The Eighth Day

Music. It's a gift we cherish, or appreciate, or take for granted. Or criticize.
God made it. Music is a creation of God, a miracle and a mystery the way the notes and noises come together in unity or functional discord, the way the math of it all is something discovered, something we didn't invent. And God said, "Let there be A-440, fundamentals, tonality, a universal language that resonates in the soul of humanity, creation, and the very cosmos,"and the evening and the morning were the eighth day, and it was good.

Eight. The eternal number. It just keeps looping around like an electron. If God rested on the seventh day, I'll bet He danced on the eighth.

I participate in the music. It's the gift I have, and the gift I give. I make music to give it away. Like a cake. You bake it to share it. The biggest difference is, everyone tends to eat the cake and say, "Yum, that was good." Or, "Thanks for making that cake." With music they want to give it a score, compete it with other musical genres, and worse still, instead of saying, "Yum, that was good," they say, "I want to do that; will you write a song with me?" Forget that it took years of training and a lifetime of practice, not to mention it is my talent, my coat of many colors (special gift from my Father). When it comes to writing songs, people tend to want their cake and eat it, too.

I practice. I work on my craft, both lyrically and musically. I agonize my way through the creative lifestyle and put up with the jokes presuming I am unorganized or "zoned-out." It's worth it to me, not to mention unavoidable, but if you want to write the songs, too, you'll have to pay your own price.

I can give the recipe. I do give the recipe. I teach. I mentor; but I cannot give the gift. The gift I have to give to the world is the gift of my own song. If I write you a song, I am giving you what I do best. I have climbed down into the deepest part of my being, and reached for the highest place in Heaven, searching for a melodious truth that will brighten your day or soothe your soul.

People come to me for song-smithing, but what they really want is to feel. That's what songs do best, they feel for you, they express the inexplicable. It takes a lot of courage to behold what is really in our souls. Writing a song unmasks you. It unveils the story shadowed by the lies people tell so they won't have to face the raw reality of heart-felt living.

I appreciate the appreciators of music. I want to create a feast of rhythms, rhymes, and harmonious insights. Will you come? Will you dance to my song?

And to you writers who want to give your own unique gift, I hope you discover your voice as a writer this coming year. Give it all you've got. Read books on the subject. Study music. Write, write, write, because practice makes perfect. Be brave! Set goals for your writing, and as you begin to collect songs, your unique gift will emerge.

Just Thinking

I was just thinking...it seems like things would go better if we lowered our expectations of people. That's where most of the complications begin. Families, strangers, lovers. We've somehow got the misguided notion that people should have our best interests at heart, and as our hearts sink with disappointment when they let us down, we are probably not too concerned about their interests.

So what happens if you lower your expectations of others, just go ahead and anticipate the pain, dismay, irritation, or stress they are predestined to cause you? I've tried it, and it didn't work. Well, maybe it worked, in a way, but it caused me to walk around with a sort of social malaise. Chronic disgruntlement. Hardly a heartache preventative. 

The truth is, I like believing in people. If I don't believe in you, I can't believe in me. We're created for more than settling. I love you just the way you are because you are amazing. Why can't that be okay, to love each other for the good, instead of "in spite of?" Realistically, though, love does happen "in spite of," not just when it is earned. That's partly the point of love, isn't it? Some call it grace. 

Perhaps then, it is not an issue of expectation, but of acceptance. Maybe things would go better if we all just walked around with an "I forgive you" button on our lapel, or at least an "I forgive you" smile on our faces. "I forgive you for letting me down." "I forgive you for having a better life than me," "I forgive you for singing better, for cooking better, for having a better career, for  knowing more scripture, for this, for that, for the other, for everything." "I forgive you for succeeding,""I forgive you for failing," "I forgive you for living," "I forgive you for dying." 

That's the way to deal with expectations. Forgiveness.