Divinest Sense

Be Writing

2012-02-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

photo © 2010 Kazi Hirok Al-Arafat | more info (via: Wylio)If I'm not careful, I can let being a writer become more important than writing.

Every now and then, I start fretting and re-evaluating my blog, my writing, and whether any of this means anything. I'll get fascinated by those articles about platform building, and thinky, marketing advice about getting more hits, comments, and fans. I worry that I don't do enough, that I don't work hard enough or blog consistently enough or say anything interesting or useful enough. Then I say "screw it" and surf the Internet.

But really? When this happens, I've let being a writer trump writing. I let a title eclipse the purpose, the art.

In the end, none of us write for blog post hits, best sellers, or ad revenue. We don't write to go viral or build a so-called tribe. In the end, even the ones who succeed write because they must.

And that's the thing. I write because I must, because if only a few read it, that's better than keeping everything in my head. Because in some corner of my soul, I believe this is what I'm made for.

If I hope to be a "real" writer, sure I'll need a platform and such. But a writer, a real one, is one who writes.

Nothing more.

It's easy to get caught in the gears of the machine, but writing trumps being a writer. Every time.

"Don't be 'a writer.' Be writing." ~ William Faulkner

Call for Guest Posts: Deeper

2012-02-07T09:00:00.000-05:00

Divinest Sense is going to be five years old in March. Can you believe it? Over 300 posts later I'm still at it, still learning what to do with this corner of the web. I'm so thankful for all of you who read this, leave comments, and take an interest... and now I want to hear from you!

One of my favorite abandoned ideas for this blog is Deeper, a series of posts celebrating art that moves us. Mostly, it was a chance to give myself permission to turn off the objective critic, embrace my inner fangirl, and geek out over books, films, and music that I love most. But honestly, who wants to only read about my favorite things? Not me!

So the floor is open... if you would like to write a guest post, I want to read it!

The details:
- A post of reasonable length on art that moves you.
- The subject can be as simple as a book or a song or as broad as an author's or musician's entire career.
- This is not an objective review, but a piece about something that has inspired or changed you. This is the book you discovered 10 years ago that's marked up and falling apart, the music you can't stop listening to, or the art that tells your story. I want to hear the totally biased fan-gushing you've always wanted to share.
- Quotes, videos, etc. are awesome and encouraged.
- Please include a 2-3 line bio (who you are and a link to any blog or website you have) and a photo. (of you or an image you want to represent you.) Or give me permission to troll your blog and write one for you. :)

Here is the Introduction explaining the idea behind this, and for examples, check out the series so far. Then e-mail me to work out the rest! -- jenwritesstuff (at) gmail (dot) com

Deeper returns in March... I can't wait to hear your stories and share the discoveries!

Photo Credit: "Music is My Religion" by [nati]

Opening Notes - January

2012-02-06T09:00:00.000-05:00

Last month, I mentioned my crazy urge to document things and how it morphed into a music journal. The plan: to document every album I hear in 2012 and my first impressions. So far, I've kept it up, and confirmed two things...

1) I listen to way more new music than I thought.
2) I'll try anything if it's free. (Thanks Noisetrade.)

Amy suggested this would make a good blog feature, so hey, why not? Once a month, I'd like to highlight the standouts and share some glimpses into my Opening Notes journal. Here are a few of my January discoveries...

Paper Route - Absence

Genre: Chilled out, moody yet anthemic and occasionally danceable synthpop. Alternative electronic.
First Impressions: I'm annoyed I never listened to them before now! It's moody and atmospheric... not super hooky like the usual synth sound, but the sort that hangs out in the background until some cool sound or catchy refrain grabs your attention. Glad I found them in time for a new record!
Source: Noisetrade... get it free! (Includes a new single that reminds me of One Republic)

Audrey Assad - Heart

Genre: 70s inspired, piano-based songwriter pop with some classical and hymn-like influences.
First Impressions: It's like the Audrey record I've wanted since discovering "Winter Snow," a sound truer to her roots and personality... less produced, more lyrical, and simply lovely. Perhaps my first true favorite of 2012.
Source: Review copy. Check out audio samples and explore the art and videos at Audrey's website. Further thoughts to come in my review for JFH.

Jill Phillips - In This Hour

Genre: Shimmery songwriter pop with a folkish slant.
First Impressions: Oh, Jill. She is a criminally neglected Rabbit Roomer in my collection, but I do love her. Her 2011 record hits the mark of deeply personal, introspective writing that feels universal. She reflects on marriage, loss, family, and her role as a small-time artist (see "Next Big Thing") with style and grace. Reminds me a bit of Sara Groves' Invisible Empires. I'm only sorry I discovered this gem a little late...
Source: The Rabbit Room Store

Two Door Cinema Club - Tourist History

Genre: indie dance punk/electro-pop
First Impressions: I seem to remember somebody talking about them... maybe Lindsay? Regardless, the clips sounded good and worth risking 5 bucks. This Irish band's debut isn't delivering profundity, but it is undeniably fun, sounding sort of like a cross between Pheonix and Death Cab for Cutie. Like hipster indie music you can dance to.
Source: Amazon Mp3 (a $5 January Deal)

By the way.... Total New Albums in January: 15. Yep. Most of them were free. (Again, thanks Noisetrade. And occasionally Spotify.)

The Saturday Evening Blog Post: January 2012

2012-02-04T12:25:00.000-05:00

A little self-promotion never hurt anybody, right? Today, I discovered The Saturday Evening Blog post via Alise... Write! On the first Saturday of the month, folks head on over to Elizabeth Esther's blog and share a link to a favorite post from the month. Fun!

So here's my first go at it...

Blogging was slight in January, unfortunately. Though most notable thing this month was probably my 3 part Awesome of the Year Music series (I never did books and concerts. Fail!), I'd say The R Word was a really helpful post for me to write. So far, non-resolution number 4 has been a success. I listened to 14 or 15 new albums last month. Seriously.

Care to join the fun? Hop on over to Elizabeth's blog and share your favorite post! And if you don't mind, drop a link in the handy comment box below so I can be sure to read it.

Happy February! I would say stay warm, but with a high of 81 here today, that's not a difficult suggestion.

Around the Internets: Restart

2012-01-28T22:26:00.000-05:00

Every so often, I catch myself reevaluating this blog and writing in general. It's probably a healthy practice, because I'm convinced a measure of discomfort and self-doubt keeps you honest. But at the same time, it makes me take these unexpected breaks and leave this place for dead. (or, at least, for a nap. A nap sounds more pleasant.)

Anyway. I haven't done an Around the Internets post since July, and I miss it. It's an excellent way to retrace my wanderings, and I enjoy reading posts like this on other blogs (for instance, Friday Faves and Sunday Superlatives). So why not? Here are a few things I've read and/or faved on Twitter throughout the week.

Two things yesterday reminded me that I'm supposed to be making time to write because it's important. One was an e-mail from my friend Josh that said, "This is your every few weeks reminder that you're supposed to be writing." (as in poetry/lyric writing. we're planning a co-write soon.) Josh is writing a song a week in 2012, and you should listen to them at #52Worship. "Watch Over Me" with the spooky crickets is my favorite so far.
Right after reading the e-mail, I opened Twitter and saw a link to an article on the Art House America blog called "Returning to the Writing Life." Of course, that caught my attention, another small, unexpected nudge toward remembering that I should be writing.

"As I listened in at the gatherings and had conversations over meals, I found that no one has a perfect writing life. Some are university professors who write in the summertime and find it hard to remember what they were writing about after nine months of teaching. They long for sabbaticals. Some have a patchwork of other jobs and keep their deadlines by writing at night, on the weekends, and in waiting rooms. Others are dealing with sorrow, failing bodies, and the changing world of publishing.

It’s good for me to hear these things from people who’ve been at it for a long time, who continue to write regardless of the challenges they face. Through their faithfulness to the vocation of translating experience into words, imagination into story, and scholarship into beautiful writing, the world is blessed and my life is enriched.
One more excellent reminder: "Your Big Idea is Not Enough" by Jeff Goins. Ouch. That's all.
What Makes Art Christian? Or: is the work of Jerry B. Jenkins and Amy Grant any more Christian than Flannery O'Connor's Southern gothic tales and Sufjan Stevens' quirky musical vision? Julie shared this article in the Hutchmoot Facebook group this week, and it was too good not to pass along.

The thing about good art seems to be that sometimes it finds an audience. O'Connor's fiction isn't Christian the way Jerry Jenkins' is. Stevens is not a praise band leader. Flannery and Sufjan resonate in larger circles, yes, but their work, like Tolkien's, casts wide nets of longing, questioning, devotion, anxiety, suffering, redemption, and grace. In this sense it could be no more Christian.
Speaking of Hutchmoot friends... this was posted over a week ago, but it still needs to be plugged and read: "Of Being Made" by Alyssa Ramsey. Beautiful.

"The painting sighs at the touch of new hands – oh, but not new at all. Firm, sure, and so blessedly familiar.
And now it stops and says no more, for no more need be said. It simply is, and just by being, it tells a story."
My only successful clothing sewing project was a skirt made from old jeans. It's wearing out like the source, but I love that skirt, even though sewing kind of scares me now. For the crafter in all of us that ends up taking ill-fitting jeans to Goodwill... 7 Reuse Ideas for Old Jeans. Makes me want to go through my closet and make a new skirt. Or at least a coffee cup cozy.
Finally, a plug: New PReview at JFH for Audrey Assad's forthcoming album Heart... or: in which I geek out. I freakin' love this record. I can't wait for the world to hear it. Enjoy the teaser review. (Also check out my recent review of Lindsay McCaul's If It Leads Me Back. Interview with her coming soon too!)

If you've read, watched, or listened to something awesome this week, share in the comments! I know you have...

Speak up. Shake the Dust.

2012-01-24T00:19:00.000-05:00

There is something delightful, weird, and beautiful about performance poetry. I don't remember when I first heard about slam poets, those writers who blur the line between competition, song, drama, and wordcraft, but I do remember attending a few open mic readings and finding it fascinating, even if some of the words were kind of bizarre. There's a rhythm, vibrancy, and streetwise life to it that can't quite be matched in simply writing things down, and I admire the act of getting on a stage and baring the soul like that. These are people who breathe words in and out, the 21st century's wandering bard.

Lately, I've been falling in love with poetry again but hadn't thought much about this genre, until I saw a video To Write Love on Her Arms posted a few days ago. Anis Mojgani performed at their Heavy and Light event for the second time this year. I started to post that video, but I remembered the moment he stole the show at H&L 2010 with a piece called "Shake the Dust." Because I'm biased toward the event I actually attended, here it is.

Imagine for a moment a concert hall filled with a couple thousand people, captivated into breathless silence by, of all things, a scruffy poet. Imagine being told your story matters, and for the first time, maybe actually believing it could be true.

That's kind of what happened here. Suddenly, I'm sort of sad I missed it this year.

"For the ones who are told to speak only when they are spoken to
And then are never spoken to
Speak every time you stand
So that you do not forget yourself"

Awesome of the Year: Music Part 3

2012-01-14T22:00:00.000-05:00

For all the music I covered in the last two posts, if I'm honest with myself, there are three records that really defined the year for me. Whether the rest of the music world thinks so or not, these connected deeply with me in some season of 2011, reminded me why music matters, and continue to move and surprise me with every listen. I hope you'll forgive the lengthiness of this post and hear nothing but my enthusiasm.

Spring: I always sort of liked Paul Simon. I Just didn't know it until this year. As a kid nurtured on the music of my parents' generation, I was familiar with a number of his songs from the Simon & Garfunkel days -- "The Sound of Silence," "Bridge Over Troubled Water," "Homeward Bound" -- and more recently, my dad showed me the delightful video "You Can Call Me Al," which I'm pretty sure was in rotation when he rocked to sleep with MTV. (True story.) It took a very convincing review from The Rabbit Room to finally make me investigate his solo work, starting with his newest record So Beautiful Or So What. And oh, I'm glad I did.

As impressive as his creative sounds and career longevity are, there's a reason he's considered one of our greatest living songwriters. He's a modern bard for sure, with lyrics that are evocative and ring with truth. In a few lines, he can create a character you care about and weave a story with incredible wit and pathos. "Rewrite" is a fantastic example, in which a father holding down at a car wash talks about "working on a rewrite" that reveals itself to be a reimagined life.

I’ll eliminate the pages
Where the father has a breakdown
And he has to leave the family
But he really meant no harm
I’m gonna substitute a car chase
And a race across the rooftops
When the father saves the children
And he holds them in his arms

I could cite many more songs that captured my inner poet's heart and imagination, but why do that when I could send you to the review that made me buy it? After this, I picked up Graceland, saw him in concert, and started digging into the Paul Simon: Songwriter set. Needless to say, I'm a fan now.

Listen to "Rewrite"

***

Summer: It all begins with 8 seconds of silence, a pregnant pause before a wandering lone guitar melody cracks through. Ambient vocals add atmosphere, a soft yet militant drum beat and layers of plaintive falsetto join in. This is "Perth," setting the stage for Bon Iver's eponymous new record, and taking Justin Vernon and his band far beyond the "broken hearted indie folk singer in a cabin" lore surrounding his career.

Up until now, I was largely unfamiliar with Bon Iver, but this... This was magic to me, a record I revisited over and over. It's neither flashy and bombastic, nor is it simple. It builds layers of sound, vocals, and instrumentation so thickly you can hear something new with every listen. Pitchfork described it as an album about memory, and given the abstract nature of everything from the cover art to the song titles, I can see no other explanation. The tracks are named after places real and imagined; the lyrics are largely nonsensical, until a powerful line stands out in stark relief, grabs the heart, and holds on. For example, these from "Holocene": "And at once I knew, I was not magnificent... I can see for miles, miles, miles..."

I can't express what I love about this in words beyond that. Sometimes, I play it on my drive home, as the sun is going down and the world becomes a darkening dream. I play it loudly in my car and forget, or remember. Sometimes I listen close for new sounds or let myself get caught up in the music. That kind of music is a rare sort of magic.

Listen to "Perth" / Pitchfork Review

***

Autumn: It was a rainy, gloomy Saturday morning (at least, it's gloomy and rainy as I remember it) at the end of a draining week, at the start of a day marked by a tired, empty feeling. I slipped a CD into my car stereo just to break the silence. Part of me wanted to pray, vent it out, but the words wouldn't come. And then by chance or maybe grace, words I knew by heart broke through my clouded thoughts and settled there as if I heard them for the first time:

"I've spent some days looking for a length of rope
And a place to hang it from the end of my hope
Where I thought hope had ended, I always find a little bit more."

So I cried. And found the words to talk to God... or maybe they found me. And my quieted soul said thanks, mostly because somewhere a writer had the courage to commit them to a record and send his own pain, hopes, and fears out into the world. For that, Jason Gray's third album A Way To See in the Dark is, if I'm honest with myself, my album of the year.

I've already written enough about this record from the music reviewer's perspective. When I received my pre-release six months ago, I confess that excited as I was to hear what a favorite artist had been up to all year, I was a little scared of it. Would it be the best, or, in my mind, eclipsed by his last record? And how in the world would I keep myself objective?

So I listened, with walls up. By the third spin, I was realizing that it really just might be his best work. By the fifth, I was emailing Jason just to tell him thanks.

Over time, this quiet, unassuming album, so catchy and poppy on the surface, eased its way into my heart and stayed in rotation long after the review was posted. What I respect most is the difficult balancing act he manages, somewhere between keeping it accessible enough for the masses, but honest and true his folk singer roots and convictions about great art. In a way, the lyrics in this album do the same thing Bon iver's music did for me; they unfurl slowly, a new turn of phrase or perspective emerging on every repeat. (once, just a month or so ago, I yelled out loud because I finally understood the second verse in "Without Running Away"... Or do I?)

I know this didn't top a lot of last year's lists, and perhaps, even in CCM circles, it may be woefully left behind with so many higher profile releases surrounding it. But for me, this is a special record and a kind of grace. My friend Emily said it "meets you in the dark, then takes your hand and shows you the way out." I say I started out listening because I needed it for a review, then never stopped because I needed it for my soul.

Listen to "Without Running Away" / Again, my JFH review.

***

Honorable mentions (because my list was too long and ridiculous): Eisley - The Valley (indie rock with beautiful harmonies), Mutemath - Odd Soul (grungy 70's funkified indie rock), Florence + the Machine - Ceremonials (the best things about Lungs turned up to 11), Sara Groves - Invisible Empires (a truly beautiful and quirky songwriter folk/pop record), Hyland - Weights & Measures (fun alt-rock that reminds me of old-school Anberlin and fills a void in my collection) The Hawk in Paris - His + Hers EP (80s throwback synth side project by Jars of Clay's Dan Haseltine and friends) and M83 - Hurry Up, We're Dreaming (22 tracks of grand and glorious electronic soundscapes)

Next Awesome of the Year: Books. It won't be this long, I promise.

Awesome of 2011: Music Part 2

2012-01-09T10:00:00.000-05:00

Continuing Awesome of the Year: Music Edition with some more favorites of 2011.

Christian Music Doesn't Have to Suck

When I tried to sum up the records I listened to most over the past year, I noticed a really strong return to Christian music, not just in a "it's my job" way. I suppose it's because if you dig hard enough, beneath the sound of the radio charts is a thriving world of artistic, deep, faith-based music. Once again, John Mark McMillan and Gungor infused life in the worship scene with amazing albums. Gungor's Ghosts Upon the Earth is epic in scope, a sprawling sonic journey through Creation, the Fall, and Redemption that's even stranger and more beautiful than their last record. (Highlights: Let There Be, Crags and Clay, When Death Dies, Ezekiel) JMM didn't change it up too much with Economy, but his gritty, moody Southern rock style and stunning lyricism is a step forward from last year's The Medicine, and perfect the way it is. (Highlights: Sheet of Night, Daylight, Love You Swore)

This was also the year I figured out that I really, really like Downhere. They've been around ten years, and I've known about them almost that long, but mostly in the sense of hearing a song, thinking "yeah, that's nice," and forgetting to really check them out. When I picked up a review copy of On the Altar of Love for JFH, I realized just how much I'd been missing. Downhere is a bit of an anomaly; they're almost too different and good musically to fit in the Christian music world, but they're writing is so ministry focused, it's hard to imagine them anywhere else. (Highlights: Rest, Let Me Rediscover You, For Life, Seek)

Of course, with one of their lead vocalists Marc "Hey You Sound Like Freddie Mercury" Martel on the upcoming Queen Extravaganza tribute tour, I doubt the obscurity will last for long...

Returning Favorites

There are some bands that can simply do no wrong, that you look forward to every new release just on principle. Switchfoot is one of those for me, a band I've been following for over a decade that consistently puts out great music, whether they're pop or rock or somewhere between. Vice Verses has yet to take over the "best SF ever" spot in my mind, but it's easily the most solid rock project I heard this year and is every bit as infectious and anthemic as it should be. (Highlights: The War Inside, Restless, Dark Horses, Where I Belong)

And Needtobreathe... I got hooked on their music maybe 3 or 4 years ago, and fell completely in love with their last record and incredible live shows. So it was a bummer to find The Reckoning slightly disappointing at first, because I wanted it to blow my mind. Over time though, it continues to grow on me and just may be a new favorite in time. It's musically adventurous, simultaneously carrying a darker tone while reaching to bigger arena rock heights, but it doesn't lose the Southern rock charm. If nothing else, get "Oohs and Ahhs" for their experimental best. (Highlights: Oohs and Ahhs, White Fences, Drive All Night, Keep Your Eyes Open)

Kiss My Cred Goodbye

Sometimes, playing the snob can get exhausting. You know what, Internet? I like Coldplay. I like their subdued classic Parachutes, I get choked up listening to "Fix You," and even though it's big and pretentious and rips off approximately 22 other artists (or three), I freakin' LOVE Viva La Vida. While it doesn't measure the epic of Viva in my mind, I am totally on board for Mylo Xyloto. They have this exuberance that's lacking in a lot of the more "important" music of the year, and when I listen to it, I smile and dance inside. (Highlights: Hurts Like Heaven, Paradise, Every Teardrop is a Waterfall)

And while I'm confessing my uncool tendencies, I really dig All Things Bright and Beautiful from Owl City. I didn't want to like it, but I was convinced to give him a chance, and this album caught me off guard with how delightful it is. Sometimes cheesy, always fun, bubbly synthpop that highlights a quirky personality. His songwriting is a little weird ("I swear / There's a lot of vegetables out there..."? And what the heck is an "alligator sky"?), but it's part of the charm. It just makes me happy, and sometimes, that's all you need. (Highlights: Angels, Dreams Don't Turn to Dust, Galaxies)

In Part the Third (and Final... I swear!)... my three most listened and loved albums of the year and a few late discoveries.

Awesome of 2011: Music Part 1

2012-01-05T10:00:00.000-05:00

Ah, the Top Whatever of the Year list. It's ubiquitous, it's obligatory, and it inevitably will leave somebody, somewhere calling foul. When it comes to music, I've grown to love and hate The List. I love to read them because they either remind me of great albums I heard at some point and forgot or finally persuade me to discover a new favorite. I hate the stressful feeling of whittling down and ranking my list. Who am I to say acclaimed, hipster-approved album of the year is a better, more worthwhile piece of music than that ignored record I actually listened to so many times I have every word memorized and still haven't gotten sick of it?

I already made a couple of Christian market lists this year.... one for JFH and another for Under the Radar's Critic's Panel. That was hard enough, but when I start factoring in all genres, it just gets messy.

So to kick off the 2nd Annual Awesome of the Year series, I thought I'd try something different for my top albums list. Rather than attempt to rank and file and convince you my picks are the best, I'm presenting a no-particular-order list of favorites divided into arbitrary categories. This is a multi-part post, because there were far too many to squeeze into one! I hope something fits your style and that you'll seek some of these out.

Sweet Singin' Duos

Did you hear about the indie band that popped out of nowhere and dominated iTunes for all of their street week in February 2011? The Civil Wars seem like an unlikely overnight sensation, but there were a few years of buzz leading up to their debut. Barton Hollow, the long-awaited debut LP, became a critical darling for good reason: sparse production, gorgeous melodies, spot-on harmony, and heartbreaking songwriting. I bought this at 7am on release day, and I still love to visit it now and then, especially as the days turn colder. (Highlights: I've Got This Friend, C'est La Mort, Poison & Wine, Barton Hollow)

In a similar vein, this was the year I discovered Over the Rhine. When I downloaded "The Laugh of Recognition," it was a "where have you been all my life?" moment. (and really, they've been making music almost my whole life.) Their latest release The Long Surrender is a richly layered mix of Americana folk, smoky barroom jazz, and soulful gospel choirs with stunningly poetic songwriting. Seriously, where has OTR been all my life? Oh yes... making music... as they were meant to be. Exploring their back catalog is a priority for 2012. (Highlights: The Laugh of Recognition, Rave On, Infamous Love Songs, All My Favorite People)

No really, I Hate Country Music

One of my favorite performances at last year's Grammy Awards was Mumford & Sons playing their hearts out together, and I ended up semi-involved in a Twitter debate/discussion whether it was possible to love that and still profess distate for country. I say yes. But still, country flavored music has been sneaking more and more into my listening these past few years, and it would be dishonest to ignore that fact. I'm a sucker for a good dose of banjo magic, and while it's not boots and beer cowboy music, the latest from The Decemberists The King is Dead certainly pushes me closer to that line. Trading in the dramatic metal/folk opera tendencies of The Hazards of Love for a sound closer to REM and rootsy Americana, with some appropriate help from Peter Buck and Gillian Welch, this record has an honest, earthy vibe I love, and I find it a joyous listen every time. (Highlights: Don't Carry it All, Calamity Song, Down by the Water, Rox in the Box, June Hymn)

Underground, Underrated, And Rabbit Approved

As always, some of the best music on earth is hidden treasure, and the secret to finding the good stuff is following websites and friends who have better taste than you. I'm fan of almost everything endorsed by The Rabbit Room, and once again, they showed me a couple of gems that I might have missed otherwise.

Before I noticed the Josh Garrels buzz on Noisetrade, I saw a rather gushing post about his new album Love & War & the Sea In Between on The Rabbit Room, which is generally enough to at least get me curious. And wow, is it great. The lyrics are the heart of a poetic folk songwriter, but the music is a stunning mix of earthy acoustics, gritty urban beats, and stirring orchestration. Oh yeah, and it's free until June. Get thee to his website and enjoy. (Highlights: Farther Along, The Resistance, Ulysses, Beyond the Blue) My JFH review

Speaking of epic... Ben Shive's The Cymbal Crashing Clouds was a record I couldn't get enough of in the latter half of 2011. This indie project surpassed all my expectations as a whimsical, brilliant record that meshes elements of The Beach Boys, The Beatles, and alternative pop with dreamlike imagery, witty lyricism and modern parables. From the opening train whistle of "Listen!" (and who knew a train whistle could sound so lovely?) to the beautifully sad and hopeful closer "A Last Time for Everything," this is a journey worth taking again and again, and opens itself to something new with every listen. Plus, there's a super cool illustrated book to go with it. Amazing. (Highlights: Listen! EGBDF, The Fall, She's Invincible, A Last Time for Everything... oh, all of it.)

Next Week: Christian music doesn't have to suck, new albums by a few of my favorite artists, and how I kissed my imaginary hipster cred goodbye.

The R Word

2012-01-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

"So did you make any New Year's Resolutions?" my mom asks between bites of salad. It's a casual question that probes deep, sort of like an obligatory "How are you?"

I tell the truth. "Of course not." Except it's a half truth, because I have a few little hopes and goals trolling around in my head, though I'm scared to attach the "R Word" to my dreams and murder them before they have a fighting chance.

Because aren't we all good at self-sabotage at the beginning of a new year, or is it just my own lack of discipline? My track record isn't so great.

Taking a photo a day in 2008? Nope.
Editing my 2009 NaNoWriMo novel? Abandoned.
A gracious do-over through my 2010 Photo a Day blog? Didn't make it past February.

But we try, oh how we all try on. There's something about writing the date 1/1 that awakens a hope that maybe this will be the year we meet that goal, and maybe this will be a chance to refocus on that dream, whether we speak it out loud or harbor it secretly as a hope.

So here's to the R Word. A few small and/or slightly ridiculous hopes for 2012.

1) Make this the Year of the Poet. I have a stack of poem drafts begging for completion, and I want to pretty them up and let them go. I'm not sure how this will happen. Ideally, I'd love to surround myself with a few poetry nerds that will tell me when they suck and nudge me toward making them better. I also hope to have a chapbook's worth put together by mid-spring.

2) Find the book inside me. I know it's there. I don't know what it is. Maybe it fits under #1, or maybe it's something else entirely. I don't plan to write one... just find it. And if something more comes of it, then bonus. Besides, I added my name to this list, so...

3) Try an unconventional journaling habit. I have this crazy urge to document things (like the reading list here on the blog), and at some point last year I thought it would be fun to jot down first impressions of every album I hear. This year, I'm seriously going to do it.

I figure forcing quick pieces will not only help me as a music writer with actual reviews and year end lists, but will also be a bit of geeky fun at the end of the year.

4) Read thirty books this year. By my "crazy urge to document" count, I seem to average twenty books a year, give or take a few, not really accounting for the abandoned ones. In 2007, the year after I graduated college, I read fifty. I'm setting my goal a little higher than average and lower than crazy.

Things I Will Not Resolve to Do

1) Exercise.
2) Write every day.
3) Get 8 hours of sleep a night.
4) Write shorter blog posts.

PS: Awesome of 2011 lists are coming in the next couple weeks. At least one person asked if I was making a best concerts list again, so it totally must happen. :)

The year is going, let him go...

2011-12-31T20:00:00.000-05:00

"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true..."
~ Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam (Ring Out Wild Bells)

Whether 2011 was marked by heartbreak or hope, mourning or celebration, goodbyes or hellos or moving in the same direction, may you look back with gratitude and look forward with wonder. Happy New Year!

I might have gotten a little emotional watching this year in review from Google.

(Thanks Melony McKaye)

You Belong. (2011 Revisited)

2011-12-30T09:00:00.000-05:00

The last of the 2011 Revisited posts, originally from September 29. Words can't express how much a weekend in Nashville meant to me this year, but I tried. I also tried again here, in a guest blog for Centricity Nation. Thanks for re-reading these with me the past two weeks... Happy New Year!

I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain this past weekend. When I try to distill everything down to its essence, two words surface over and over again.

You belong.

A week ago today, in a small church tucked in a tree-lined street far from home, a hundred or so people gathered -- a few I'd met before, and most whose names I’d only seen on my computer screen. As Andrew Peterson closed a Square Peg Alliance concert with "Many Roads," a song I'm sure I've heard a hundred times (and at least four or five live), those two words came to mind and settled there like a sigh. Maybe it’s because he saved it for the end instead of the beginning of the show, or maybe it was being in an unfamiliar town, but somehow, I truly heard his words for the first time that night. This time, I was the traveler who had come so far just to take part in a story.

"You can see the roads that we all traveled just to get here,
A million minuscule decisions in a line.
Why they brought us to this moment isn't clear,
But that's all right.
We've got all night."

So began the Hutchmoot.

Hutchmoot is a vague concept; even the people that host it say so. In the weeks leading to the trip, I found it hard to tell people why I was taking off for a few days. What was I looking for?

Was it a conference? A retreat? A gathering for so-called "creatives"? Music and book lovers? A place to learn to be a better writer, musician, or artist?

Sort of?

The thing about a mass gathering of The Rabbit Room is this: those who’ve experienced this community, who love the people behind it, who get a thrill out of stories and poetry, could probably figure it out right away. Those who haven't, I suspect, may find it hard to understand the point, or maybe they will take a curious risk and be pulled right in. And once you’re in, it's hard to walk away unchanged. Maybe even impossible.

Hutchmoot is a place to rally around our passions, where strangers become friends in minutes, and the simplest dinner is a work of art. We can geek out and quote lines from our favorite books without feeling judged, or take a spontaneous walk with people we barely know and feel safe. We know music can transform hearts and a poem can make a slit through the veil between heaven and earth, even if for just a moment.

But most of all, in just a few short days, it became an extended family. It sounds crazy, but like the best crazy things, it just might be true. I won't deny that even though I'd been waiting six months to finally reach that place, the moment I pulled into The Church of the Redeemer's parking lot, the familiar panic of uncertainty set in. I rarely feel at home in crowds of new people, and even though I'd been talking to many of these folks online, there's no way of knowing how those relationships will translate face to face between the very real people behind avatars and screen names.

But by the time we settled down to dinner, the first of Evie's beautiful and delicious meals, I knew it was all going to be okay.

There is far, far more to those four days than I can begin to describe. The sessions were conversations on the art that moves us, whether listening to songwriters share insights on the craft or watching two writers express their unashamed passion for poetry. And there were no walls between us. No pretension or posturing, no sitting with the "cool people," no division between those who "made it" and those who haven't. Even when Redeemer transformed into a full-fledged concert venue for Jason Gray's album release show on Friday night, it still felt more like a bunch of friends celebrating the accomplishments of one of our own than just another event.

We gathered to enter and, just for a weekend, live among each other's stories, share some laughs and tears and food, and be present and alive.

In Marilynne Robinson's Gilead, a lovely little book that seemed to come up a lot in conversation, Heaven is described as this: "In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets." If this is true -- and I believe it is, more than ever -- I'd like to think this weekend was a peek behind the curtain, hinting of that time. I'd like to think our new friendships will carry us further into the tale, even as we go our separate ways, and someday we’ll gather at a new table and retell Thomas McKenzie’s story about blowing up the Taylor Mart. (a true one that is already legendary)

I puzzled all weekend over a small card in my folder with the lyrics and chords to "Jesus, We Are Grateful" by Jason Gray. That song was a particularly magical moment live, with the little church about to burst with song, but I never was sure why we were given this. Now that I look back, if “Many Roads” was the welcoming, then I wonder if this was a benediction to send us back to the everyday.

"We will follow into family
And be seated at your table
Where matchless grace
Of an orphan makes
A child of God in full."

Again, I hear it. You belong.

Random Acts of Awkward Kindness. (2011 Revisited)

2011-12-29T09:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted August 17. More random life/humor. This goes out to my introvert friends.

Most days, I am okay with myself. By that I mean, I'm okay with being introverted, a little weird, but comfortable with my quiet, reflective personality. I used to stress all the time when people wouldn't talk to me (is there something wrong with me? Why don't they like me?) or worry if I appeared standoffish or snobby. But I learned that there's nothing wrong... it's just who I am. Over the years, I've gotten better at relating to people, just enough that sometimes I can even trick others into thinking I'm friendly and sociable. (Ha!)

But then... well... sometimes Introversion's evil sidekicks Neurotic and Insecure show up, and I am back in high school again...

Today seemed like a good day for Chinese food. I have a writing project to edit, and in the middle of a fairly busy week some time away from the office to recharge was necessary. So I grabbed my notebook and drove down the street to my favorite little quick Chinese place for some chicken and broccoli, just me, a pen and paper, and my iPod. Eating alone isn't so bad when I have a way to occupy my ears and hands.

The bad thing about this place is the small size, though every table is built for, like, six. It's not uncommon to see one or two people at a big cushy booth, and right in the middle, there's a row of tables pushed together to seat eight. Sometimes, there are empty seats everywhere, but nowhere to sit alone.

So, I saw a booth, mentally claimed it, and ordered my food, but a smart-dressed young lady grabbed it before I could finish paying. Shoot. Bewildered, I stood in the middle of the place, considering the virtues of sitting outside in Florida August.

"Do you need a seat?"

Long Table was occupied by two guys and six empty chairs. Every introvert cell in my body pushed my brain to say "no thanks," but the small and well-trained sociable part made my mouth say, "Sure. Thanks."

So I sat, at the end of the table with Friendly Hipster and Scruffy Texter. These are their names, because I never bothered to get the real names. Friendly Hipster even kindly picked up some soy sauce for me on a trip to the counter, but for the most part, I just ate my food and listened to them talk about where Scruffy Texter was going to take his girlfriend for dinner.

A billion things go through my already hyperactive mind in a situation like this. What is the proper "sitting with strangers unexpectedly" ettiquette? Politely accept, then let them have their space and conversation? Politely accept, and introduce myself? Converse, make small talk? Or should I have declined because they didn't really expect some random confused girl to actually sit with them?

And so, as Neurotic and Insecure argued over "eating-with-strangers" etiquette, I scarfed down my chicken and broccoli, fiddled with my iPod, and retreated to my comfortable happy bubble. I didn't write a word either.

Finally, as I scooted my chair back, wondering how to properly say thanks and excuse myself, Friendly Hipster smiled really big and said, "Hey, nice talking with you!"

Sarcasm? Yippee. Fortunately, I am fluent.

"You too! Thanks for the seat. Have a great day."

There's an idealistic part of me that really, truly wants to connect with people. An introverted personality (which is, I believe, a gift and not a problem that needs to be fixed) doesn't mean I don't like people. I don't want to seem standoffish, and I believe with all my heart that gestures like these make a better world. All around us are people who are made in the same image, who are loved and unique and have stories.

I want to know those stories. And I want to make everyone I meet feel loved, honored, human. That's how I feel when I'm invited to a stranger's table, but I don't know how to give it back.

So Friendly Hipster and Scruffy Texter: Thanks. Really. Perhaps someday, I'll do the same for someone else. I'm bad at small talk, but maybe I'll find a way to crack the ice, even learn their names, get a glimpse of the life that's being written. Maybe I'll share a paragraph of my story too.

But then again, you might have to talk to me first.

Have you ever unexpectedly eaten with strangers?

Village Facts (2011 Revisited)

2011-12-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

Originally Posted July 5. I like writing these random humor posts once in a while. I should do it more often. Also, we tried again with GPS, and that didn't help either.

So this weekend, my sister and I decided to go find the Barnes & Noble 8 miles from our house. I've always known it was there, even visited once, but for some reason never actually drove there myself. Why not? I love bookstores. So we Google Mapped it and went in search of books and coffee and a quiet place for me to write.

An hour and 30 miles later, we gave it up.

See, the only B&N less than an hour from my house is in The Villages. For those who don't live around here and have never experienced the wonder that is The Villages... basically it's a cross between a touristy theme park and a beach town without a beach. But it's a retirement community.

They have special roads for golf carts. This place is hardcore.

So, after following the directions to the letter, yet driving around and around shopping areas, traffic circles, across bridges, and almost heading straight into more than one gated residential area, I made several conclusions about this magical place.

1) Navigating The Villages is worse than navigating downtown Orlando. I have inside jokes with friends about misadventures in O-Town, with or without GPS. But at least once you find I-4, it's all okay. One way roads aren't quite as scary as circle roads.

2) The Villages is Hotel California. Once I finally broke free from the actual town and found the main road home, we did a little celebrating in the car. And then here I am, driving along, and I see a billboard cheerfully announcing "The Villages! 3 miles then right!" (And yes, I literally screamed, "This place is freakin' Hotel California!!!!")

3) The Zombie Apocalypse will probably begin in The Villages. Actually, Sherri is the one who said this. And if it is, I don't want to be trapped there when Z-Day cometh.

There is one bright spot to this story... we found a yummy froyo place 3 miles from my house. Too bad it took 30 miles of driving to get there.

Moral of the Story: Take GPS next time.

The Cost of Free? (2011 Revisited)

2011-12-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted June 23. An intriguing topic, though I feel this only skimmed the surface... worth revisiting?

photo © 2008 my dog sighs | more info (via: WylioThis is a really strange time to be in the business of music. Between iPods, digital records, album leaks, and online radio, there is no shortage of new artists to discover and new sounds to explore. Home studios, eclectic playlists, albums streaming for weeks before street date (huzzah NPR First Listen), and the floor open for anyone to share reviews have done a lot to "level the playing field," as it were.

I admit, I consume way more than I probably should, and my dual jobs of music writer and radio girl are partly to blame, even though I suppose keeping up with as much as I can is a necessity. (and how many jobs can claim that?) Factor in Noisetrade and aforementioned album streams, and I get to hear an abnormal amount of music without spending a dime. And I love that. It's awesome to have such a vast world of sounds as close as my iPod.

But what's the cost?

I happened to catch a tweet from Ben Shive last night that got me thinking:

Huh. Interesting point. How often do I flip through my iTunes library and say, "oh! I forgot I had that!" or "Where did I get that? And why did I get that?"

I wonder if the real cost of free is that it cheapens the experience in a way. When I download an album, say from Noisetrade, because it looks cool, or even buy it from Amazon because it's cheap, sometimes I won't listen to it for weeks. Sometimes I forget it's even there.

When I buy a CD, I rip off the plastic and put it in my car stereo first chance I get. If it's good (and I usually want it to be, because I stood in line a store and paid somebody for it), I'll let it sit and spin in my player for a few listens. Maybe even days and miles. I absorb the sounds, the lyrics, the feelings. It feels more real and satisfying.

And then there's Kickstarter. I invested in a few projects this year, including Ben Shive's new record The Cymbal Crashing Clouds. To invest in something before it exists is a strange and wonderful thing that takes appreciation and attachment to a whole new level. I suspect when I get this record in my earbuds, it will become one of my newest favorites.

So again, I wonder... when it comes to art, what is the cost of free? Without some sort of exchange, does art feel less meaningful? Or is it meant to be free to reach as many ears, eyes, minds, and hearts as possible?

What do you think?

Do. Love. Walk. (2011 Revisited)

2011-12-26T13:01:00.000-05:00

Merry Day After Christmas! In the "hustle and bustle," I forgot to schedule my last week for 2011 Revisited. Here's a post from May 6, a contribution to Rachel Held Evans' Rally to Restore Unity, in which writers across the blogosphere reflected on Christian unity.

photo © 2006 Jeff M for Short | more info (via: Wylio)In some ways, I suppose there are fringe benefits to growing up in the Christian faith but not necessarily deep in the church. For us, it was simply the thing you did on Sundays: small, quiet, Baptist, with dress clothes, hard pews, old pianos and the dry, ancient smell of hymnals. Maybe things were calmer then, or maybe at such a young age I just didn't know anything about church politics and theological drama. Christians were Christians. Easy enough.

In high school, I got my first true taste of another side when I visited a friend's more charismatic church. For a mild-mannered Baptist girl, it was like stepping into another dimension, and at first, it was amazing. By then, I was hooked on CCM and questioning some of the stronger ideas I'd discovered, and besides, the church of my younger days seemed stuffy, boring, and smelled of potlucks and old lady perfume. I wanted life, and this church felt... well, they felt! Clapping, dancing, joyful singing!

Yes, I thought, this is what Christians are supposed to look like. Happy, dangit.

It wasn't until they got to long, awkward silences and slightly frightening praying in tongues that I fully realized I was in foreign territory. Turns out this wasn't for me after all, and I found myself just as disillusioned with their concept of worship. I've had a lot of fascinations since then -- the Reformed passion for sound doctrine, the Emergent embrace of mystery, the rich history and ancient symbolism of the liturgy -- and though I've now settled in a church that feels like home and developed a nostalgic soft spot for pews and hymnals, I've come to see a kind of beauty in them all.

What is it about the people of God that makes us such a fragmented, patchwork group where the austere and emotional, the intellectual and earthy, the thinkers and feelers can all be part of the same family? Perhaps the answer's in the question.

We are a family.

A huge, sprawling, beautiful, dysfunctional family, under the head of Christ, scattered to the ends of the earth, but somehow -- somehow -- a complete body he uses to accomplish redemption.

We have our pockets of smaller families, mini-cultures, and when we cross at reunions, we may look at that crazy uncle or snobby cousin and wonder how we could possibly be related. But look closer. There are common quirks, similar features, a holy DNA that binds us with people we'd just as soon never meet, only gathering because of blood relation and Grandma's chicken and dumplings. (Assuming we're a weird Southern family. Insert your own reunion food of choice here.)

There's a reason Jesus, weeping and sweating blood in Gethsemane, prayed for us to be one. For centuries, we've fragmented and fought over many things, the important and the trivial alike, as families often do. Not all Christians are like this; thankfully, there are many, many thoughtful, nuanced, wise and loving believers who recognize that we can be united and civil without agreeing on everything, and they strengthen each other with their perspectives.

But what do we do when things get heated, when we blow up Twitter with theology wars or get in long, frustrated arguments over everything from proper reactions to a terrorist's demise to pop song lyrics? How do we scrounge together something resembling unity, so the world might see not just the two-faced broken humans we are, but the light that enters to make us something more, priests and royalty?

There's a hint, I think, tucked in the back of a book by one of the minor Prophets, long before Jesus prayed for his people on a night the world would never forget:

He has told you, O man, what is good;
And what does the LORD require of you
But to do justice, to love kindness,
And to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8)

Do -- fight injustice, pursue truth and speak it in love, perhaps even give each other the benefit of the doubt and a fair listening ear before tossing a stone.
Love -- value kindness, seek understanding, and (to borrow a line from two songs) "love mercy more than being right."
Walk -- in the quiet knowledge that none of us are all right, in the truth that none of us have it all together, but by some miracle, grace doesn't leave us as it found us.

All that's required. Bigger than politics, theology, differences and debate.
This is what holds a family together.

***

(my sign! every rally needs one.)

And this is my humble contribution to the Rally to Restore Unity synchroblog hosted by Rachel Held Evans this week. If you resonate with this, I encourage you to check out some of the other posts at Rachel's blog (so much great writing!), and perhaps contribute to the Rally’s Charity:Water campaign. Because we can all agree on clean water, right?

Record Store Day 2011

2011-12-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted April 18, 2011. One of those "blog about stuff you love" posts... and I love Record Store Day! This was a fun one.

Five Minute Friday was forgotten due to late night birthday partying and helping eight little girls learn how to tie-dye. Never mind that I've never tie-dyed before until now. We made pink awesomeness together.

But Saturday was the best holiday ever invented... Record Store Day! The glorious day in which we wait an hour and a half just to go inside a record store and rush to find exclusive vinyl treasures and celebrate the magical world of indie music sellers.

Trust me, it's fun.

This was my second RSD experience, but the first where I knew what I was doing. Lindsay and Sherri joined me. We met up at the lovely Park Ave CDs fairly early, but not early enough to beat the epic line down the street. But somehow, even with the Florida heat and the waiting, it was still fun. People of all ages (and "scenes," if you will) gathering to pick up some elusive special or other, a local screen printing company making t-shirts in the parking lot, a great live DJ and the friendly PACDs staff making sure every one was taken care of and keeping the chaos to a minimum. We chatted and watched people and tried to guess what they were there to buy. ("What do you think Green Hair Kid is here for?" "My Chemical Romance. And some hardcore stuff.")

There's a thrill to it. It reminded me of a music festival, the real kind where you get sweaty and dirty but don't care because it's for the love of the music. (made me a little nostalgic for Cornerstone FL actually) Mostly, it feels like belonging, and reminds me once again how deeply music has become a part of my life. It's not just a nice thing... it's good and necessary, bringing people together and making the world more beautiful.

I guess, in many ways, a rather large portion of my life is devoted to this art. I can't make music to save my life. But my day job is soaked in it, I write about it, I travel with it and get it stuck in my head. There's the music I turn to for nostalgia, or comfort, or clarification, or just to get outside myself and connect with a kindred soul, some I've met, many more I haven't.

Something sacred happens between the notes, and perhaps that's why we gather around our favorite songs.

Our souls were made to sing.

By the way, this is my RSD haul. Not a whole lot, because I was trying to restrain myself, but I got what I came for...

Anberlin's Cities double vinyl: the big thing Lindsay and I were aiming for. This album has been a very important part of our lives, and this band was the initial glue of our amazing friendship. And there were two left on the shelf when we made it there. Yes!

The Civil Wars' Dance Me to the End of Love 7": My newest musical obsession. And this song, oh, this song. Pretty sure I want to dance to this at my wedding. On vinyl.

Coachella Sampler: One from the freebie table, and my most pleasant surprise. So many good songs on this from a wide variety of genres. So many artists I now think I need to delve further into. Jenny and Johnny, The Swell Season, Cee-Lo Green, Kills... ugh, there's not enough time for it all, but at least this is a great introduction.

Yep. All in all, a successful day.

Pictures at Lindsay's blog. I was going to steal them but Tumblr won't let me. But go visit her anyway, because she rocks. =)

Lenten Lesson 1

2011-12-22T06:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted March 23, 2011. On failing at Lent. :)

photo © 2007 Frédéric DUPONT | more info (via: Wylio)So here it is, two weeks into 40 Days of Water. I guess I should tell you bright and cheerful things about my experience... that I'm sleeping better, my caffeine withdrawal headaches are gone, I'm even making it to work on time (!) and generally feeling awesome. Water only isn't such a bad deal, and I feel honored and humbled to know I'm a small part of a movement to help bring clean water to Africa. All of that would actually be true.

It's also true that Lent is a season of making efforts in some fragile, flailing attempt to honor Christ's sacrifice, but in this yearly quest to be more like Jesus, there are some things I end up learning and re-learning every year.

So here's Lesson 1: You're only human.

In the past, giving up one small thing wasn't such a big deal. I mean I missed it and all, but I could swap my Starbucks for Earl Grey and call it a day. Giving up everything though, has been such a shift in so many habits.

One day in the first week, I went to pick up coffee for some friends at work. No big deal.

Except I was sleepy and moody and just wanted something to quell my nerves and that sick feeling and get me through the afternoon. Is it stupid to admit I was weakened by something so minor? Because yes, I was.

My internal dialogue kicked in, the conversation going something like this:

Man, I want coffee.
No, don't! Remember Africa? You're going to deny two people a year's supply of water???
I know! I didn't forget. I... I'll still count the money.
It's the principle of the thing. You didn't give anything up.
But I didn't take my Sabbath or anything. I'll repent and count double then!
You selfish dirtbag.

Something like that.

So the circle goes, appetite vs conscience, humanness vs my lofty spiritual goals, all the way up to the counter.
I tugged my sleeve over my 40 Days bracelet
and sheepishly ordered a tall iced coffee.

There I was, driving back to work depressed at my moral failure (but perking up after the caffeine), until I realized that, once again, it has nothing to do with the thing I tried to give up. I was in a wrestling match with the tension of selfless sacrifice and prideful self-righteousness.

Is it borderline blasphemy to say I pictured God chuckling and saying, "oh Jen, get over yourself and enjoy your coffee"? I sure hope not.

Sacrifice is hard. Christlikeness is a near impossibility. At least, it is if I try to do it on my own. I delight in freedom from works and legalism and condescending glares, but sometimes it's good to impose a little law on myself as a reminder.

I am bought with a price. I am being made new. I am running, struggling, condemning myself to serve pigs when back home I have a loving Father waiting to welcome me as a daughter, not a slave.

Yes, I know it's only a stupid cup of coffee. I know it's not a sin, but merely breaking my little self-made rules and in the grand scheme of things, not a big deal at all. But it did teach me something, perhaps not to be so hard on myself. That if I fail in my commitment, I can shake it off and start again.

If you're participating in 40 Days, sacrificing something else this season, or even just catching yourself struggling against your vices and demons, know this: you're only human. You're a work in progress. You will fall and you will fail, but you are precious and loved, and that's why holiness is an ongoing pursuit and in the end, grace remains to catch you.

And nothing is more comforting than that.

40 Days in the Wilderness (sort of)

2011-12-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted March 9, 2011. On Lent and participating in Blood:Water Mission's 40 Days of Water campaign.

Up until a few years ago, I barely understood the concept of Lent... I mean, I grew up Baptist. Relationships, not rituals. In my mind, purging on Tuesday, ashes on Wednesday, and fasting until Easter Sunday was just another "Catholic thing."

It was only several years ago that I finally understood, when I noticed that quite a few of my friends -- Protestant, non-liturgical friends -- were giving things up for Lent. Coffee, chocolate, meat... even Facebook. So I read about it. I contemplated it. I wasn't sure what to think... isn't grace enough? Does God really care if you refrain from checking your Twitter feed or grabbing a Starbucks? Doesn't he want us to enjoy life?

Then I felt it. Not in a "God told me" dramatic sort of way, but a little nudge inside.

"Give up coffee."

Um, sure. Very funny. I like my beans, but I'm not addicted. I can quit anytime I want. Freedom in Christ, yo.

My friend Jeff decided to give up meat. Not that he was a really big meat guy anyway, but he was going to live the life vegetarian for 40 days. "It's not about what you give up," he said. It was about sacrifice and self-denial. He'd been practicing the Lenten sacrifice for years.

"Give up coffee."

Well... it kind of made sense. But I wasn't sure I was ready.

Then I read this and it made even more sense:

"And lately I'd been noticing how Easter kept sneaking up on me. Suddenly it was there, without warning...which never happens with Christmas. Christmas never sneaks up on us, because we begin preparing for it as soon as we get the dishes washed after the Thanksgiving meal. I realized that was the role the Lenten season played: it made me anticipate the coming of Easter, which made the celebration of the resurrection that much more meaningful."

On Ash Wednesday, I was driving home from work, so tired I honestly thought I'd fall asleep. I stopped by Starbucks and picked up a coffee. Normally no big deal, but I felt that little tap on the shoulder again, that little vague notion that Easter did sneak up on me. Every year. It would again. It always did.

So I gave up coffee for 40 days. And then I understood.

Because that's the thing: anticipation. Sacrifice. Forty days in a self-imposed wilderness. Oh sure, giving up some luxury you could live without anyway isn't exactly bread and water. When you think about it, it's suffering lite compared to... well, anything Jesus went through.

But it shifted something in me. It wasn't about the coffee or even really the giving up. It was about looking forward to a celebration. Waiting. Expectancy.

On Easter morning, I arrived at Sea World way before dawn for the annual Sunrise Service to volunteer, greet people and collect offerings. I had never in my life been so elated to see one of those silver pots of liquid goodness. And let me tell you... for this not-morning-person, it was the best coffee ever.

But when we were there, thousands of us singing in the face of a new day breaking, I knew. In the tears and the shouts and the wild, crazy hope, I knew.

And it wasn't about the coffee.

This is my third year observing Lent, a practice that has transformed the way I look at Easter. Normally, I'd be simply swapping my cup of java for a cup of tea, but this year, the "nudge" is in a different direction, this time, looking toward Africa and the work of an organization called Blood:Water Mission.

B:WM was founded in 2004 with the mission to promote clean blood and clean water efforts in sub-saharan Africa, building wells and sharing hope in some of the world's poorest nations. They host a number of projects and campaigns throughout the year, but one of the biggest is 40 Days of Water, a nationwide campaign that coincides with the Lenten season to not only raise awareness for the clean water crisis in Africa, but also raise funds to do something about it. It's about giving up all beverages other than tap water and donating the money you save to B:WM who will in turn use it to build wells.

A dollar can provide clean water for one African for a year.

A year. For less than the cost of one typical drink eating out.

And imagine the dollars and efforts of many put together. It's sobering and inspiring all at once.

So, starting today, it's water only, with hope and knowing that redemption is happening, even now. That is the truest story of Easter.

My Least of These

2011-12-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted February 21, 2011

photo © 2009 Sean Hickin | more info (via: Wylio)A couple weeks ago, my sister and I ventured out to Mt. Dora to check out the local art festival. It was a beautiful day for it, just a little cool and overcast, but at least not raining. After circling downtown for a while, we finally paid the 5 bucks to secure a quiet spot behind a run-down gas station, then took the several-block walk down Fifth Avenue to find the party.

Downtown really comes alive during this festival, drawing artists from all over the country with colorful booths to display, share, and sell their work. But there was one group I didn't expect to see...

Sign-carrying street evangelists. Yup.

A small crowd in red t-shirts, holding up garish signs announcing that Jesus Loves You and Repent Before It's Too Late and such. A gray-haired Southern preacherly type paced back and forth announcing, "God wants to have a relationship with you! You think you can serve God however you want and still be saved? You can't just have it on your terms!" They were everywhere, stretched across the entrance to the festival, lining the sidewalks to hand tracts off to anyone they could.

I don't say this to be rude or disparaging toward them. Actually, with the exception of the preacher and the loud signs and the fact that they were kind of clogging up the entrances, they weren't doing anything disruptive, mostly just hanging back and offering tracts. I remember the guy that used to stand on the corner at UCF, handing out horror tracts and screaming at students in an effort to get them saved, so these guys were nothing in comparison to him.

But there was still something... I don't know... embarrassing about it? Maybe because CynicalJen was holding her breath waiting for them to do something crazy? As a Christian, I cringe a little inside at this sort of thing, because I know there was a time I would've relished being a part of this. Now, I just wonder if anyone's ever been argued into the kingdom with a badly-designed tract when they wanted to shop for art. I wished that they had perhaps been giving out water or something, doing tangible things, loving on people.

I thought about them all day. And later, I had a scary thought.

Like it or not, I am part of the same Kingdom family. I'm supposed to love these people.

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’" - Matthew 25:40

We all know this verse.... the one about loving the least of these. From the earliest days of learning Jesus' teachings, we hear that when we treat the least either kindly or terribly, we are, in a sense, treating God the same. And often, this is interpreted to mean loving the poor, because right before this he was talking about food and clothing and visiting the sick and imprisoned.

But what if the least of these is more than that?

Loving the poor is easy. I can do that. I can love the lost and the losers, orphans and widows. Even enemies can be easier to love, because at least you don't expect much of anything from them.

But what about those right in my own family? What if "the least" includes the least popular, the least lovable, the least "normal"?

What about the legalists and cynics?
The screaming street preachers and smiling televangelists?
The sheltered and scared, too chained to religiosity and rule lists to realize they're free, tossing stones at those who stretch their wings to fly a little further?

Oh God... do I have to love the Westboro Baptist people too? That's really pushing it.

These are the hardest for me to love, and try as I might, I don't think I really can... at least, not in my bent, all too fragile human way. Oh, but I want to. I long to be so full of of Christ's light and love that it overflows and evaporates in the air around me. I want to radiate just the smallest fraction of the love that brings dead things to life and undoes the chilling winter of the soul, even if only enough to warm the ice.

I don't know how to get there, other than let him love through me and try, in the tiniest of ways, to see them as human, and yet more than that... beloved, sacred, crafted in the Maker's image.

Just as I've been seen. known. loved.

Who is your "least of these"?

Why I Hope You Don't Read My Blog (2011 revisited)

2011-12-19T06:00:00.000-05:00

So the Advent series is pretty much concluding, with a Christmas post next Sunday, of course. (!) In the meantime, I thought I'd steal an idea from Jon Acuff and spend the last ten weekdays of 2011 reposting ten favorites of the year. Whether you've seen them before or not, I hope you enjoy revisiting these with me!

This was originally written February 2. And I needed to read it again now. Enjoy!

photo © 2009 Markus | more info (via: Wylio)I've never been a fan of saying "God told me so." I've heard it said, and I believe it happens, but I never really had it happen to me. At least, not in a "voice-from-the-clouds-says-do-this" sort of way.

But it happens. Differently. It's more like a subtle needling, a little quiet poke here and there that works into my soul until I can't shake it. Sometimes, it's like God and the whole universe keeps setting down these little rocks for me to trip on until I learn. Typically, it's running into a truth over and over until it finally slaps me in the face and makes me listen.

This happened during our staff devotions last Thursday. We just started a study on Biblical peacemaking, but oddly enough, this lesson taught me about writing and fear.

To be honest, I don't fully remember why Esteemed Sensei Reggie Kidd referenced Albert Camus' The Plague in this lesson. (In fact, I'm going to confess to the Internet and the world that I was trying to catch up on my reading because I failed to do my homework the week before. Sorry, Sensei.) I think it was in a discussion of how the ultimate end of the deadly sins of pride and sloth is death, either murder or suicide in some fashion. But then he said something that snapped me back to attention...

There's this character in the book who's a writer. But he never finishes or shares, only talks about writing, and spends his days endlessly revising and tweaking and dreaming. All because he fears rejection.

And that, in a way, is "an extended form of suicide."

Ouch.

Just an hour later, I found that my writerly blogfriend Kristin shared a link to this on Twitter: Why You Secretly Want to Fail (Or Why Sharing Your Creativity is Like the Dream Where You're Naked) Turns out it's about how creatives suppress themselves to please others, proposing that some of us want to fail:

"Because if we bare all in our work, and our work is rejected, then we feel rejected as a whole person. We think we are our work."

Um... double ouch.

I am guilty of this. I hide my poetry in notebooks. I demean my work with names like scribblings and ramblings. Shoot, every time I post something on this blog, I second-guess and secretly hope nobody reads it (which is dumb, because if I didn't want anyone to read my stuff, I wouldn't have a stupid blog in the first place.) My most vulnerable (and often, my favorite) posts languish forever in a drafts folder, because I don't want to annoy anyone or go too far.

And yet, the blogs and stories and poetry and songs I am most drawn to are vulnerable. Honest. True. Things I desperately want to be, but seldom manage to pull off.

Extended suicide. That rings in my head.

I used to think my reluctance to share things I write was a kind of modesty, but these two little tripping stones taught me that it may be the opposite. I always believed stringing words together -- or any form of creativity -- was a gift, the sort of weird compulsive thing that gets in your blood and defines you forever.

So if it's that entwined in who you are, isn't denying and suppressing that thing actually smothering a deep, mysterious, beautiful part of your God-breathed being?

Ugh. So conflicting.

As I finish this, I'm second-guessing hitting the "publish post" button. I'm worried you'll think this is another whiny, self-indulgent, emo tortured writer tale, and I'm sure it possibly could be. But I also feel a need to name the fear and insecurity before I can go on. Hey, I might even share a link to this and start admitting I do this writing thing so people will actually read it. Who knows?

After reading the post, I tweeted Kristin to thank her and share the irony of her timing, concluding with "I think I'm supposed to learn something today..."

She replied, "yes, I think maybe you are supposed to learn something today. God is pretty wise, eh? :)"

Oh yes, yes he is.

Advent: Peace

2011-12-18T23:01:00.000-05:00

"You could've swept in like a tidal wave
Or an ocean to ravish our hearts
You could have come through like a roaring flood
To wipe away the things we've scarred

But you came like a winter snow
You were quiet
You were soft and slow
Falling from the sky in the night
To the earth below..."

***

Busy week. I didn't get to write a post about peace... but that's okay. I'll just let Audrey Assad's lovely song speak for itself. :)

Advent: Joy

2011-12-11T06:00:00.000-05:00

"No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found..."

***

This verse rarely seems to make the cut in modern versions of "Joy to the World." Maybe it's because hymns are often lengthy and difficult to get the head and voice around, or maybe thoughts of sorrow, thorns, and curses don't exactly drum up holiday cheer. But a lot of truth is in that forgotten third verse; it captures the soul of Advent, the waiting, the intense anticipation for reversal.

Far as the curse is found. Maybe farther. Hope, renewal, joy, flooding across the nearly-dead earth to drown the weeds.

The first great curse is that we toil, surviving by sweat and tears and waging battle against thorns and drought and disease. Of course the beauty is there, but our joys and sustenance are tempered by futility, the sense that we can never do enough, or be enough, or win.

But take heart, because the memory of Paradise sustains us, and the hope for renewal leads the way from winter's bitter sting to spring's gentle rain. The reversal has begun, and with the with heaven and nature we can sing.

Joy to the weary, broken, beautiful world.

Advent: Love

2011-12-04T16:00:00.000-05:00

"No hiding place
Ever kept her safe
So she hides inside herself.
Now to reach her heart
The only way
Is to hide in there as well
I will hide
in there
as well...."

***

It's a mystery, this Incarnation thing. It's no small wonder that into our chaos, peace could only come like this, quietly. In our human way, we would have expected a Messiah to be the kind that split the sky open, bellowing "Enough!" and slaying the evil, righting all that was broken. Wouldn't that be appropriate to a Pillar of Fire God, a God of Justice and Holiness?

But would we accept? Would we love? Or would we "die from the fear"?

Maybe the messy beauty of the Incarnation is in its simplicity and audacity. Star Igniter, World Shaper, one who could fling planets like pebbles into the universe then tenderly breathe life into a fistful of dirt, descending and entering among us, knit together in the womb of a frightened yet faithful girl, only to be born in the dirt and stench of a barn.

"How could she not love the helpless babe who is waking in her womb?"
How could we run from a Redeemer who loved enough to bend so low to meet us?

***

This song captures the spirit of Advent to me more than just about anything. And it messes me up every time I hear it. In a good way.

Advent: Soon.

2011-11-27T17:41:00.001-05:00

"'Advent' means 'coming' of course, and the promise of Advent is that what is coming is an unimaginable invasion...
An invasion of holiness.
That is what Advent is about...

In the meantime, we are in the dark, and the dark, God knows, is also in us. We watch and wait for a holiness to heal and hallow us, to liberate us from the dark. Advent is like the hush in a theater just before the curtain rises. It is like the hazy ring around the winter moon that means the coming of snow which will turn the night to silver.

Soon.

But for the time being, our time, darkness is where we are." ~ Frederick Buechner

***

In this first week of the Advent season, may hope ignite in your heart to push back the dark.

(PS: I'm working on an essay about Advent that I hope to share soon, but if you missed it, check out last year's first week post. It still holds true.)