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. 

Fall Colors

Fall Colors

Fall is spectacular. I hadn't noticed, really, until this weekend when I was blissfully stuck at  a place in the almost mountains of Tennessee where none of my technology worked. No TV. no phone, no computer, no iPad, no radio, no stress. No doubt the world at the foot of those hills was going on just fine without me being plugged in to it, and when I descended from my sacred seclusion, I was no less informed for what I didn't know of the happenings below.

News. Such a broad word for such a small use of it. Health care, war, politics. News news news. Human beings missing the point of being human. We're made for love and connectedness, relationship with God, people, creation and ourselves. Most of the news, as far as I can tell, is about disconnectedness. At present our Country seems to be in a cold civil war. It's easier to hate a political party or a religion, though, than to have to face the angry sorrow of broken relationships within our homes, churches, or workplaces, or within out own hearts. Hence, the news.

My own heart. That's where the real news happens. I learned a long time ago that my problem was not low self-esteem, but low God esteem. Being rightly related to God covers a multitude of reasons to hate the world or myself. In my experience, God doesn't let me off the hook, but doesn't condemn me, either. It's like Fall. Things die, so things can be reborn.

So, I was cloistered this weekend with a bunch of real Christians. They're everywhere, real Christians. In fact, I suspect that many of the so-called fake Christians are being real as they know how to be. Who gets to make that call anyway? I just know that the people with whom I took communion on that mountain are the real deal and that I can count on them.

What is the distinction between a real Christian and a fake one? Is being real about telling all, the good the bad and the ugly? Is being real about living a Christian lifestyle perfectly? Which manual should I use for the guidelines of perfect Christianity? Baptist, Church of Christ, Nazarene, Lutheran, or Catholic? Technically, a genuine fake Christian would be someone who pretends to be a Christian in order to get something they want, right? They wear religion like a fake mustache.


Well, Groucho, who are you to judge? I get it. Hypocrites mess up church like moisture in the salt shaker.  Frankly, I'm sick of the word hypocrite being thrown around so loosely. I'm sure there are Jews, Muslim, Democrats, Republicans, and sports fans who are hypocrites, pretending to love the game so they can come to the parties, but it's like the world waits and watches for the Christians to stumble into a moment that taints the light.

The truth is, I don't prefer the company of the more judgmental Christians, the ones who wouldn't want a gay person in their church, or the ones who would leave because of the color of the new carpet. You know the type, the I'll-pray-for-you-so-I-don't-have-to-talk-to-you-opps-too-busy-to-pray Christians. I just don't get it, but I'm still glad they show up at somebody's church on Sunday. Church matters.  All in all, I'm glad for all Christians, fake or real, who gather to worship  God and lift up the name of Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord. It's an eternal use of time and collective energy.

I was sitting by a gas fireplace wondering if the fire burns as hot across the fake logs. Those logs won't be consumed. There's no mess to clean up. No ashes. Just a gas-line and flames. Fake logs with a real flame. And so I thought, maybe that's how it is with Christians. The fire is the Spirit. It's the Spirit that reaches people. God's word is proclaimed in many ways, through many voices.

Well, anyway, I'm an organic log for the Lord. And I was with some real logs this week-end, and we can all laugh together for the "foolishness of God that is wiser than the wisdom of man." It was a good use of time and spirit. My life is richer for it. My pain is less. My heart is full. And somehow, Fall is more spectacular.

Flying Monkeys in the Land of Oz

You learn to write by writing and if anyone responds, even if it’s

only your Mom, no, especially if it’s only your Mom, then you’ve done

something worthy of the time it took to do it. My Mom was my first

barometer, because she took such delight in each new song, or cried if

it moved her, or quoted my lyrics to friends who needed

encouragement. She would give recordings of my songs to people,

clerks at checkout counters, the Charlie's Chips delivery man, or friends

at work, and tell them, “You need to hear this; it will help you.” She

did not get me a single career connection, did not enter me in beauty

pageants, and did not promote me to talent scouts. I’m sure she would

have, but she was too busy responding to my music from her soul, and

if it helped her, it would help others. Her honest heart-felt response

and the piano she bought for me were the best gifts she could have

ever given me, that and a glimpse of faith. I began my artistic

journey with the firm belief that my music mattered, that it was

powerful, and that people needed what I had to offer.

A song is art. That is its spiritual power. That’s how it heals,

comforts, compels you to dance, or gets stuck in your head; because it

is art.

The music industry is the business that makes the art available to

people. This seems so basic, but it is so easily forgotten. My Mother

didn’t care if there was a music business and neither do any of the

other people who are moved by your music.

I had the privilege of writing with some of Nashville’s top writers

the first year I moved to town. One of them had a string of hits

happening. He was making great money and was in high demand. He

said to me, “Start right now giving your music the priority. You have to

take time to write. It’s the most important thing you do, but time to

write will be the first thing to go once you get into the business.” He

was right. Suddenly you’re at this meeting and that meeting, number

one parties and how-to panels, playing writer’s night after writer’s

night contributing to the vibe of the town and gradually writing less of

your best. The distractions will swoop and swirl around you like those

creepy flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz. The tyranny of the urgent

overtakes the important, and if its not the biz doing it to you, it will be

relationships, financial pressures, family, the dog, alcohol, or getting

the oil changed in your Corolla.

Once you sign your first publishing deal, the danger becomes

writing for the industry instead of for the people who need your songs.

On the streets of music row you hear much complaining about the

sad state of radio, the same songs being played over and over, the

same songs being played over and over (see what I mean?). This is

one of the few things that has never changed since I’ve been in the

business. It is because most writers and the publishers who sign them

quickly forget the rule my friend taught me. Don’t let anything get in

the way of the writing, not even flying monkeys.

MUSIC IS MUSIC

Published in article for Power Source Magazine. My column is called UnCommon Sense: God's Gift of Creativity.

Ever observed your musical week? Just pay attention to what you hear. Let’s see, this week I listened to some old time gospel, Turn Your Radio On kind of stuff, sang some classic hymns like When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, heard some current Country hits, listened to the Civil Wars, Adele, me, Chopin, and a rap song by…what was his name??? Oh yeah, Macklemore. In my head I had songs pop up like John Denver’s Annie’s Song, and at some point Build Me Up Buttercup and the William Tell Overture, (which is a mental phenomenon that happens to me any time I’m in a hurry). Finally, throw in a contemporary worship song or two and the theme songs to all the TV shows I’ve watched, and you’ve got a summary of my typical musical week.

Sounds diverse, doesn’t it? Not very unusual, either, but here’s the thing. Most people really only hear two categories in that list: commercial and classical. And don’t count the William Tell Overture because it crossed over as the theme to the Lone Ranger and possibly a Bugs Bunny episode or two. So that leaves us with Chopin versus all the other more popular music. 

And here’s the thing about THAT – in certain circles, a Chopin track is called a “composition” or “piece” while the rest are called “songs.”

I am intrigued by the distinction between songs and compositions because it sometimes becomes divisive, and musical wars really break my heart. Poor me. It’s never going to change, this aural tug of war that started so long ago when the first renegade writer added a note to the Gregorian Chant. I am perplexed though, as to why I IV V is considered more highfalutin than the 1 4 5 of song charts. Granted, you can’t very well chart a Chopin piece, but the scripting of music is only for the sake of communication. Music is the language of the soul, said Martin Luther, and the notes  on a page are empty without the passion to feel them.

My grandmother could play Chopin, What a Friend We Have in Jesus, and the Boogie Woogie on the piano, all with such joy that it desegregated the music.

The other day I asked a friend if he’d been writing new songs, and he smiled smugly and told me no, he’d switched to “composing.” That was, of course, what got me going about this. But it is not an attitude exclusive to classical versus commercial, oh no! So often, the Pop fans don’t like Country, the Contemporary fans don’t like Southern Gospel, and the Worship writers probably don’t care because they’re in it only for the love of God, which is also where some big money is these days, or so I’ve heard.

I say music is music, and I hope I never get so big for my whole notes that I miss the message in it all. Music is as diverse as humanity, and we would do well to seek to understand or at least appreciate this culture’s motley scores for what they are without criticism. Things could be worse. Just imagine if you could only use a five note pentatonic scale for every song/piece. Ironically, you wouldn’t even be able to play Chopsticks, which was composed in the 1800’s by a British pianist! And THAT, dear Watson, is how the West was really won!!

Music makes pictures and often tells stories, all of them magic, and all of them true. And all of the pictures and all of the stories, all of the magic – the music is you! – John Denver

UnCommon Sense

Worshipology

Worship weaves God’s beautiful vision of the world together note by note, voice by voice. 

This is why I cannot wrap around the worship music debate. It seems like an argument for the sake of arguing. It stymies me when I begin to write music for the church. Shall I write a hymn, or a worship chorus? Why bother if all that counts are songs written in the last millennium?

The debate is between traditional hymn forms, and contemporary worship songs. One theologian called worship songs “narcissistic diddies.” No doubt post-modern attitudes hailing individualism have tainted the meaning of worship and compromised some lyrics. It’s all part of “feel-good” church and big money. Self-help church sells, but not like a treasure that becomes family heirloom; it sells like chicken McNuggets. Hence the revolving door. Mention a big church and throw a stone any direction and you will likely hit someone who says, “I used to go there.” Ask why.

Blaming the music throws the stone at the wrong sinner.

A true worship experience is the responsibility of every worshipper in the congregation.

It ruins the musical expression of God-people love when we make music a tool instead of art. I love the art of church, stained glass windows that tell the Bible story, religious paintings, fountains and statues. Art is a powerful heart-cry; music is one of the most powerful artistic expressions the church has.

I like the meditative quality of repetitious worship choruses. They stay in my mind like “whatsoever things.” (Philippians 4:8) “Twitter-lyrics,” pithy repetitious lines, have a place if every pithy word is carefully chosen. It’s kind of like the Honk if you love Jesus bumper stickers. I used to be so insulted by them, until one day I thought about what it would be like to have Satanic triteness floating around the roadways for people to ponder at traffic lights. I like seeing the name Jesus, and I like thinking the name Jesus, and I like how the mere mention of that person stirs my heart – so I honk.

We must still insist on quality and substance in our church music, succinct or otherwise. The worship songs work well if they unite us in worship. They are tragic if they are only about me, me, me or I just want to feel better so I came to church. Church is bigger than that. Otherwise, you could choose between church or getting a message, or fishing… or a 12-step meeting. All are good, but one belongs in a different category, an Eternal-meaning-of-life category. It’s like the difference between a plastic magnifying glass from a cereal box or the Hubble Telescope.

The Hubble Telescope discovers things as they are, not things as we want them to be. It asks questions and finds answers that lead to more questions. It says, “I want to see beyond this world things that eye has not seen.” (I Corinthians 2:9)  Worship is an opportunity for us to see worlds unseen. It is bigger than the individual, but ultimately blesses the individual. It is in giving ourselves selflessly in worship that we open up to possibilities only God knows.

Worship is poetry. When we sing to God, about God, or about the meaning of life in God, we tap into galaxies unknown, we join a cast of saints and angels.

What songs will still be around 100 years from now? Maybe it’s the wrong question. Will God still be worthy of our praise 100 years from now? 1000? A million? My goal is not necessarily to write a song that lasts (although I do strive for that), but to participate in The Song that is Eternal.

The Frog, The Spaceman, and Clint Eastwood

I'm practicing guitar more these days, since I'm holding one in every picture. I'm pretty good (for a girl, so they say), but I can be better. I love practicing, though. The Zen of finger exercises and scales settles me down.

Sight reading is more challenging. It's like guitar vitamins; no worse. Sight reading is like guitar cod liver oil. Blekkk!!! I like how it's affecting my playing, though. I'm learning a Spanish piece in e-minor. It's pretty. I may never play it for anyone, though. I'm like that frog on Bugs Bunny. Remember?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GDEkxBjIM4

He dances for the spaceman, who then tries to get him onto Vaudeville (or something of that ilk), but the frog won't show off for anyone else. Spaceman goes crazy, frog keeps dancing.

It's probably recital fear. PTSD of the music world. I can relate. I'll improvise all day long, but ask me to play a rehearsed, note by note piece, and I "croak" - so to speak. I trust my musical instincts more than my memory.

But you know, music is worth playing just for yourself and God now and then. I don't always need an audience. It keeps the music pure, playing music for the sake of the music. Then it's truly play, not work. I want that spirit to pervade the live performances and recordings.

I'm playing - playing - the Bluebird on March 14th with my band. I usually do writer's night there, but I want to get out and sing songs from the new cd more, and have it sound semi-close to what we recorded. Having a band is challenging. It's so much fun. I like the practice as much as the show. It's just difficult to keep everyone busy enough to make the money right. I have the best players in the world. They will play for free, but I'm not going to let them. At the Bluebird, we can fit 110 people in there. It's $8 a ticket, and you have to spend $7 on food or beverage. If we can fill it up, all will be well.

The other day I told someone I'd never been a smoker, but that people assume I have. I'm not all wrinkled up like a smoker. I think it's the leather jackets, I told her. I was doing my dry-wit thing, but she wasn't following. Instead of giving me an affirming "of course you've never smoked" response, she gazed at me curiously and said, "But don't you play the Bluebird?" I gazed back, as you must be doing vicariously as you read this, and asked, "What does that have to do with smoking?" "Well, isn't it a bar? Don't they smoke there?"  Oh so many retorts you must be considering. I was polite, but standing there in my black leather duster, I think my eye twitched a little like Clint Eastwood in The Good The Bad and The Ugly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXldafIl5DQ

That's all...I was just thinking about all that and thought I'd share it with you. Come to the Bluebird. Leave the stogie at home - they have a no smoking rule, as does the entire State of Tennessee.

Now go play!!

March Backwards

Friday. Last day of the week, first day of the month, and it caught me completely off-guard. I spent an entire Thursday thinking I had one more day of February left. It kind of mattered to me. I messed with my phone for a minute this morning, thinking the date was set wrong, but it was correct - now mortgage is due.

March means it's Springtime, almost, but it snowed. Not enough to make snowballs. It will probably snow one last time, because it always snows on the daffodils.

And it's still Lent. This is a long one. I know someone who gave up Lent for Lent. Said he'd just finished a big fast and saw no need to give up anything else so soon, which, of course misses the point of Lent - but that's his journey, not mine. I think it might be good for some people to give up Lent for Lent. Religiosity. Giving up a temptation to be overly pious, holier than thou? Christians get awfully smug in their "knowing" sometimes, but Lent is a time of soul searching and repentance. It's a time of knowing  alright - knowing I need grace.

This week, amid my dying-to-self epiphanies and journeys through Galatians, I also discovered a few things: the exciting new world of Spotify, Noah Gundersen, Marva Dawn, and that they made a new Footloose movie a while back. Noah is an artist you should check out. My friend Emily told me about him, and you find him on....drum roll please....Spotify.  Marva is a theologian with some very cool things to say about the good side of religion, and the new Footloose movie is not as exciting to me as the old one, but I'm glad I watched it - I think.

Is it me, or are we marching backwards listening to music on these little computer speakers and iPhones? The sound is small, like a transistor radio. Maybe that's why the songs are starting to matter again. A great song will shine through like light through a pinhole.