I know that I am not the only one who is moved by music. It seems that we have an almost limitless ability to create and enjoy music. It seems odd to me that this nearly universal truth serves as yet another way that we categorize each other and divide amongst ourselves. But that's another blog.
Today something reminded me of Johnny Cash and his cover of Trent Reznor's song, "Hurt". I watched the powerful video and marveled at Johnny singing the song with feeling and authenticity as images of his life play across the screen. It is a sort of confession, an admission of guilt, perhaps an apology for those that He has hurt through the years.
Later in the day I was reminded of a song "I will arise and go to Jesus". I remember first hearing this song on a Julie Miller album when I was at university. I remember walking to class with my headphones on, marvelling at the simplicity and mystery of a relationship with God.
Both songs are haunting and minor. Both acknowledge our brokenness as people. I am genuinely moved by both of them. There is something very powerful about sharing the dark parts of our journey as well as the lighter portions. It is good to know that we are not alone in our hurts and our fears, that there are others who have walked a similar path.
In the end, I find the "I will arise" carries me further down the road. It acknowledges the hurt but doesn't leave me there. It goes beyond hopelessness and issues an invitation to look beyond the pain. While acknowledging our helplessness, it also points to the One who can help.
I am moved by songs that help me to embrace my brokenness (Hurt by Trent Reznor, I'm So Sick by Flyleaf) by songs that acknowledge the questions and the longings, but also those that offer hope. I just remembered that Flyleaf has a song "Again" that seems to hit all these points. I have been moved to tears listening to that song more than once.
Music seems to slip past my defences. I feel like God uses music to touch my heart and open me to myself and to Him in ways that other mediums just can't touch.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
It is hard to stop tinkering
I have recently completed a book that is in the final stages awaiting publication. While I have written for years, I have never written a book before. I found the entire process to be very personal and challenging. One of my wife's favourite quotes is from Augustine. He said, "I count myself one of the number of those who write as they learn and learn as they write." That has definitely been my experience.
The creative process was hard, but invigorating. I didn't even know what I was going to write until I started writing. I knew that I felt compelled to write, but I was intimidated to start. I delayed the start of writing for literally years because I kept thinking, "Who am I to write?!" In the end, I sat down, opened the laptop, and started writing. The first thing that came out became the prologue for the book. It all flowed from there. I generally felt carried along during the creative phase.
The editing phase was much more difficult and was brand new to me. I had to invite people to critique what I had so painstakingly created. It was a test of courage to actually put it out there. I emailed it to a few people I respected as brothers and as writers. I cringed each time I checked email for the next few weeks. I wrestled with my fears and insecurities. What if I really sucked? What if my writing was of the kind only a mother could love?!
As the input started coming back, it was hard to process. My friends offered encouragement as well as advice and suggestions. Which suggestions should I incorporate? Was my desire to reject some suggestions founded on pride and defensiveness? Through this process I refined my voice and by allowing my friends to honestly critique my work, the book was vastly improved. Even when I rejected specific suggestions, the process of wrestling with each editorial decision strengthened my voice and I hope my writing.
But, there comes a point when I had to release the text to the publisher. That was more difficult than I could have imagined. I kept delaying it so that I would have more time to tinker with the text. Should I add a chapter about....? Should I delete the section about...? Is that really the way I want to say this?
It was hard to stop tinkering.
A friend of mine who writes music told me, "A song is never really done. You just stop working on it." I feel that way about this book. The publisher is happy with it. My friends are happy with it. I may never be completely finished with it, but I am done working on it.
The creative process was hard, but invigorating. I didn't even know what I was going to write until I started writing. I knew that I felt compelled to write, but I was intimidated to start. I delayed the start of writing for literally years because I kept thinking, "Who am I to write?!" In the end, I sat down, opened the laptop, and started writing. The first thing that came out became the prologue for the book. It all flowed from there. I generally felt carried along during the creative phase.
The editing phase was much more difficult and was brand new to me. I had to invite people to critique what I had so painstakingly created. It was a test of courage to actually put it out there. I emailed it to a few people I respected as brothers and as writers. I cringed each time I checked email for the next few weeks. I wrestled with my fears and insecurities. What if I really sucked? What if my writing was of the kind only a mother could love?!
As the input started coming back, it was hard to process. My friends offered encouragement as well as advice and suggestions. Which suggestions should I incorporate? Was my desire to reject some suggestions founded on pride and defensiveness? Through this process I refined my voice and by allowing my friends to honestly critique my work, the book was vastly improved. Even when I rejected specific suggestions, the process of wrestling with each editorial decision strengthened my voice and I hope my writing.
But, there comes a point when I had to release the text to the publisher. That was more difficult than I could have imagined. I kept delaying it so that I would have more time to tinker with the text. Should I add a chapter about....? Should I delete the section about...? Is that really the way I want to say this?
It was hard to stop tinkering.
A friend of mine who writes music told me, "A song is never really done. You just stop working on it." I feel that way about this book. The publisher is happy with it. My friends are happy with it. I may never be completely finished with it, but I am done working on it.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Being Present
What could be easier than to be exactly where we are? It seems so elementary, and yet I am finding this to be an incredible challenge! I am discovering how rarely I am truly present in the now, in the moment.
I tend to spend so much of my time in the past or the future. I am generally a post-worrier. I don't worry much about the future, but I can spend a lot of time replaying things and worrying about the past. On the other hand, I can also spend a lot of time thinking about the future, trying to predict what will happen if... Or trying to control the outcome of things that haven't even happened yet.
This morning, I took some time to just sit and be present. I wanted to be present to the Lord, but the starting point was just to be present to myself. I had to sit still and just notice the things that I was feeling, the thoughts racing through my head, the motivations of my heart. I had to quiet myself and then present these things to Him in the quietness of that moment.
I wrote down the things that were troubling me. I wrote down my worries and my fears. I wrote down the things I was dreaming about and the future I was striving to create for myself. Then, I sat in silence.
A few minutes later the real dialogue began as a felt His response welling up with in me. I wrote down the words that I attached to these impressions: "Relax. Enter in. I am here. Stay in the now. It's okay. Come away with me. Take it one step at a time. Don't try to predict or control the future, that's my job."
As I sat, I compared the two lists, and suddenly the things that had seemed so overwhelming didn't overwhelm quite as much. I still was facing the same things, but the facts were emptied of the fear that had made them so fearsome. Instead, I felt peaceful. I recognized that I would still need to do something, but I knew, experientially knew, that my Father was in them with me. His presence made all the difference.
I tend to spend so much of my time in the past or the future. I am generally a post-worrier. I don't worry much about the future, but I can spend a lot of time replaying things and worrying about the past. On the other hand, I can also spend a lot of time thinking about the future, trying to predict what will happen if... Or trying to control the outcome of things that haven't even happened yet.
This morning, I took some time to just sit and be present. I wanted to be present to the Lord, but the starting point was just to be present to myself. I had to sit still and just notice the things that I was feeling, the thoughts racing through my head, the motivations of my heart. I had to quiet myself and then present these things to Him in the quietness of that moment.
I wrote down the things that were troubling me. I wrote down my worries and my fears. I wrote down the things I was dreaming about and the future I was striving to create for myself. Then, I sat in silence.
A few minutes later the real dialogue began as a felt His response welling up with in me. I wrote down the words that I attached to these impressions: "Relax. Enter in. I am here. Stay in the now. It's okay. Come away with me. Take it one step at a time. Don't try to predict or control the future, that's my job."
As I sat, I compared the two lists, and suddenly the things that had seemed so overwhelming didn't overwhelm quite as much. I still was facing the same things, but the facts were emptied of the fear that had made them so fearsome. Instead, I felt peaceful. I recognized that I would still need to do something, but I knew, experientially knew, that my Father was in them with me. His presence made all the difference.
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