it was fascinating to hear how every slight change was noticed. I hear birds singing all the time, but I’d never paid close attention to the songs or echoes or communication therein.
Later that night, I returned to that same spot. I wondered where the birds were sleeping. I watched the water blow in the wind and felt God’s spirit touching my face. I cried for just how badly we’ve messed up God’s creation. And I walked back to my room with one little poem in my head:
I heard two birds speak today.
Rhythmic echoes back and forth,
Call and response,
Till one flew away.
The end.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Homeless Hotspots and Other Things On My Mind Today
I joked with one of my friends this weekend that I’m often tired because I think so much and feel so deeply. For example. Here are the things that have been on my mind today, in addition to work and the never-ending to-do list:
Using homeless men and woman as wireless hotspots: Getting a decent data connection at SXSW (Annual music, film, and interactive conference and festival held in Austin, TX) can be a challenge, given that it attracts what may be the most data-hungry crowd in the world. With a project called Homeless Hotspots, a marketing company is helping out with this, while helping the homeless and promoting itself. Homeless people have been enlisted to roam the streets wearing T-shirts that say “I am a 4G hotspot.” Passersby can pay what they wish to get online via the 4G-to-Wi-Fi device that the person is carrying. It is a neat idea on a practical level, but also a little dystopian. When the infrastructure fails us… we turn human beings into infrastructure? — David Gallagher
Hormone modified corn and soybeans and big business running today’s economy and how consumer change takes a long time but how I’m slowly making changes in my life.
Community gardening and how I really want to be part of a community garden but have no knowledge of gardening and no place to plant one.
Bringing Herbert the Happy Plant back to life and feeling successful with that.
Getting new dirt for the office plants.
Learning how to repot things.
Being thrown off by the time change.
Commitment and divorce and when it’s okay to call it quits.
Boundaries. Forgiveness. And letting go.
Over-sexualized commercials and advertising for products that have nothing to do with sex. They make me mad.
Winning Scrabble.
Worth, value, fear of abandonment, and the purpose of life.
Those are just some of the things on my mind today.
What’s on yours?
Using homeless men and woman as wireless hotspots: Getting a decent data connection at SXSW (Annual music, film, and interactive conference and festival held in Austin, TX) can be a challenge, given that it attracts what may be the most data-hungry crowd in the world. With a project called Homeless Hotspots, a marketing company is helping out with this, while helping the homeless and promoting itself. Homeless people have been enlisted to roam the streets wearing T-shirts that say “I am a 4G hotspot.” Passersby can pay what they wish to get online via the 4G-to-Wi-Fi device that the person is carrying. It is a neat idea on a practical level, but also a little dystopian. When the infrastructure fails us… we turn human beings into infrastructure? — David Gallagher
Hormone modified corn and soybeans and big business running today’s economy and how consumer change takes a long time but how I’m slowly making changes in my life.
Community gardening and how I really want to be part of a community garden but have no knowledge of gardening and no place to plant one.
Bringing Herbert the Happy Plant back to life and feeling successful with that.
Getting new dirt for the office plants.
Learning how to repot things.
Being thrown off by the time change.
Commitment and divorce and when it’s okay to call it quits.
Boundaries. Forgiveness. And letting go.
Over-sexualized commercials and advertising for products that have nothing to do with sex. They make me mad.
Winning Scrabble.
Worth, value, fear of abandonment, and the purpose of life.
Those are just some of the things on my mind today.
What’s on yours?
Thursday, March 8, 2012
A Sweet Moment
Saturday
March 3, 2012
The Sleep Cave
Lillington, NC
6:45am
Griffin (age 6), whispering: “Dee. I’m cold.”
Dee (age 34), groggy from sleep: “There are some blankets at the end of my bed.”
Griffin, whispering, after hurling his pillow onto my bed and curling up in a ball underneath a blanket at my feet: “Dee. This blanket is not very soft.”
Dee: “Griffin, baby, I don’t think there’s a blanket much softer than the cow blanket.”
Griffin, not letting me finish my sentence: “Maybe your blanket is softer. Maybe I should get under the covers with you.”
Griffin and Dee snuggle up next to one another and lay sleepily in bed, trying not to wake up Amelia (age 4) who is sleeping on the floor.
Griffin, after a few moments of silence: “Dee?”
Dee: “Yeh, baby?”
Griffin: “Nothing. I just needed a little company.”
Dee, no longer sad to have been awoken so early, heart overflowing with love after hearing, “Nothing. I just needed to know you were there,” quietly rubs Griffin’s back and silently declares: “Don’t worry, baby. I’m right here. I’m always right here.”
March 3, 2012
The Sleep Cave
Lillington, NC
6:45am
Griffin (age 6), whispering: “Dee. I’m cold.”
Dee (age 34), groggy from sleep: “There are some blankets at the end of my bed.”
Griffin, whispering, after hurling his pillow onto my bed and curling up in a ball underneath a blanket at my feet: “Dee. This blanket is not very soft.”
Dee: “Griffin, baby, I don’t think there’s a blanket much softer than the cow blanket.”
Griffin, not letting me finish my sentence: “Maybe your blanket is softer. Maybe I should get under the covers with you.”
Griffin and Dee snuggle up next to one another and lay sleepily in bed, trying not to wake up Amelia (age 4) who is sleeping on the floor.
Griffin, after a few moments of silence: “Dee?”
Dee: “Yeh, baby?”
Griffin: “Nothing. I just needed a little company.”
Dee, no longer sad to have been awoken so early, heart overflowing with love after hearing, “Nothing. I just needed to know you were there,” quietly rubs Griffin’s back and silently declares: “Don’t worry, baby. I’m right here. I’m always right here.”
Monday, March 5, 2012
Only Lonely Understands
I found some old CDs at home in NC this weekend. As I drove back to SC last night, I listened to three of the CDs, singing along and feeling grateful for the music that was keeping me company. Toward the end of the trip, a song came on that I wasn’t expecting and the next thing I knew, I was crying. The song that played was “Tonight” by Sara Evans and the tears that flowed were from deep inside me...
I’m not exactly sure what hit me so hard when the song began. Maybe it’s my being a sucker for songs with a prominent piano part and it includes a strong emphasis on the keys...or maybe it’s the fact that the chorus says, “I don’t want to go home tonight,” and I was feeling sad about having to drive away from my family and friends again (although I realize that that’s totally not what that line is about in the song)...or maybe it’s the loneliness that I could hear throughout the storyline of the song and my self-proclaimed spiritual gift of crying for others who cannot cry. Whatever it was, it smacked me in my gut and left me crying an ugly, gasping cry for at least twenty minutes after I got back.
Despite fast-paced technology and social networking/media that keeps us instantly connected, we live in what I believe to be a lonely world. My dad recently told me that some of his most lonely moments occur when he is surrounded by people. I understand. It’s very possible to feel lonely when surrounded by people...especially when loneliness extends beyond passing feeling into permanent state of being.
I think that Sara Evans describes that permanent state of loneliness so well when she sings, “There's just some things only lonely understands.” [She also uses incorrect grammar, but I can forgive that here because of the profundity of the statement.] She also sings:
“I might be just a sinner
Who wants to be a saint
One justifies the reason
Oh, one understands the pain
And I don't know what's wrong baby
And I sure don't know what's right
But I don't want to go home tonight.”
Living in a permanent state of lonely leads one to do a lot of unhealthy things, and when unhealthy actions result in sinful actions—actions that hurt others and go against God’s design of love—the permanent state of lonely justifies the action out of a need to feel wanted, needed, and good enough—or maybe just to feel anything at all. The permanent state of lonely, I believe, stems from a hole in the core principle that we are loved—that we are authentically created beings with worth, value, and potential, and that despite what this world says, we are good enough—imperfect, different, and unique we may be. The permanent state of lonely, I believe, leads to isolation and secrecy that lead to more isolation and secrecy until we feel as if we are completely alone in our thoughts and often our shame—regardless of how many people truly love us.
I know what it is to live in the permanent state of loneliness while surrounded by love, but I also know what it is to have permanent made temporary through the transformational process of time, hard work, confession, acceptance, and grace.
So for everyone who has felt the “silent desperation” of loneliness, I must have hurt for you last night. I must have remembered that place and hurt for you—hurt for you and for those affected by and hurt by you—because we really are all connected. And while I was sad to drive away from my family and friends, and while I recognized the feeling of loneliness stirring inside me, I knew that I was not truly lonely in life anymore. I don't have that silent desperation. And I'm so thankful. And I’m so hopeful for everyone living in a permanent state of desperation—hopeful that it will be made temporary, that it will pass, and that each of us will daily realize that we are loved with a love so much richer and deeper and steady than anything we can comprehend.
----------
When You Can’t Escape
(from the lonely years)
Descending out of nowhere,
Exploding like a bomb,
Pressure securely locking windows and doors
Rendering daylight worthless.
Exaggerated lies become truth,
Stealing life from the breathing,
Smothering breath from the trying.
Intense heat scorches hints of soothing balm
Opening wounds that dangle between
Numbness and pain.
Heaven cries.
I love you falls on deaf ears.
Tomorrows linger.
Sleep cannot come soon enough.
Hearts shatter from calloused hands
Operating on figments of imagination.
Merciful Lord! Please break the fall.
Eternal God! Please hold me now.
I’m not exactly sure what hit me so hard when the song began. Maybe it’s my being a sucker for songs with a prominent piano part and it includes a strong emphasis on the keys...or maybe it’s the fact that the chorus says, “I don’t want to go home tonight,” and I was feeling sad about having to drive away from my family and friends again (although I realize that that’s totally not what that line is about in the song)...or maybe it’s the loneliness that I could hear throughout the storyline of the song and my self-proclaimed spiritual gift of crying for others who cannot cry. Whatever it was, it smacked me in my gut and left me crying an ugly, gasping cry for at least twenty minutes after I got back.
Despite fast-paced technology and social networking/media that keeps us instantly connected, we live in what I believe to be a lonely world. My dad recently told me that some of his most lonely moments occur when he is surrounded by people. I understand. It’s very possible to feel lonely when surrounded by people...especially when loneliness extends beyond passing feeling into permanent state of being.
I think that Sara Evans describes that permanent state of loneliness so well when she sings, “There's just some things only lonely understands.” [She also uses incorrect grammar, but I can forgive that here because of the profundity of the statement.] She also sings:
“I might be just a sinner
Who wants to be a saint
One justifies the reason
Oh, one understands the pain
And I don't know what's wrong baby
And I sure don't know what's right
But I don't want to go home tonight.”
Living in a permanent state of lonely leads one to do a lot of unhealthy things, and when unhealthy actions result in sinful actions—actions that hurt others and go against God’s design of love—the permanent state of lonely justifies the action out of a need to feel wanted, needed, and good enough—or maybe just to feel anything at all. The permanent state of lonely, I believe, stems from a hole in the core principle that we are loved—that we are authentically created beings with worth, value, and potential, and that despite what this world says, we are good enough—imperfect, different, and unique we may be. The permanent state of lonely, I believe, leads to isolation and secrecy that lead to more isolation and secrecy until we feel as if we are completely alone in our thoughts and often our shame—regardless of how many people truly love us.
I know what it is to live in the permanent state of loneliness while surrounded by love, but I also know what it is to have permanent made temporary through the transformational process of time, hard work, confession, acceptance, and grace.
So for everyone who has felt the “silent desperation” of loneliness, I must have hurt for you last night. I must have remembered that place and hurt for you—hurt for you and for those affected by and hurt by you—because we really are all connected. And while I was sad to drive away from my family and friends, and while I recognized the feeling of loneliness stirring inside me, I knew that I was not truly lonely in life anymore. I don't have that silent desperation. And I'm so thankful. And I’m so hopeful for everyone living in a permanent state of desperation—hopeful that it will be made temporary, that it will pass, and that each of us will daily realize that we are loved with a love so much richer and deeper and steady than anything we can comprehend.
----------
When You Can’t Escape
(from the lonely years)
Descending out of nowhere,
Exploding like a bomb,
Pressure securely locking windows and doors
Rendering daylight worthless.
Exaggerated lies become truth,
Stealing life from the breathing,
Smothering breath from the trying.
Intense heat scorches hints of soothing balm
Opening wounds that dangle between
Numbness and pain.
Heaven cries.
I love you falls on deaf ears.
Tomorrows linger.
Sleep cannot come soon enough.
Hearts shatter from calloused hands
Operating on figments of imagination.
Merciful Lord! Please break the fall.
Eternal God! Please hold me now.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
A Humblingly Weird Thing
I don’t sing well with myself. Seriously. Dee’s and Dee’s voices don’t sound very good together. I sing better with myself when singing harmony. But singing in unison? It’s not my strong suit. It wasn’t thirteen years ago when I recorded my first CD, and it wasn’t today as I tried to sing with myself in the car. Thankfully my best friend Angela recorded the CD with me…because Dee and Angela actually sound pretty good together.
Now…I don’t usually drive around listening to my own music; however, a good friend recently made a mix CD for me, on which she included six of my songs. Most of the time, I skip over those songs (because I feel a little narcissistic listening to my own music), but today I let the CD play. [By the way, it’s humblingly weird to know that those six songs rank as some of my friend’s all-time favorites, alongside truly famous songs by truly famous singers and bands!]
As I listened to three of the six songs today, my mind took me on a journey down memory lane—a journey on which I remembered when and where the songs were birthed and felt the depth of emotions surrounding the processes. I remembered sitting in the Centennial Building at Mundo Vista with my friend Allison; sitting in the sanctuary of Friendship Baptist Church feeling alone; and pouring out my soul in a practice room at Mars Hill College one hot summer night. As I remembered, I marveled at just how far life has brought me while somehow leading me back to the same places again.
Just as I got stuck in a sea of helplessness in that practice room that night, wondering what in the world I was doing with my life and how in the world I could make a difference with anything when so much around me was broken—including myself—I find myself swimming in that sea over and over again.
HERE ARE THE LYRICS to the song I prayed that night—through very hard tears and very loud banging on the piano. (And here are the struggles and thoughts that I had then, mixed with the struggles and thoughts that I have now—even today—presented as a very real and somewhat embarrassing picture of me.)
IT’S NOT UP TO ME (This title is very true.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM LIKE ME (I really desire for people to like me and to tell me that they appreciate me. I don’t like not being liked.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM LISTEN (I really like for people to listen and look like they’re listening when I’m speaking or singing and I really want to say or sing things that make a difference)
I DON’T HAVE TO MEND THEIR BROKEN HEARTS (Thanks to my dad, I am a rescuer. When people are hurting, I want to help. When something is broken, I want to make it better. In fact, it hurts me to know that someone is hurting)
I DON’T HAVE TO KNOW ALL THE ANSWERS (And I especially don’t want to give someone mis-information)
THAT’S NOT MY CALL (Nope…it’s not)
AND I THANK GOD FOR IT ALL (Yep…I do)…
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS LOVE HIM (Love God. Love people. Love self. That’s what Jesus commanded)
THAT IS MY CALL (Yep…it is.)
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS SERVE HIM EVEN WHEN I FALL (Love God. Love people. Love self. Do the work. And when I mess up—which I will—remember that I’m not alone in this world and that I have the strength to get up and try again)
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS SAY, “LORD HERE I AM” (Be open. Be willing. Be still in God’s presence. Breathe.)
USE ME FOR YOUR GLORY, LORD USE ME FOR YOUR PLAN (Help me act upon our holistic plan of redemption and to live authentically in you)
EVEN WHEN…
I DON’T HAVE TO IMPRESS THEM (I confess: I want to appear smart, wise, gifted, etc.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM CRY (When I sing or speak and people cry, then it’s usually a sign that God is moving in their lives. So when no one cries, I often feel like I’ve failed)
I DON’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT (I’m a perfectionist. Sometimes I don’t do things if I don’t think I can do them well)
I DON’T HAVE TO SAVE THEIR SOULS (Though I often get the impression that I must need that power in the evangelical church)
THAT’S NOT MY CALL (Nope…it’s not)
AND I THANK GOD FOR IT ALL…(Yep…I do)
I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY (Sometimes it’s okay not to say anything. Just listen)
AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO (Sometimes it’s okay not to do anything. Just be present)
AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ACT (Sometimes it’s okay not to pretend. Just be myself)
AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL (Sometimes it’s okay not to have a name for my feelings. Just feel them and figure things out in time)
OH I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY (God will guide me if I remain open to God’s spirit)
BUT THAT IS OKAY (It really is okay, Deanna.)
‘CAUSE IT’S NOT UP TO ME (There’s only so much you can do in this world. Other people have to make choices and decisions, too. “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink,” right? And your relationship with God is yours—in context of Christian community—just as someone else’s relationship with God is theirs. You can change no one by yourself, so you must simply—though it’s not simple—be true to your call to love and serve and be you…and trust God and trust others with the rest. Remember: God’s thoughts are bigger than yours and God’s ways are higher than your ways)
What are the seas that you always come back to? And what is it that you thank God is not up to you—not in an apathetic way—but in a way that you realize that you have got to stop trying so hard and let what will be, be?
[Writer’s Note: You can listen to “It’s Not Up To Me” on my Reverbnation Page: www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton]
Now…I don’t usually drive around listening to my own music; however, a good friend recently made a mix CD for me, on which she included six of my songs. Most of the time, I skip over those songs (because I feel a little narcissistic listening to my own music), but today I let the CD play. [By the way, it’s humblingly weird to know that those six songs rank as some of my friend’s all-time favorites, alongside truly famous songs by truly famous singers and bands!]
As I listened to three of the six songs today, my mind took me on a journey down memory lane—a journey on which I remembered when and where the songs were birthed and felt the depth of emotions surrounding the processes. I remembered sitting in the Centennial Building at Mundo Vista with my friend Allison; sitting in the sanctuary of Friendship Baptist Church feeling alone; and pouring out my soul in a practice room at Mars Hill College one hot summer night. As I remembered, I marveled at just how far life has brought me while somehow leading me back to the same places again.
Just as I got stuck in a sea of helplessness in that practice room that night, wondering what in the world I was doing with my life and how in the world I could make a difference with anything when so much around me was broken—including myself—I find myself swimming in that sea over and over again.
HERE ARE THE LYRICS to the song I prayed that night—through very hard tears and very loud banging on the piano. (And here are the struggles and thoughts that I had then, mixed with the struggles and thoughts that I have now—even today—presented as a very real and somewhat embarrassing picture of me.)
IT’S NOT UP TO ME (This title is very true.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM LIKE ME (I really desire for people to like me and to tell me that they appreciate me. I don’t like not being liked.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM LISTEN (I really like for people to listen and look like they’re listening when I’m speaking or singing and I really want to say or sing things that make a difference)
I DON’T HAVE TO MEND THEIR BROKEN HEARTS (Thanks to my dad, I am a rescuer. When people are hurting, I want to help. When something is broken, I want to make it better. In fact, it hurts me to know that someone is hurting)
I DON’T HAVE TO KNOW ALL THE ANSWERS (And I especially don’t want to give someone mis-information)
THAT’S NOT MY CALL (Nope…it’s not)
AND I THANK GOD FOR IT ALL (Yep…I do)…
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS LOVE HIM (Love God. Love people. Love self. That’s what Jesus commanded)
THAT IS MY CALL (Yep…it is.)
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS SERVE HIM EVEN WHEN I FALL (Love God. Love people. Love self. Do the work. And when I mess up—which I will—remember that I’m not alone in this world and that I have the strength to get up and try again)
ALL I HAVE TO DO IS SAY, “LORD HERE I AM” (Be open. Be willing. Be still in God’s presence. Breathe.)
USE ME FOR YOUR GLORY, LORD USE ME FOR YOUR PLAN (Help me act upon our holistic plan of redemption and to live authentically in you)
EVEN WHEN…
I DON’T HAVE TO IMPRESS THEM (I confess: I want to appear smart, wise, gifted, etc.)
I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM CRY (When I sing or speak and people cry, then it’s usually a sign that God is moving in their lives. So when no one cries, I often feel like I’ve failed)
I DON’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT (I’m a perfectionist. Sometimes I don’t do things if I don’t think I can do them well)
I DON’T HAVE TO SAVE THEIR SOULS (Though I often get the impression that I must need that power in the evangelical church)
THAT’S NOT MY CALL (Nope…it’s not)
AND I THANK GOD FOR IT ALL…(Yep…I do)
I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY (Sometimes it’s okay not to say anything. Just listen)
AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO (Sometimes it’s okay not to do anything. Just be present)
AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ACT (Sometimes it’s okay not to pretend. Just be myself)
AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL (Sometimes it’s okay not to have a name for my feelings. Just feel them and figure things out in time)
OH I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY (God will guide me if I remain open to God’s spirit)
BUT THAT IS OKAY (It really is okay, Deanna.)
‘CAUSE IT’S NOT UP TO ME (There’s only so much you can do in this world. Other people have to make choices and decisions, too. “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink,” right? And your relationship with God is yours—in context of Christian community—just as someone else’s relationship with God is theirs. You can change no one by yourself, so you must simply—though it’s not simple—be true to your call to love and serve and be you…and trust God and trust others with the rest. Remember: God’s thoughts are bigger than yours and God’s ways are higher than your ways)
What are the seas that you always come back to? And what is it that you thank God is not up to you—not in an apathetic way—but in a way that you realize that you have got to stop trying so hard and let what will be, be?
[Writer’s Note: You can listen to “It’s Not Up To Me” on my Reverbnation Page: www.reverbnation.com/deannadeaton]
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