Sunday, January 9, 2022

Finding God on the 'Gram

What is it about art and music that makes the artist feel close to God in the creation of it?

Scrolling through a celebrity / musician Instagram feed, the caption "When I feel closest to God" caught my attention, and I clicked into the below video of the artist playing music.

As a species, across all cultures, we communicate through art.  Music pours out of us as a people.  And although yes, art and music can be made in a formulaic way - they can be businesses and industries and void of passion - they often come instead through something visceral and organic and spiritual in nature.  An expression of something that rises beyond normal speech and conversation.  Something we can't quite name, we can't quite label, but we can let ooze out of our fingertips onto a canvas or guitar string or keyboard.

I've quoted it before and I'll surely quote it again, but listening to the melodic wail of this song, I was reminded of Romans 8:26:

"We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit intercedes for us with wordless groans."

Groans aren't necessarily negative when I think of them musically - 'the wail of a guitar' is evocative, but not painful.  Music has the ability to groan with joy and excitement just as easily as sorrow and grief - the groaning is in the wordlessness, the intangible elements art taps into.

And so music and art become a connection point for many artists to the spiritual.  A moment of personal closeness to divinity.

"When I feel closest to God".  There's vulnerability in that statement, in sharing that internal connection outwardly.  Of course, Instagram feeds being carefully curated as they are, I can't speak to the authenticity of this particular post, though my preference is to take the artist's comment at face value.  As a performer, I've been there.  Standing on a stage in front of a large crowd, and losing myself in a particular lyric, a specific drum beat, a feeling that the music is voicing some unspoken part of my soul on my behalf.  In that brief moment, in spite of my normally nearly debilitating stage fright, I feel close to God in front of a crowd, and more myself than I ever am.

To open that moment to the eyes of others is exposing for an artist, but also connecting.  When you see a musician close their eyes and enter into their own experience of the music, it changes the way a song feels to everyone in the room.  To witness a dancer in private conversation with their heart through movement, starts a conversation with your own.  These moments transcend the art and become something more.

I didn't expect to see God on Instagram tonight.  Didn't expect to find God wedged between thirst traps and inane video clips.  But isn't that just the thing - wherever people are, God will be, seeking closeness and connection.

Sunday, January 2, 2022

Now You're Ready ...

What is it about a new year? Maybe it's all the Queer Eye I've been watching, but I'm really feeling the 'believe in yourself' / 'you can do anything' mindset right now.  And although that's not always a message we hear from those explaining God's truth, it actually is a message we find throughout the Bible:
"You created my inmost being ... I am wonderfully made." -Psalm 139:14

Yes, you beautiful creature!

"[B]rothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things."  -Philippians 4:8

Just look at all your incredible traits!

"Be strong and courageous ... Be strong and very courageous ... Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." -Joshua 1:6a, 7a, 9

You got this!

"[H]e who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." -Philippians 1:6 

Keep it up, superstar!

"[T]hose who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." -Isaiah 40:31

 You can do anything!

"Do not throw away your confidence ..." -Hebrews 10:35 (in the context of confidence we gain by knowing through God's Love we are worthy and perfect forever in God's eyes - Hebrews 10:14)

 Believe it!

"[Y]ou are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you." -Isaiah 43:4a 

Are you feeling a 'Fab Five' level of encouragement yet?  Because you were designed to be extraordinary, and there's no better time to be reminded of that than at the start of a fresh year.  From wherever you've come, whatever challenges are behind or ahead of you, sometimes we need to take a beat and a breath, and realize that now is the time to live into something bigger.  To believe that we're ready.  For change, for growth, for restoration, for joy.

Mandy Moore is my God-spun anthem on days like this:

One of my absolute favorite Bible verses is "God did not give us a spirit of fear or timidity, but one of power, love, and sound judgment" (2 Timothy 1:7). Don't go into 2022 afraid. Don't tiptoe into your life this year timidly. You are powerful. Full of love. Knowledgeable.

So go be extraordinary.

Sunday, September 12, 2021

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.

Sunday, August 15, 2021

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

Sunday, July 18, 2021

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)

Sunday, July 11, 2021

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.

Sunday, June 20, 2021

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.