Imperfections ...

I have a ceramic measuring cup that I adore.  It's hand-painted, adorable, and it makes me happy when I use it.  I saw the same one in a rental house years ago, and loved it so much I hunted down my own when we finally bought a house.

Then it broke.

One fateful dish-washing incident and it was broken into 10 different pieces of varying sizes.  I can't bring myself to throw it away, but I know if I fix it with my tried and true method of choice (Krazy Glue) it will no longer be food safe to use for cooking, so the pieces have been patiently sitting on a shelf in my dining room for the past year waiting for me to figure out what to do with them.

Buying a new one seems wasteful.  And so I've started considering the art of Japanese Kintsugi.

I'll admit I don't know a whole lot about it yet beyond what the average European-American white girl can learn via Google.  But over the years I've seen and read little tidbits here and there about the process and the purpose, and it's become a beautiful concept to me.

Kintsugi takes broken things and doesn't shy away from their brokenness.  On a surface level, it's the act of using a gold powder epoxy to mend broken pottery, ceramic, and porcelain.  This serves to fix the object, but also draws attention to the crack, gilding it and making it a new and beautiful element of the piece.

On a deeper level, Kintsugi shows us a new philosophy on what we view as "damaged goods".  The damage isn't hidden, it isn't tucked away and disguised in the hopes that no one sees it.  The damage has happened, the cup is broken, and that's the reality of it's history.  One article I've read refers to the cracks as "precious scars" and that description carries so much meaning.  Painting them with gold and giving those scars honor isn't what the societies I live in are accustomed to.  There's an honesty in it which I think is frightening to many of us.

As a teenager, I attended youth group retreats a few times a year with other students whose families all attended my church.  All year long I'd see the adults in these families dressed up nicely, speaking politely, showing their 'best' selves on Sundays within the walls of the church.  If these families had cracks, they tucked them into the fold of a dress or a pleated pant and hoped they weren't visible.

My own family was no different.  We may have had a horrible morning, arguing or crying or feeling depressed, but when we walked through the double glass doors into the church, we hit an invisible pause button on all of it for two hours.  It just - stopped.  We knew those uglier sides of our relationships with each other and with ourselves didn't belong here, so we put those parts on hold until we exited back into the parking lot, squinting from the sun bouncing off the pavement and the glare of the emotions that waited for us there.

But on youth retreats, I saw something different.  During a tradition we called Vespers, we gathered in a small stone amphitheater on a darkened forest hill, and students would take turns standing, and sharing from the safety of the darkness all their most precious scars.  They shared their fear for a loved one battling alcoholism, or their regret over a betrayal of a friend, or their hopelessness over a battle with anorexia, depression, drug use, self-harm.  They shared about the battles that raged within their walls at home with divorcing parents or out of control siblings.  They gave voice to the cracks, one by one, and it bonded us in a way we grew to wait for with anticipation every retreat.

It wasn't the specifics of what was shared that bonded us - each scar was unique and complicated and painful.  It was the authenticity and honesty of bringing those scars into sight, calling them by name, and allowing them a place in the overall story of who we are.  To know the breaking that had happened in someone's life made them all the more beautiful to know, and gave us greater respect for each other.

We are so afraid of judgement for our imperfections, for our history of cracks where we've been dropped a time or two.  But these imperfections are part of what makes us these uniquely beautiful beings called humans.  They're the one thing that unites us all as people - not a one of us is perfect.  Churches, communities, holy spaces - they shouldn't have a pause button at the door where we leave the reality of our lives and experiences at the door.  We shouldn't tuck our chipped edges behind a pretty dress or turn our cup backward so the cracks face the wall.

Kintsugi has it right - these things we've been through, the damage and wear and tear of life, they are a part of us and nothing to be ashamed of.  If we've been pieced back together from a tragic fall, that's something to be proud of, something to honor and celebrate and elevate.  Scar tissue is a remnant of healing, a sign of strength.  Gild yours in gold, and let it be seen by the world.  It makes you a work of art.

Everybody Hurts, But It's Gonna Be OK

Church this week asked the question: Where does it hurt? and as the person in charge of picking music for the service, I spent a fair amount of time digging into a variety of musical expressions of hurt.  It might seem that would be depressing to some degree, but surprisingly, it was the opposite.  There's something reaffirming about hearing pains we recognize expressed in the words of others; hearing in their descriptions our own experiences, and realizing that someone else has been where we are.

That may be why this blog often leans into songs expressing hurt.  I have been the reader, the listener, finding my own hurts in the songs and artistry of others, and in turn finding comfort and healing in the odd camaraderie of those moments.  If somewhere another reader finds solace hearing their own hurt expressed in connections made in this space, that's all I could hope.

Knowing that someone else understands the seemingly incomprehensible pains inside of us makes a difference.  Someone else gets it, someone else has felt this, someone else has been through this too.

My youngest child struggles with internal hurt.  They hurt deeply, and often.  We've been talking recently about expressing their hurt in writing or drawings, as a way to cope, and how seeing other people's artistic expressions of hurt can help us process our own.

This past week as I listened to songs of hurt, I shared some with my child, to show them they're not alone in what they feel.  They're not weird or unusual, they're human.  Music can be a tool to pull us through our darkest moments, and I want them to have all the tools they can to face their hurt and come through the other side.

So for today, here are three songs which have spoken to me lately, which I hope either now or someday speak to my child, and which may speak to you:

Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.

OK (Anxiety Anthem) - Mabel

It's OK - Nightbirde

Let's Talk About Friendship ...

Today my best friend hit a milestone birthday, and it's afforded me the opportunity to reflect on our friendship.

"Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had

I've been with you such a long time"

"Ooh, you make me live

Ooh, you're my best friend"

Friendship is something that can't be over-valued in human life.  We're used to saying that the only things people really need are food, shelter, water.  But we all know it's not that simple.  Connection with another person isn't just a want, it's a human need.  Without it, prisoners in solitary confinement lose their minds.  Children become despondent and suicidal.  Life starts feeling bleak.  Whether we like it or not, we've been designed to need friendship.

A few days ago my Bible study group was talking about a particular phrase found in Philippians 1:27 and 2:2:

"... I will hear about you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind ..."

"... make my joy complete by being of the same mind ..." 

As we discussed the idea of being of 'one mind' with someone else, my thoughts immediately went to my best friend.  Our friendship wouldn't work for some people - although as children we spent every possible waking moment together, as adults we actually don't see each other often.  We don't talk daily, or weekly, or sometimes even monthly, and we don't have any regular activities we do together.  But maybe as a result of all that time spent together in our formative years, or maybe as a function of our personalities, she is the one person I know will always understand me completely.  When one of my closest loved ones had cancer last year, in my hardest moments, texting her about it was my refuge, because she knows what I'm thinking and feeling without explanation.  When she vents to me about current events or personal challenges, I get it.  In spite of different, and sometimes opposite, personalities, in spite of varying interests and experiences and beliefs, we are, inexplicably and incredibly, of one mind.

"Oh, you're the first one when things turn out bad

You know I'll never be lonely"

A trustworthy friendship where you feel known and seen and understood provides a meaningful sense of security in life.  It's where we're loved enough that we feel safe to heal, be challenged, and process the events of our lives.  We feel stronger; empowered for the hard stuff, and sure that when we fail it's ok.  That rare friendship where we're of one mind feels like home - a place where we're accepted completely, able to be ourselves, without explanation or justification.  Where we're reminded that the world isn't awful, and that life can be funny, and that things will be ok.

"Whenever this world is cruel to me

I got you to help me forgive"

"In rain or shine you've stood by me"

"I'm happy, happy at home

You're my best friend"

My best friend doesn't share my beliefs about God.  She loves me in spite of my faith.  Knowing my mind and heart like few others, she sticks with me when I've been wrong, when I've had other friends she didn't like or understand (often justifiably so) - even when my character flaws impact her.  I hope she's felt those things reciprocated.  I personally believe friendship like that is about as close to God's heart as it gets - unconditional, vulnerable, and constant.  As Queen proclaims in the song above, it makes us live.

"...a sweet friendship refreshes the soul." -Proverbs 27:9 (MSG)

The Analogy of the Garden

I've been thinking about gardens the past year.  You might think it's because as a suburban homeowner I spend an annoying amount of time weeding and planting and doing all the things I once thought my own mother was boring for spending her time on.  But in truth, I've been thinking of gardens because of the way the pandemic changed school for my family.

One of my children is what we call 'wired differently' ... in other words, they have some special needs.  School has always looked different for this child.  In fact, all societal interactions look different for them.  We spent years figuring out how they fit in a traditional school setting, and we thought we just about had it figured out by the start of 2020.

When the pandemic hit, we shifted to remote learning, and after a small adjustment period realized our child was actually succeeding in this non-social setting in a way we hadn't seen before.  They could focus on the learning part they love, and had me as a consistent 'aide' while they worked (which the school system had to that point been unable or unwilling to provide).  The remote learning change allowed things this child had never been able to do in a school setting.

A hop and a skip later into the following school year, we found ourselves forced by pandemic circumstances into something I told myself I'd never do: homeschooling.  As an ardent supporter of public school systems, a teacher by trade myself, and someone who thrived in 'traditional' school environments, I never would have intentionally pulled my children from school to teach them at home.

Yet after years of trying to fit this child's needs into a traditional educational system, we finally, and inadvertently, found where they fit best, and it was home school.  I realized one afternoon as I was in my yard weeding around plants in a specific spot where nothing else would flourish the same way, that I needed to start viewing my child the way I do my garden.

A successful bloom for this child won't look like other kids in our neighborhood.  This child won't flourish in the same situations or same ways.  But they do flourish.  They just need different soil; they need a gardener who understands what kind of tending works, and is ok with their bloom appearing on a different timeline.  If their type of bloom is only ever visible to the world in a tiny specific moment that's missed if you aren't looking for it, like the Titan Arum plant which takes 7-10 years to get up the energy to bloom for a single day, the care and tending are worth it.  I don't need to worry that this flower of mine isn't going to be planted in the same environment I was as a student.

Aren't all God's children like flowers?  There is such wonderful diversity of beauty and function in individual humans, and God's planted us all here on this earth to thrive as examples of an amazing creation.

But we must take the analogy a bit further than we tend to be comfortable with as people trained up in homogenous societies where we think there's a 'right' way to do everything.

There is no 'right' way for all flowers to be tended to.  What works for a rose will kill a cactus; what's needed for a magnolia will make an orchid suffer.  And 'thriving' looks different for each.  A thriving agave plant flowers once in a few decades; a thriving organ pipe cactus blooms only at night; thriving buttercups spread like wildfire.  That's how they're each designed.

Imagine the ridiculousness of a gardener attempting to care for every plant and flower with the same tools, the same methods, the same treatments ... and expecting them all to have identical results in spite of being different flowers.  It would be absurd.  Some plants are meant to be showstoppers all year round, some are meant to be reliably evergreen, some are intended to require painstaking, consistent care and attention in return for a few moments of visible glory.

I think God calls on us to re-frame the way we've learned to view humans.  We are a garden; we each require distinct and varied environments to thrive, and thriving doesn't mean we all bloom the same way or in the same situations or for the same lengths of time.

My child may require a very specific set of circumstances to thrive, and that thriving may be a bloom very few people will have the privilege to see, because it doesn't come in the expected moments when other flowers may bloom.  The attention of the gardener may be even more important for this flower - it's one that won't thrive with casual care, or any type of soil.  And that's ok.  That's right.  That makes sense in the natural world I see around me that God has so carefully crafted with rich diversity.  And it's ok that other flowers bloom freely and easily and in less curated environments.

I wish we could view things this way without feeling threatened by it.  People, parents, societies, and yes, Christians, have taught ourselves that we should all grow the same way.  That a successful child looks and acts a certain way, and that a successful parent provides x, y, and z to get them there.  That a 'thriving' Christian looks and acts a certain way, and participates in x, y, or z types of ministries.  Nowhere in God's creation do we see an example of this being true.  We see countless examples of the opposite.

What holds us back from viewing ourselves the way we view our gardens?  I plant my ferns in the shade and water them liberally.  My roses need full sun and occasional pruning.  My peonies don't look like much for most of the year, but for one week, when they get their moment to shine ... Wow.  What would I tell someone who asked why I don't try to get my peonies to bloom as often as my roses?  What would I tell someone who insisted my ferns needed to be in full sun and then complained that they weren't doing well?  Would I have the courage to give the same response when someone questions the environment my child needs, the way their blooming looks, or the way my relationship with God thrives best?

What kind of plant did God make you?  Where do you thrive, and what does that look like?  What care do you need to get there?  Are you planted in the right environment for you?  Don't look to the blooms next to you and compare - God's kingdom doesn't work like that.  Look at creation, value the diversity, and tend to who you are created to be.

Lessons from My Father ...

Not everyone has a father on earth who sets an example for them of what God's love as a parent is really like.  Far too many people have traumatic experiences or empty voids where genuine 'father figures' should be.  I'm fortunate that my story is different, and that by a stroke of luck I was born to a dad who sets the fatherhood bar high enough that you know it has to be pretty close to God's intention.  On Father's Day it felt appropriate to spend time reflecting on some of the life lessons I've learned over the years from my own dad, all of which, in the end, reflect back to God.

You don't owe anyone.

Every dance I ever went to, my dad told me the same thing as I walked out the door: Just because your date bought you a ticket, or a corsage, or dinner, or drove you, you don't owe them anything.  You are in charge of you, and you don't owe them for taking you.  I know at the moment his goal was to empower me to protect myself from pressure from my dates, and it did.  But the lesson extended beyond that, and empowered me as an independent ruler of my own choices in all situations, with all people.  I have never felt that I've owed another person something of myself that I don't want to give.  I know my value, and I won't be convinced by pretty words or ugly threats to take any actions I don't want to, regardless of context or circumstance.  Some call it stubbornness, and I'm sure that personality trait is involved as well.  But I like to think a large part of it is that single sentence reminder each time I walked out the door with anyone - No matter what, you don't owe them anything.  The message was clear: I am my own person, my choices are my own to make, and if others don't like it, that's their problem, not mine.  Because at the end of the day, I only answer to myself and God.  (Galatians 1:10)

You can do anything.

As the dad of two girls, and an attorney in the specific field of discrimination, my father had an inside track on why instilling this from a young age was so important, but he didn't do it alone.  Both of my parents showed and told us regularly that women were every bit as capable as men, and that we should never let anyone discredit us for something out of our control, like our gender.  I wanted to be president, I wanted to change the world, I wanted to make my opinions known and heard and followed, and I knew without question that I could.  That lesson may have backfired on them when I extended it to not letting my age disqualify me from knowing how to parent, and began challenging their own rules and consequences, but what can I say?  It's what they taught me, and it's served me well, whether in a classroom full of vocal guys or a conference room with people of higher clout.  (Galatians 3:28)

Love without judgement.

My dad lives life on the straight and narrow.  The stereotypical 'choir boy', if the choir boy were a tow-headed country boy with a muskrat trap under his arm.  He's kind, personable, doesn't drink or swear or lie; he's the epitome of professional at all times.  Yet he doesn't require that of the people he surrounds himself with.  His family, friends, and co-workers span all lifestyles and personalities, from the off-color to the proper, from the drinker to the teetotaler, from the bachelor to the family man, and as a child I watched with interest as my straight-laced squeaky clean father loved deeply, laughed loudly, and listened intently to people who were nothing like him - without losing any sense of who he was.  His friendship was never conditional - no one had to clean up their act for him, he took them how they came and found value in them just as they were.  His choices were for him, their choices were for them, and the two didn't have to be the same.  I'm wired like my dad - I watch my words, I'm polite to a fault, and chocolate is my biggest vice.  I'm so grateful he taught me to exist comfortably in spaces and with people who are vastly different from me, and to allow for diversity of thought and action in the lives of those around me, loving people for who they are without judgement.  (Romans 14:4-12)

Be skeptical.

A favorite family story is when I carefully prepared a magic show for my dad, I believe for Father's Day, actually, and at the end of each trick instead of acting amazed, as one does for a child's magic show, he proceeded to analyze and expose exactly how I had done each one.  At that particular time, I hated his skepticism - it really ruined my magic show!  But in life overall, I've appreciated a mindset that seeks to find the truth above the glitz of a showy performance.  Now more than ever, the ability to sift through opinion and rhetoric and outlandish claims to something tangible and true has proved invaluable.  My dad is never swayed by the show, but waits for the proof, and it allows him to remain a steady source of perspective in the midst of what could be chaos.  I believe a bit more in the magic of things than he might, but always with a healthy dose of his skepticism that keeps me from being swept away by whims, fads, or persuasive personalities.  In our faith more than anything, how important it is to be able to tell the difference between truth and trick!  (1 Corinthians 10:15)

Think deeply.

In a similar vein, my father taught me to think deeply about the world around me, and not grow complacent in my knowledge.  Maybe it's a lawyer thing, but conversations with my dad have always been deep dives, not surface level wading.  I learned from him that there's value in pondering things, in seeking to go further in my understanding.  He's always reading new things, listening to new ideas, questioning concepts he's long held to be true.  An NPR broadcast in human form.  My dad has always been one for a deep philosophical discussion, and what it taught me is that I don't need to be afraid to have my thoughts challenged.  Whether I agree with something or not, I can only come out better on the other side if I take the time to engage with it, discuss it, and think critically about it.  There are no easy answers in this world, and as soon as we think we know something, that's likely when we need to dig a little deeper, listen a little closer, and challenge our perspective a little more.  (Proverbs 2:2-5)

Faith is personal.

I went through a period of my life where I lost my appreciation for this lesson.  It didn't feel zealous enough for me; it seemed too content with potential differences in theology.  To be fair, I think over time my dad has learned there are times being more public with our faith can be important.  But the lesson I got from him at a very young age was that above all, faith is personal.  The Bible bears it out - David's faith is shaped in the solitude of his time on the run, the religious are told to pray in private, the great heroes of the faith were folks whose relationships with God were built in the quiet of a field, in the privacy of their homes, in moments of personal significance.  My dad's faith was built that way.  Sure, he prayed out loud before dinners, and attended church, and spoke about God.  But I know his faith was shaped in the quiet moments away from us all, the times I caught him praying when he didn't know anyone was watching.  Faith isn't a church thing to my dad, it's a God thing.  Church is a tool, but God is the goal, and his faith is something personal between God and him.  He gave us that freedom too - my faith growing up didn't have to look like his.  He understood innately that it would be something unique between me and God that he wouldn't need to know, or dictate, in order to trust.  As I've gained more faith experience, I've returned to this insight and example, and I strive daily to match it for my own children.  (Romans 14:22 MSG) (ESV)

Life is beautiful.

I'll always remember the day our family was driving along a rural road just before tornado weather hit, and my dad, who was driving, suddenly squealed and pulled the car over to the side of the road.  He hopped out of the car, looked up in amazement at the sky, colored with a uniquely beautiful pre-storm hue, and continued to excitedly exclaim in giddy incredulity at the beauty of it.  When my dad sees something incredible, he lets it be known.  It seeps into his spirit in a child-like and contagious way.  And in spite of all the things which ought to jade us in life, he never ceases to see awe-inspiring beauty in the world.  To watch him with a baby is to be in the presence of God - adoring and enamored and engaged to the point where the baby is the only thing that exists in that moment.  I've had the privilege of walking with him through a forest in the Midwest, along a beach in Florida, and across the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, and the look in his eyes is the same in each - it's the look of someone simply in love with God's creation.  Luckily for me, this lens seems to be genetic, because he's passed it on to me.  (Psalm 19:1-6)

And there you have it - a few life lessons from my father to me, and now to you.  A few truths to remember as we navigate this world.  You don't owe anyone.  You can do anything.  Love without judgement, be skeptical, think deeply.

Faith is personal, and life is beautiful.  Enjoy them both this Father's Day and beyond.

A Change in Perspective

While listening to a smattering of prayers and pastoral-led readings at church a couple weeks ago, I noticed the frequency of a certain type of word:

• kingdom
• power
• throne
• rule
• conquered
• triumphant
• reigning
• sovereign king
• exalted
• ordered
• authority

I couldn't help but be struck by the implication of these words.  There's something telling about Christianity that we reference spiritual things in these ways.  Christianity and Christian texts approach spirituality from the perspective of those with a ruler mentality, and the language we use reflects that mindset.  We view Christ as a King, a ruler, one who has conquered things, and that commands our respect and admiration.  We promote our relationship with God as a path to becoming conquerors ourselves, triumphant and exalted.

Not that there is no basis for these terms biblically; there are plenty of verses which, at least in the English translations, use these exact words.  They aren't 'unbiblical' terms, but I wonder if our focus on them is.  God is described in so many ways beyond these, yet our Christian songs and sermons so often zero in on the concepts of victory, power, and authority almost as though they are the point of our faith.  The Bible is explicit that love of others is always the point.

The kingdom mindset isn't as prevalent in some other religions and spiritual perspectives.  Earlier this year as my children and I studied Native American culture and philosophy, we came across what's known by certain Native American tribes as "The Words Spoken Before All Others" - an address which is routinely given to open and close all important gatherings.  It's a lengthy statement of gratitude to the various natural and spiritual elements, put into place by the Creator, which are at work throughout creation.  In expressing gratitude for these life-giving elements, and connecting themselves to the spiritual, the tribes repeatedly use the following words:

• balance
• harmony
• together as one
• support
• care
• provide
• sustain
• teach
• refresh
• guide
• one mind

The focus here is a stark contrast to the conqueror mentality.  It views the Creator not as One ruling over, reigning triumphantly, or vanquishing enemies, but as what is named: the Creator.  One who provides for, sustains, and unifies those in the Creator's care.  There is no victory or battle, but harmony and support.  There is no ruler mindset here.  At least not the kind we're used to.

To be fair, an appreciation of the power and ultimate authority of divinity isn't absent in other global spiritual disciplines.  There is a natural understanding in most faiths that God has power and authority.  Even in "The Words Spoken Before All Others", power and strength are referenced occasionally, as they are undeniable in the created world: "Water is life.  We know its power in many forms."  But power and strength are not the point.  The point, in spite of the Creator's obvious authority and power, is gratitude for, and unity with, the rest of creation.

"Today we have gathered.  We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things.  So now we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as people.  Now our minds are one.  [...] we turn our thoughts to the Creator and send greetings and thanks for all the gifts of creation.  Everything we need to live a good life is here on earth.  For all the love around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our best words of greetings and thanks to the Creator.  Now our minds are one." - The Ohenten Kariwatekwen (Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address or Words Spoken Before All Others)

Of course there are Christian texts which focus on the same.  A quick internet search of "one mind bible verses" will show that the concept above is found throughout our own spiritual text, for example in Philippians 2:

"... make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind." -Philippians 2:2

Yet I wonder if it would serve us as Christians to more intentionally set aside the language and mindset of rulership; I wonder if we ought to put purposeful effort into viewing God less as conqueror and more as Creator.  We model ourselves after the God we worship - should our aim be to become victorious or to become caretakers of the hearts and lives around us?  I believe we know the answer, but it's perhaps not an easy one in the Christian spiritual culture which has been built up over centuries.  It may be far past time to learn a few spiritual lessons from those who view God another way.

Unfortunately, that pervasive conqueror mindset has already relegated many of them to the past.

To All The Mothers ...

Motherhood takes many forms.  From creatures in the animal kingdom adopting orphaned babies outside of their species to step-mothers, grandmothers, families with two mothers, and mentors who serve as mothers, there are myriad paths to motherhood.  And yet the significance of the task remains the same - mother figures play a pivotal role in the shaping of our childhoods and lives.

image credit: Sukree Sukplang/ Reuters.com

Whether with your mother figures today in body or only in spirit, hopefully this is a day of knowing, because of their influence, that you are loved and known and cared for.  And in turn, that it inspires you to become that influence in the life of another.  It takes a village, as they say, and so much of the way we end up viewing the world is because of the relationships we have with those who have come before us.

Mothers have lived life, have seen and experienced so much more than we often know, and have stored up insights and perspectives we need.  God often cites the importance of keeping note of the things we've learned through experience for the specific purpose of passing it on to the children in our care:

"Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." - Deuteronomy 4

"...these words which I command you today shall be in your heart.  You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up." - Deuteronomy 6

"Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ... his mother treasured all these things in her heart." - Luke 15  

Proverbs 31 is known for its description of an admirable woman - strong and hardworking and wise and compassionate.  But did you know that Psalm 31 begins with a recollection of words of wisdom offered to King Lemuel by his mother?  It's described as "an inspired utterance his mother taught him":

"Listen my son! ... Listen, my son, the answer to my prayers!  Do not spend your strength on women ... It is not for kings, Lemuel - It is not for kings to drink wine, not for rulers to crave beer, lest they drink and forget what has been decreed, and deprive all the oppressed of their rights. ... Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.  Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy."

What an utterance!  I picture Lemuel's memory of these words, piecing them together from casual conversations held throughout his childhood where his mother voiced nuggets of advice sprinkled into the daily mundane moments of parenting.  Children remember those passing comments, the repeated refrains and mantras we pepper into our time with them almost without realizing it.  They take in the character of who we are, and find it in the recesses of their mind giving them guidance when they're grown and ruling over a nation.

The work of passing on hard earned insight doesn't fall only to mothers, but to any who find themselves in a parental role of influence.  To all those in a position to nurture, advise, care for, and raise a child, thank you, and happy Mother's Day. ❤️

San Sebastian

I've sat on this post for a week, intentionally.  Memories of spiritual trauma sometimes need time to marinate before being formed into words and sent out into the world, and even though the ones sparked by this post are minor in the grand scheme, they take a particular mindset to delve into at times.

Here's the thing - churches are flawed places.  Filled with flawed people.  As many have experienced, organized religion often becomes, in the hands of flawed people, an institution focused on exercising unfounded control and judgement on others' lives.  A place where we're told it's acceptable, and even desirable, to make definitive statements of spiritual judgement on the life of another; where we hear it's our role to evaluate the spiritual validity of another's thoughts and actions, and determine on their behalf the quality of their personal relationship with God.  Sometimes this happens out of a sense of misguided love, sometimes it's more purposefully manipulative, but regardless of the motivation, the result is usually the same.

The pain and trauma of having those around you speak negatively into your life with an authority claimed to be of God is uniquely difficult.  I think perhaps it's one of the gravest emotional wrongs we can cause one another - speaking for God in judgement of someone else.  God's not asking that of us, and the arrogance and audacity it takes to do so is a topic to be saved for another day.

For now, a walk down memory lane takes me to a boardwalk in San Sebastian, Spain, where I was traveling by myself after a long and frustrating few years in my church community.  At some point in most of our lives, we face uncertainty about whether we're on the right track in our lives and relationships, and after a lifetime of confidence in my faith and a God I knew well, doubts were beginning to creep in.  Years of hearing that the way I related to God was wrong, the places and ways I chose to do ministry weren't meaningful, the people I loved weren't worthy, my personality itself was sinful ... those things wear on even the most steadfast of people.  Maybe those constantly confronting me were right.  Maybe I was displeasing God.  I found myself broken, and questioning, and mulling over all these things in prayer as my music played on shuffle to the rhythm of the crashing waves in front of me.  And suddenly my music became my prayer:

"I haven't slept at all in days / It's been so long since we've talked / And I have been here many times / I just don't know what I'm doing wrong"

"What can I do to make you love me? / What can I do to make you care?"

As my prayers and doubts channeled themselves through its lyrics, this song walked me through letting go of the requirements others were putting on my relationship with God.  At a time when the "Christians" in my life were filled with judgement, gossip, slander, and expectations, it was easy to forget that none of those things describe God's heart or desires for me.  How often do we let God become defined by those who claim to represent spiritual things?  We find ourselves jumping through hoops or fearing conversational minefields, eventually believing this is what God wants from us.

But that mindset is unsustainable.  Whether out of exhaustion, or frustration, or hopelessness, we realize the hoops are unreachable, and any conversation can be exploited in a minefield.  It's a system designed for failure.

"There's only so much I can take / and I just gotta let it go / And who knows, I might feel better / if I don't try and I don't hope"

The Corrs brought my perspective into alignment in the bridge, which I'll share again here: 

"No more waiting, no more aching / No more fighting, no more trying ..."

"Maybe there's nothing more to say / And in a funny way I'm calm / Because the power is not mine / I'm just gonna let it fly"

There's a sense of relief that comes in letting go of pressure to do or say the "right" things to be acceptable to God.  A freedom in knowing our lives and faith aren't things to be curated or controlled for the purpose of gaining approval.  Freedom in Christ - isn't that what we claim it's all about?  The power rests with God alone, and isn't our burden to carry.

Every person's relationship with God is unique.  In my life, God chooses to speak to me through lyrics and nature.  If the beginning of this song was my prayer to God, the end of it was God speaking back.  After three and a half minutes of asking what I could do, what I could say, what I could change about myself to gain God's favor, the response was as simple as this:

"Love me."

Over and over, those lyrics resounding again, and again, and then fading into infinity.  That's what it boils down to.  No more.  No less.  It's worth another listen:

This was the beginning of the end of my allowing others to speak for God in our relationship, and although there was excessively more pain to come, as spiritual manipulation doesn't tend to roll over quietly, I left San Sebastian changed.  God had spoken with crystal clarity.

"...[W]hich is the greatest commandment ...?  ... Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment." - Matthew 22:36-38

That's it.  That's the requirement God has given.  In the times when the church stands in your way, and those around you begin to add to the message of grace, forgiveness, and love with requirements for your faith, remember the words of God alone.  God doesn't need you to jump through hoops or fit a certain ministry mold.  Let no one add to the message of God or distort the grace of Christ with their own demands.  (Proverbs 30:5-6, Galatians 1:6-9)

One Day ...

I'm irritated tonight honestly.  I want to share songs by Black artists which don't have injustice, oppression, inequality, or civil rights as their theme.  And I will.  But not tonight.

Those themes are unavoidable in 2020 and 2021.  I sit here continually brokenhearted over the state of violence in our country as I read headlines of the third mass shooting in as many days, analysis of bodycam footage of the killing of a 13 year old boy, remembering the recent death of a local unarmed Black man, all while the nation awaits news of a verdict in a trial for the murder of George Flyod.  And I know that beyond the theme of violence and the excessive prevalence of unnecessarily destructive weaponry, the themes of injustice, oppression, inequality, and civil rights are right there at the surface, inextricably linked.

When the nation has seen forty-five mass shootings in a single month, and our prisons are disproportionately filled with black and brown men charged with nonviolent minor crimes and held on unaffordable bails, it ought not be offensive to say: Our system is broken.

So why speak about things like injustice and oppression on a blog devoted to the intersection of faith and the arts?

Because these issues are intimately close to the heart of God.  Verse after verse of the Bible tout the virtues of justice, fairness, equality.  Chapter after chapter speak to God's disdain for oppression and systems which exploit the powerless.

"This is what the LORD says: Do what is just and right.  Rescue from the hand of the oppressor the one who has been robbed.  Do no wrong or violence to the foreigner, the fatherless, or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place. ... Woe to him who builds his palace by unrighteousness, his upper rooms by injustice ..." - Jeremiah 22:3, 13

When people throughout history have faced persecution and injustice, we as a species have turned to the arts, to express what can't be said, or won't be heard, in other venues.  The spirituals sung by slaves being robbed of their God-given humanity and dignity.  The protest songs of those fighting for equal rights.  The pleas of the psalmist, hiding out in caves from those who sought to harm him.

We turn to verse, to song, to poetry, to filmmaking ... ways to give voice to something which must be spoken if God's sense of justice is to be believed.

The movie Selma raises the voice of the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and John Legend's song for the movie, Glory, featuring poet and rapper Common, connects that history with the present day.  Yolanda Adams' version is even more powerfully expressed:

" ... to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing, so that at the revelation of His glory you may also rejoice and be overjoyed." - 1 Peter 4:13

I look forward to a day when those who have been oppressed throughout time are lifted above me in the glory of God.  I haven't faced true injustice; those who have deserve the place of honor God promises.  In the meantime, I can do my best to lift their voices and causes above my own.

"... make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose ... with humility consider one another as more important than yourselves" - Philippians 2:2-3

If you are reading this blog as a person of faith, I challenge you to sit this week with your Bible and seek out God's views of injustice, oppression, and inequality.  They are deep and wide, and we as a faith community need to breathe them in until God's view is our view.  I'm not there yet, personally; I'm not speaking from a high place on the mountain of insight, but from the base of it, seeing the climb ahead.

If you're reading this from a different background - perhaps curious about faith, skeptical of "God's truth", or simply interested intellectually in the intersection of faith and arts, please know this: God is clear about the evils of injustice, and reserves the greatest honor and glory for those who society has wronged.  Christian faith is unequivocal on this.  Everything and everyone who shows you something different is not speaking for the God of the Bible, and those who spend their lives fighting for justice and equality, whether through a lens of faith or not, are.

"Take your evil deeds out of my sight; stop doing wrong.  Learn to do right; seek justice.  Defend the oppressed." - Isaiah 1:16-17

A Rudimentary Understanding of Sakura ...

Cherry blossoms are on my mind this week.  Understandably, as they're blooming beautifully right now in nearly every yard I see.  In addition, our COVID-times temporary homeschool geography unit is currently studying the Northeast region of the United States, including Washington D.C. and its stunning cherry blossom trees, and the kids and I created canvas paintings this week of cherry blossoms.  On top of all that, we've been filling in some landscaping gaps left by trees hit with disease last year, and a weeping cherry blossom tree is near the top of my latest google searches for what to purchase.

Needless to say, I have cherry blossoms on the brain.

The word for cherry blossoms in Japanese is "sakura", and they carry significance to Japanese history and culture in ways I surely won't understand in a day.  But as I've looked into the symbolism and importance of sakura, they've become even more beautiful to me, as I think most of God's creation does when we take time to sit with it, study it, and reflect on it.

"Day after day [the skies] pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge.  They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them.  Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world." -Psalm 19:2-4

Sakura are known to be a sign of spring, a symbol of renewal, and a reminder to embrace the delicately fleeting yet beautiful nature of life.  They blossom yearly in Japan between April and May, around the same time as the start of the Japanese school year, when everything feels fresh, and young hearts and minds are full of new hope.  As in the U.S., the springtime awakening of buds and blossoms brings a sense of renewal; sakura indicate the end of winter and another beginning.

The symbolism of sakura goes beyond that, though.  Cherry blossoms are a springtime showstopper, to be sure.  Stunning beauties, they can take your breath away when in bloom.  Yet their bloom is spectacularly short lived.  A cherry blossom tree blooms for merely ten days, before those tiny petals gracefully float and swirl their way down to the ground on the breeze.  In Japan, this serves as a reminder of the fragile beauty of life; the ephemeral nature of a moment of joy.  Japanese appreciation of sakura is linked to the Buddhist concepts of mortality, calling on viewers of the blossoms to exist in the present moment, because it will be all too fleeting.

This thoughtful natural reminder of life, death, renewal, and hope, is so cherished in Japan as to be the national flower, and the inspiration for countless works of art by Japanese poets, painters, filmmakers, and musicians.

"Gazing at them / I've grown so very close / to these blossoms; / to part with them when they fall / seems bitter indeed!" - Saigyo (Japanese poet & Buddhist monk)

As I see the cherry blossoms in my town in the United States this year, I hope I take a breath longer to appreciate their delicate beauty.  To observe them a little more carefully, a little more intentionally.  To reflect for just a moment longer on what it is to love something so beautiful, for such a short time, and to see in that reflection a glimmer of perspective on my own life in this beautiful world.  To see, in a flower, a fresh start, a new hope, a renewal of spirit ... and at the same time an urgency to be present, to be mindful, because the beauty of spring - for whatever you wish to take spring to mean - will one day fade, and float away into the breeze.

"Cherry blossoms fall / when the time is right / I too will fall / when it is time to go" - Roy Isami Ebata, 1919-1990

Easter 2021

I typically share art in this space which is less overtly spiritual than what I'm choosing to share today, on this Easter Sunday.  My reasoning is always that overtly spiritual art often feels inauthentic to the lived experiences of those who don't consider themselves religious, and even many who do.  My goal here is connecting God's truth to universally relatable situations and feelings, and the polished picture of perfect trust and happiness sometimes presented by Christian artists is unrelatable to the vast majority of us who live the messy lives of reality.  There's a fantastic book on art and the Bible, by Francis Schaeffer, which, in part, explores this disparity and addresses some of the issues with "Christian art".

Occasionally, though, there are works that lean toward the overtly spiritual which still manage to resonate deeply, because they carry that critical piece of authenticity.  They don't shy away from human doubt or fear; they aren't worried, as Schaeffer puts it, that they might "fall off the end of the earth" by pursuing challenging questions about God or faith or life.

Easter should challenge us.  Easter is a celebration of the story of a man who was brutally killed by an angry mob, then resurrected from the dead, who now brings salvation and eternal life to the world if one only believes.  That should challenge us.  That should give us pause and cause us to question, wonder, and yes, probably doubt.  It should cause us to dig deeper, to ask questions, to seek answers.  Again, as Schaeffer says, an "infinite, personal God who is really there" can handle it.  And if not ... wouldn't we want to know?

Poet Joanah Madzime explores topics like these with vulnerability and artistry.  She digs into what many Christian artists steer clear of.  She tells God directly, and honestly, that she's done.  She's over it, and has a compelling list of reasons why.  In the midst of boldly confronting the audacity of faith, she creates a striking conversation:

What would your honest conversation with God be today?  You're allowed to have it, whether you consider yourself religious, spiritual, agnostic, or atheist.  None of us will fall off the end of the earth by speaking honestly, in all the messiness of life, with a God who may or may not be there, and may or may not respond.  We have freedom to be authentic.  It can take any form; some of us call it journaling, some call it venting, some call it praying.  But above all, let it be called honest, because faith, or art, or life, without honesty doesn't benefit anyone.

Reckoning

If we've learned nothing else in the wake of the death of George Floyd last year, let us have learned to be more aware of discrepancies we used to turn a blind eye to.

For the sake of my own awareness, I've begun doing what I call audits, where I take a quick diversity check of the media I consume as well as the things I share.  Are minority voices represented?  Am I in an echo chamber that looks and sounds like me?  Of the voices I've chosen to amplify, is there relative balance in the number of cultures and demographics of people?

As I do an audit of this blog, it's painfully clear I've fallen short of my own standard.  Over the course of 10 Sundays I've written about exclusively white artists with the exception of one Asian-American dancer.  Those artists have spanned multiple cultures, as three were from Spain and one was from Russia, but is God's voice in the secular arts only found in white influences?  Of course not.  I just haven't been intentional in providing a wider cross section of artistic voices, and that's something I can change.

That's why I like doing this type of audit in my life - the solutions aren't unattainable, so long as we choose to be aware.  It takes intentionality, but all of us can do that.  Whether you are a teacher who chooses to do an audit of the readings and books and resources you use in your curriculum, or a retailer who audits the imagery in your store to see what faces are represented in your ads, this is work we can all take part in.

And this is Christ.  Do we doubt that he looked around a table of high-powered religious men and made a point to ask them where their servants were dining that evening?  Or why their wives weren't present?  Or did they invite that Samaritan they passed on the street to join them?  What about the eunuch, or the neighbor children?  Christ's message was clear: God's love can be found in the lives of all, and everyone should have a welcomed seat at the table.

"I see very clearly that God shows no favoritism. In every nation He accepts those who show reverence to Him and do what is right." -Acts 10:34-35

So as I hold myself accountable to the standard of Christ, I ask you to hold me accountable as well.

Now to the art.  Last year in my community, a project initiated by our arts council and local theatre evolved into an artistic masterpiece which spanned the city.  Titled #ArtUnitesCBus (a local affectionate term for Columbus), this project invited visual artists to paint murals in support of Black lives, justice, unity, equality, resistance, and hope.  The result was stunning, and undeniably of God.

One piece which stood out to me was this one, by artist Francesca Miller:

This painting stopped me in my tracks.  The emotion seemed to radiate off of it and into the space around me.  To be honest I felt a bit voyeuristic looking at it, as though I was an interloper in a private moment of connection between God and this man.  A moment of pain.  A moment of freedom.  A moment of longing.  A moment of triumph.  Something so personal, yet simultaneously the connection I was witnessing was meant to be public, like a performance dance, drawing us onlookers into our own connection with God vicariously through the figure's own reach.  Sometimes when I look at this piece I notice the pain and struggle.  Sometimes I notice the triumph and exaltation.  Every time I notice God.

"... I stretch out, reaching for you, and daily add praise to praise." -Psalm 71:14 (The Message)

"Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God ... who will not grow tired or weary. ... those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength." -Isaiah 40:28, 31

It's a powerful piece, given to the city during a powerful time of reckoning, which continues today.  I encourage whoever reads this blog now or in the future to take a look through more of the artwork from the #ArtUnitesCBus project, most of which has been archived.  Art has been a force for change throughout history, and this moment in time is no different.  The reckoning is needed.  The God I know is always in favor of a perspective revolution, especially when it brings us to self-awareness, honest humility, and unified love for those who are different from us:

"Don't copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God's will for you, which is good and pleasing ... I give each of you this warning: don't think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given you. Just as our bodies have many parts and each part has a special function, so it is with Christ's body. We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other." -Romans 12:2-5 (NLT)

Coming Together ...

If you're anything like me, your social media has been filled the past few days with people recalling where they were and what they were doing a year ago when their world suddenly ground to a halt due to COVID-19.

I remember in the first month of the pandemic's impact on U.S. shores, amidst the heartbreak and worry I continued to see news articles and images of people coming together in creative ways to let each other know they weren't alone, in spite of isolation, quarantine, and uncertainty.  These images stuck with me in a profound way in those early days.

At one point I had a vision of compiling them overtop of a particular song that ran through my head every time I saw them, into a video showing the hope and love that was sustaining people in communities across the country and world.  As with many plans during COVID times, finishing that creative project never happened for me.

Tonight, as I was considering the year anniversary of things in my world shutting down into isolation, and what I wanted to write here about God, those images came flooding back to mind.  So it seemed as good a time as any to finish compiling them into one place.

The video isn't anything special - it's the sort of thing that's been quickly thrown together at 11pm from fragments stuck in a folder since last spring.  But God doesn't need polish and perfection to be seen.

This is where God's been revealed to me throughout the past year.  In the people, the connections, the efforts made to show love and compassion and assistance and support during one of the most trying times of our collective lives.  These images may be a year old in some instances, but these moments are what carried us through, and are glimpses of something special ... something spiritual ... something Holy, here on Earth.

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity." -Proverbs 17:17

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. [...] Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." -Galatians 6:2, 9 

Admitting Impediments

Throughout the first 7 months of COVID, Sir Patrick Stewart, the famed actor, shared personal readings of Shakespearean sonnets each day.  He started casually - sharing a single video in mid-March of 2020 reciting Sonnet 116, my personal favorite and apparently one he loves as well.  The response of those uplifted by watching it during the early days of quarantine and isolation prompted him to record another the following day, and continue with a sonnet a day until he'd read all 154 of them by October 2020.

Why does Sonnet 116 resonate with so many people?  Love is a universal topic, and we recognize in Shakespeare's words an ideal we both long for and aspire to.  It is, in truth, a description of what biblical love should be.  The type of love God gives freely but also demands we give others is exactly what this sonnet describes:

"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove."

It doesn't change based on the actions of the other, or put conditions on itself based on the love of the other.

"O no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken."

It doesn't waver, even in the midst of difficulty or conflict. 

"It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown although his height be taken."

It is steady, stable, so much so that it can be depended on as a guidepost for the lost, an invaluable beacon to return to.

"Love's not Time's fool; though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come."

It isn't based on temporary or superficial qualities in the one being loved.

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom."

It is committed to the long haul; it's not going anywhere, come what may.

Each of these statements about love from Sonnet 116 are reiterated time and again in the Bible.  There is no greater call on humanity from God than to love:

"If I speak in the languages of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship, but do not have love, I gain nothing.  Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.  But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away." 1 Corinthians 13:1-8

It bears repeating - There is no greater call on humanity from God than to love.  For all the religious folks out in the world arguing theology, debating semantics, throwing scholarly articles at those they disagree with ... God says all that will cease, will be stilled, will pass away, and what will remain is the one thing that never fails - love.  Our every discussion, movement, and action must start and end with love or it is nothing.

I can't help but see how far off track Christians have gotten.  There are so many clanging cymbals and resounding gongs in the world right now.  So many trying to speak insight and wisdom but failing spectacularly because they haven't based any of it in love.  Sacrificing for ministries, giving time and energy, but not genuine biblical love.  How often have I heard a Christian claim harmful words as merely "tough love" ... yet that's not what we're called to.  Our love should be protecting, trusting, hoping - and that includes protecting our LGBTQ+ siblings, trusting our fellow humans of other races and backgrounds and cultures, hoping in the futures of those struggling with addiction, and so much more.

When I look at what we people of faith put out into the world as our example of love, I know we're falling short.  Luckily, God's love for us isn't the conditional kind ours so often is.  God's perfect love rises above our failings.  But how long will we receive this love while refusing it to those around us?  How long will we collectively continue to invest in prophecy and knowledge and ministry and work and even faith, without investing whole-heartedly in the only thing that matters?

Love may be the highest ideal people seek.  Our poets write of it, our musicians sing of it, our lives often revolve around the pursuit of it.  Let faith and sonnet-style love become so inextricably linked in our spiritual lives that they can't be separated.  Because of the two, God is clear: "The greatest of these is love". (1 Corinthians 13:13)

Can I Get An Amen

In my part of the world spring has temporarily sprung.  Now, I live in the midwest, where we notoriously experience false springs and second and third and fourth winters, and then head straight into horribly hot summer.  It's weird weather in these parts to be sure, but you'll notice a common theme with this post from 2014 - around the end of February, we often experience a much needed moment or two of beautiful spring!

This year more than ever, we've been cooped up over the winter months, staying safely at home to prevent the spread of COVID, but becoming increasingly bored and antsy as the days drag on.  So whether this spring-like weather is here to stay or only teasing us, it's a welcome reprieve to be able to head outdoors without a coat on and feel the tiniest bit of warmth on our faces.

Is it odd to say this time of year feels like church to me?  To be able to see the world coming back to life, people emerging from their home-cocoons, plants showing their heads again through patches of melted snow, fresh air coming in through an open window - my spirit changes, my soul starts to refill.

Church can be anywhere.  As Paul says in the midst of the passage of Acts which the God Remix blog in its entirety is inspired by:

"The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by hands [...] he is actually not far from each one of us." - Acts 17:24, 27

Find those moments and places that feel like church to you.  Whether you attend a physical church or not, those church-like moments in your spirit and soul are important.  We need to be filled, to be lifted, to sense that breath of peace and freedom that certain environments seem to imbue in the air around us.  This is finding God.  He is actually not far from each one of us.

When Music is More

The pandemic has given artistic creators an unexpected freedom to experiment and collaborate in unique ways.  The popularity of the song I'm sharing today has its roots in social media platform TikTok, which I am neither young enough nor cool enough to use proficiently if I'm honest, but luckily a friend shared it with me.  TikTok has become a creative gold mine lately, as people have shared and written music together in formats which never existed before.  For this particular song, debut songwriter Jonah Kagen shared pieces of his music and lyrics on TikTok and asked other users to fill in gaps he left with their lyrics, creating beautiful mini duets and building connections with an audience, before eventually sharing his own completed version of it.  Although the collaborative community and creativity of the duets is inspiring to see unfold, the version Jonah Kagen wrote himself is unmatched, and what I feel compelled to share here.

Any more of my words added to the power of this song will only serve to dilute it.  You may hear your own prayer in the lyrics, or the desperate heart of someone God's called you to love, or something else altogether.  I hear a memory of several intertwined times God asked me to be a voice of faith and love to those doubting their worth and value, at the end of what they could bear alone.

I hope only that you hear more than mere music.  God is found so many places beyond church.

If you or someone you know is struggling past what you or they can handle, reach out for help.  You are not alone.

Heart Full of Love

Once upon a time during a car ride with my Dad, a younger me complained about the prevalence of love in almost every song I heard on the radio.  It probably didn't help that at the time I listened almost exclusively to Oldies, Natalie Cole, and Elvis, all of which lean pretty heavily on love songs.  But it seemed to me that every song I heard was about love in some way, and as a child, it was annoying.

My Dad's wonderful response was to make me a mixed tape (yes, those were the days!) entirely of songs he found NOT about love.  It was fantastic, and it's where I first discovered the song The Streak, which became a childhood staple that still makes me laugh.  There are, to my childhood surprise, songs out there that do not talk about love!

But the reality is, love is a huge part of the human emotional experience, and so it is a common theme in music.  As I've grown, though, it's easy to see that love song lyrics are impossible for anyone to live up to.  The object of someone's love is often described with sweeping, all-encompassing phrases - they are described as absolute perfection.  And that's how we do see the ones we love at times, however unrealistic these idolized perceptions may be.  It's our emotion at the time of love, and music is our avenue for expressing it.

On the other hand, I know in my heart that the one thing all people have in common is that none of us actually are perfect.  It's the unifying trait of humanity.  In light of that, sometimes when I listen to the lyrics of certain love songs, my mind instinctively turns to the one experience I do have being loved by someone perfect - God.  Although likely not the intention of most of the songwriters, Bono aside, many popular artists write lyrics that describe God with incredible insight - because of those sweeping, all-encompassing descriptions of perfect love.

"... love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. ... God is love." -1 John 4:7-8

Now please don't hear any of this as the cheesy stereotypical Christian anti-dating sentiment to which I have never subscribed - that we "date" God, and that romantic love is fulfilled by our relationship with God.  I personally find that mindset creepy.  As my sister happily tells everyone she knows, I have historically been a big fan of dating, and it's always been dates with people, not God.  I'm talking strictly about the idea of love, not romance.

With that in mind, on this Valentine's Day I'll share two love songs I (perhaps unexpectedly) hear God's perfection in.  Does every lyric fit?  No, of course not.  What we hear in a song is individual, just as love is.  My interpretation focuses on parts which speak to my heart, the lines that jump out to me as formative to whatever journey I'm on at the moment.  That's music for you.  Maybe you'll hear a reminder of God's perfect nature, maybe not.  But regardless, I hope you end your day with a heart full of love of some kind, whether romantic or spiritual or something else entirely.

"No one has ever seen God, but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.  God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him." -1 John 4:12, 16

**Word of caution for those offended by language or listening in the presence of kids: both songs use mild profanity - in choruses of the first song and the first line of the second song.**

"Never thought I'd be alright, 'til you came and changed my life.  What was cloudy now is clear, you're the light that I needed.  [...] You are there when I'm a mess, talk me down from every ledge.  Give me strength; you're the best.  You're the only one who's ever passed every test."

"You see everything, you see every part.  You see all my light and you love my dark.  [...] What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go.  [...] There's not anything to which you can't relate.  And you're still here."

Musings of a Snowflake

I needed a reminder of God's presence in the world around me today, and my mind drifted to photographs I saw years ago by then amateur photographer Alexey Kljatov* - extreme closeup macro photography of individual snowflakes:

photos: Alexey Kljatov

Snowflakes.  Their name has been a bit maligned in recent years, but can anyone doubt the incredible wonder that is a snowflake?  The intricacy of its design, the fleeting nature of its existence - each one so distinct we could spend hours getting to know its features, yet so fragile it could melt in an instant.  A better metaphor for human life is hard to find.

These photographs remind me of my favorite section of the psalms:

 "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.  Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge.  They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them.  Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world." (Psalm 19:1-4)

We don't need a Bible, a preacher, a theology degree, or a Westernized language to see the glory of God.  Nature takes care of showing it to us all freely.

photos: Alexey Kljatov

Interestingly, a snowflake's power comes not from its captivating uniqueness, individuality, or fragility.  Those traits are impressive.  Breathtaking even.  They are what draw us in to the creativity and artistry of the one who's created them.  However, a snowflake's power comes in the magnitude of community - each of these tiny flakes joining with billions more, to form a snowfall that covers the entirety of a city.  Their fragility turned to undeniable might as they topple in unison, forming an avalanche.  Individually designed flakes functioning in community together is a phenomenon to be feared for sure, awe-inspiring and imposing and beyond the scope of what can be imagined when looking at a single flake.  A better metaphor for humanity may also be hard to find.

photos: Alexey Kljatov

It's a compelling parallel to consider, between snowflake and human life; snowfall and humanity.  We must acknowledge the immense range of possibility and collective impact which opens up when snowflakes, or people, join together in community.  At the same time, seeing only the magnitude of a tower of snow is not sufficient - we must look closer, at the distinct traits and highly detailed differences of the individuals, in order to fully appreciate the nature of a snowflake, and humankind.  Without either aspect, our understanding is incomplete.  But we can see God in both.

I personally bend toward the individualistic approach to life.  It's easy for me to see and value the personal characteristics which make someone unlike anyone else, and to find the beauty and brilliance of God there.  Perhaps this week I'll take some time to reflect on avalanches, and challenge my perspective on community.  But for today, I'm content to marvel at the macro photography level - to see God's nature in the unexpected intricacy of a single speck of snow.

"You formed my inward parts, You knitted me together ... I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are Your works; my soul knows it very well." (Psalm 139:13-14)

*[Click here to read the artist's own words describing his fascinating photography process in depth, and to see more amazing photos of the snowflakes he shoots.]