Afraid... of music? But I'm a musician!

[disclaimer: I wrote this post at 10pm last night and haven't re-read it... ]

My latest epiphany: 

I think I am actually afraid of music.

But I’m a musician.  Why in the world would I be afraid of music?

Let me qualify: by “music” here, I mean the musical world as a phenomenon, including all published music ever written, in all the eras of world history.  I don’t mean the making of live music (I’m never afraid of that - it thrills me), or the making of my own music (I’m slightly intimidated to try, and always feel slightly unoriginal, but not afraid).

What makes me afraid?  Tonight, I finally put my finger on it: 

it’s my perfectionism, 

my need for control, 

and my all-or-nothing-ness.  

Here are the facts:

• It kills me that it’s impossible for me to listen to every single song ever written before coming to my conclusions about what I prefer (lack of thoroughness).
• It’s pretty hard for anyone to simply decision-make logically about music, that it’s by nature a gut-level like or dislike thing that I can’t control (lack of control).
• I make logistical excuses for why we don’t listen to music around the house (we don’t have a home sound system; my iPod is too small to load everything on at the same time, which requires an extra step of changing out my music every so often, which I rarely get around to), when the reality is I don’t really know exactly what I feel like listening to at any given moment because I’m not versed in what’s “out there” and I’m not even tuned in to my own musical preferences.  I always feel the stuff I have is boring and old and worn out, but I don’t know how to refresh because there’s so much new to pick from.  I hardly know what I prefer because I don’t even know what all my options are, and because I can’t see all my options I find it hard to make a decision?  
• I’m constantly feeling guilty for being a once-upon-a-time classical musician yet not owning more classical music, listening to more classical music, not exposing my kids to a broader range of music… but when I go to remedy any of those, the range of choices is so incredibly overwhelming I don’t know where to start.

I feel so weird!  Who relates to music like this?  Who lets music be a source of guilt?  Good grief!  

{Not my sister.  Definitely.}

Here’s an odd observation: To tell me what I should listen to next, I rely almost solely on music people give me.  Isn’t that weird?  Like, what - God’s supposed to drop my next listening assignment out of the sky, because there’s just so much to listen to I can’t handle it and feel overwhelmed, so I throw up my hands and give up and don’t listen to anything until it bonks me on the head?  Good grief, again!

Really.  Seriously.  This feels like a problem.  Is it a problem?  Was I always like this?  Just “take it as it comes”, never “go get it myself”?  Always being told what to like, listening to things just because everybody else around me was listening to them?  True, I have always enjoyed riding in other people’s cars and I do just drink in gratefully whatever they happen to turn on (although the limited taxi-menu of either Russian rap or Central Asian crooning is a bit hard to swallow).  But why, in the world?  I’m music-starved in my own home?  There must be something wrong with me.

Why can’t I just pan the smorgasbord, pick at random, and enjoy it?  Are my music tastes so narrow and “old-fogey-ish” that if I pick at random I’m sure not to enjoy it?  Is it because buying music is expensive, even as mp3s, and I’m enough of a prude to still feel generous twinges of conscience about ripping or stealing or “borrowing” from someone else?

Yes, I feel overwhelmed by the smorgasbord.  For every new cool band I learn the name of, 10 or 20 more will pop up next week, so what’s the use? 

And yes, I’m so grateful (though feeling slightly guilty) when someone whose musical tastes I trust hands me a memory stick of eclectic “new” music, because I finally feel the gates creak open and my musical self expand, which is what I’m always longing for, secretly and shyly.  

I just don’t know why I’m so hung up about it all.

My dad would probably say it’s because I’m an “uptight chicky-babe.”  

He’s probably right.  

Thoughts? 

to thank, instead of fume...

(This post written a week ago... been having multiple internet issues since returning from our visa run... thank you for grace!)

It’s 2:36pm.  I’m sitting at my desk, longing for a nap, stubbornly holding my eyelids open to read and respond to “just one more” of the 91 emails I’ve received during our 6-day visa run.  (Which, by the way, resulted in us receiving a one-year visa in just one day - unheard of!  Praise the Lord)  

I’ve wallowed my way through multiple loads of laundry, a garden filled with weeds and a house filled with cobwebs, and I’m procrastinating lying down (never a good idea) to wallow my way through a few more things on my to-do list… 

...and then I hear it.  The pelt of raindrops outside.  I have 4 loads of holiday laundry on the lines out back, hung out because my covered lines had broken last night, and this morning it had just sprinkled a bit before turning warm and sunny.  I know all 4 loads are already dry - they’d been out there since 10am.  I’d been planning to bring them in before my nap, and had gotten sidetracked with email… 

Frothing at the mouth (I’m hardly exaggerating), I race outside and get thoroughly damp myself while frantically pulling everything off the line and stuffing violently into the basket, nearly sobbing with frustration and fatigue and sheer futility.   I stomp back and forth in the dust-turning-to-mud, angrily slinging clothes around and flinging handfuls of pins into the container as hard as I could, already feeling a bit embarrassed inside at my ridiculous overreaction, surreptitiously peeking over the fence to make sure my staid elderly neighbors weren’t witnessing my display of immaturity.  

In a phrase, I “spat the dummy”(*see bottom of post).  Over a few drops of rain.  Granted, I now have 4 loads of once-dry, now-damp laundry strewn all over my living room with no place to hang it.  Frustrating, yes.  Occasion for a massive temper tantrum?  No.  So what in the world is going on?

I finally curl up for my nap, still fuming, and lie here ruminating on my immaturity and lack of self-control…. How is it possible to be 29 years old, walking with Jesus since I was 3, and still completely lose control of my emotions over a bit of damp laundry?  

{I do think a current bout with culture stress might have something to do with it... Yesterday I burst into tears like a 5-yr-old over not being able to read a KFC menu in Russian, mistakenly ordering a bucket of 16 spicy wings which none of us like, and then not being allowed to exchange it for something else even though we hadn’t touched it.  In retrospect, there’s probably not a fast-food restaurant on the planet that would exchange an order for something else once the person has walked off with it!  But at the time it was very distressing: I felt like a child, angry, humiliated and defeated.  All typical culture stress symptoms: normal, but never easy to cope with.}

But is there something deeper than culture stress going on here?  To absolutely throw a temper tantrum over dry clothes getting wet?  Over my own laziness and procrastination?  Over loss of time, and loss of control over my environment, my day, my plans?  To be so intensely and vehemently angry that it took a full half-hour for my breathing to return to normal?  

Whatever the deeper causes may be (and I’m still looking for them), one thing is for sure: as I talked with Jesus about my “episode”, curled up under my blanket, here’s what I heard:

You didn’t try giving thanks.

“What?!?  Thanks?!?  Give thanks for what?  For… all my hard work wasted?”

How about for having clothes to wear?  So many clothes that you can take away a suitcase full, not do any laundry for a week, and return with extra clean clothes still in your suitcase?

“Oh...”

What about rain to make the garden grow?

Lines to hang your clothes on?  Pins to hang them with?

Arms to hang them up and take them down?

The sunshine that dried them?

A house to bring them back into and a floor to spread them out on?

A voice, even if you’re shouting and screaming at me with it?

The precious people in your family who wore these clothes, and the fun things you did together that got them dirty?

“Oh… yeah… I guess that’s a start.”

Maybe if you tried thanking, instead of fuming, you’d keep perspective a bit better? 

Yes.  As I write all this down to post to the world, I feel humbled, chastened and encouraged, all at the same time.  

Trying to learn to thank instead of fume: to choose in the very throes of emotion to find something, anything, to say Thank You for, instead of spitting that dummy just as far as I can spit.

So there you have it, folks.  Me, in all my glory as a sinful human being in progress… will you come and try this with me, this choosing to thank instead of fume?   Maybe we'll learn to dance in the rain...

Question to ponder:

What chance did you have today 

to use thanksgiving as a doorway 

out of negative emotion into praise?  

Did you use it or blow it?  

Leave your story in the comments: I’d love to hear from you!

*"to spit the dummy" = New Zealand English for “freaking out” or “losing it” - from the picture of a baby spitting out their "dummy" (pacifier) in frustration.  So flattering.  And convicting.

of swallows' eggs, visa runs, and peace

Peace.

The word God told me to write down on each day of this week in my visual journal.  I wasn’t sure why, but now I know… Yesterday: a full-blown team meeting at our house for 7 adults and 8 kids.  Today: transitioning our sweet short-term teammate to her local family. Tomorrow: packing and preparing for a 10-day excursion to a neighboring country to renew our visas, and then a 4-hour ladies’ chai in the evening, before getting up at 5:30am to leave on our trip...

In the midst of all this hurry-scurry, hot humidity, windstorms, wet beds and hurting 3-yr-old fingernails in the middle of the night, waking up to no power, a whirring generator meaning no laundry two days before a trip,

how do I find peace?

Waiting in my inbox this morning from Ann: this link to New Zealand’s Hayley Westenra singing this clear, soaring hymn...  A link which, astonishingly, downloaded in its entirety, even on our slow connection, and injected our morning (including my boys, who watched it with me) with peace.  (Feeling prophetic, I bought and downloaded her whole Celtic Treasures album, wanting her voice with us on this trip as we unwind and regroup as a family.)

Abide With Me

1. Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; 

the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide. 

When other helpers fail and comforts flee, 

Help of the helpless, O abide with me. 

2. Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; 

earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away; 

change and decay in all around I see; 

O thou who changest not, abide with me. 

3. I need thy presence every passing hour. 

What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? 

Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? 

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. 

4. I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless; 

ills have no weight, and tears not bitterness.

Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory? 

I triumph still, if thou abide with me. 

5. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; 

shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. 

Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; 

in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

Text: Henry F. Lyte, 1793-1847 

Music: W.H. Monk, 1823-1889 

Tune: EVENTIDE

Abide.  Dwell.  Stay.  Don’t go, don’t hurry, don’t rush.  Deep down in that wellspring of our being, stay put.  Stay connected.  Please, Lord, abide with me.  An acknowledgement of my utter inability to do the abiding, a request for Jesus’ stronger arms and steadier pulse to surround my feeble flutterings?

Abiding leads to {peace}.

P.E.A.C.E.

P ause.  

E xhale.  

A ttend.  

C enter.  

E nter.  

Pause.  To pause means: to stop, with the intention of going on.  A long slow breath, a respite - a brief ceasing, to gather oneself for the going on.

Exhale.  When someone is hyperventilating, one cure is to exhale longer, to just breathe out.  A laboring woman is encouraged to breathe out in short puffs to alleviate tension.  A reliable relaxation technique I love is to breathe out long and slow, for more counts than you’ve inhaled.  Breathe in for 4 counts, exhale for 6.  Breathe in for 6 counts, exhale for 8.  In for 8, out for 10.  Make each breath longer and slower than the last.

Attend.  Notice the moment.  Notice your context, notice the gifts this moment contains.  Listen: birdsong?  Smell: woodsmoke, fresh bread baking?   See: a feather-lined nest?  Touch: a child’s cheek?  Taste: garden mint?  Gather, collect treasures with your senses.  Be.  All.  Here.  Now.   

Center.  What is at your core at this moment?  The god of hurry?  The god of the to-do list?  The god of “the next thing”?  Or Jesus, through Whom and for Whom all things were created?  Like a lump of clay on a whirling wheel, allow yourself to be re-centered in the motion, without stopping the motion.  Feel the Potter’s hands nudging you, hollowing you out, drawing up your your smooshed, slumped sides into graceful curves.  Stand as tall as you are (or lie down as long as you are).  Align your ears with your shoulders, hips, knees and feet.  Tuck your chin.  Press your shoulders back,  (right now, reading this).  Sit up straighter.  Expand your chest.  Center yourself, your thoughts, on Jesus dwelling at your core.

Enter.  “Enter His presence with thanksgiving.”  Those details you attended to earlier?  Give thanks for each one.  Each bit of life, savory or not, truly is a gift.  Giving thanks, out loud or in your mind, is a doorway into His presence.  He is with you in this moment.  Right now.  Here.  “Before Abraham was, I AM.”  See Him, in your mind’s eye.  Hear Him breathing gently beside you, smiling at you.  Loving you.  Suddenly, there He is, in you, and you are flooded with Joy. 

Peace leads to {joy}.

Hectic-ness of life notwithstanding, 

there are {five speckled eggs} in the swallows’ nest on our porch light, 

and I am choosing peace.

“Abide in me, and I in you. 

As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, 

neither can you, unless you abide in me.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.  

Abide in my love.

If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, 

just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. 

Not as the world gives do I give to you. 

Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

“These things I have spoken to you, 

that my joy may be in you, 

and that your joy may be full.”

John 15:4, 9-10; 14:27, 15:11

Abiding in Jesus 

welcomes His peace, 

from which springs joy!  

Five-Minute Friday: Deep Breath...

{So every Friday (or Saturday, in my case this week) Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama offers a prompt for 5 minutes of unedited, stream-of-consciousness writing... a good chance to turn off the internal Editor breathing down our necks, and just write.}


This week's prompt: 


"Deep Breath..."


GO:


Deep breath, and here we go... into a day of extra kids, weddings, wonderful short-term teammates, ripped fingernails, stressed out three-year-olds being very brave, insistent toddlers who can't get enough face-time, touch-time, talk-time, interaction... 


Deep breath, and here we go into blustery, sunny spring in Central Asia, with complications and relationships and not offending and meaning to bless, birthdays and long sunset walks.


Deep breath, and here we go... into mothering and wife-ing and Jesus-loving, into all the things I want to be and wish I could be and am, into art and creating and trying to relax in the midst of it all...


Deep breath-- in, then out.  ::sigh::  And falling back into Jesus, like an armchair of Grace, like a hug,-- and comes  the sound of my toddler shaking something rattly at the front door, and I use a minute of my writing-breathing space to relieve him of the container of crayons he would take outside and draw all over our white-washed walls... 


Deep breath... into my life, into loving Jesus today, into finding grace in this moment, into moving forward.  One. Step.  At. A. Time.  Filling the form.  Finding the next thing, and doing it bravely.  Into being faithful.  Into being real and authentic.  


Deep breath... in, and out.  Dori, from Finding Nemo: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."

of rainbows and glory

Last night after dinner, the sun came out while the sky was still black and misty.  I whispered to Will conspiratorially, “Let’s look for rainbows!”  And when we opened the front door, there it was:

We called everybody to come look, took pictures, gazed on glory, filled our souls. 

As I was explaining how rainbows can only exist when there is rain and sun at the same time, I thought about holy moments, and how finding thankfulness through the rain of the everyday chaos miraculously produces a rainbow of joy in my heart.  Christ in me, the hope of glory.  

When I opened the front door again a few minutes after taking those photos, the glory had faded, veiled in cloud.  Ephemeral.  Like all we have, all we are.  Just grasses, here today-- tomorrow withered and faded.  

This morning Will woke up, came in to the kitchen, and said, “Is the rainbow still there?” 

And of course, yesterday's glory was yesterday's.  Today the slate is clean for finding new glory...

This is what it means to live as sojourners: finding glory in each new moment, always moving yet always at home, always grieving yet always at peace, always sorrowful yet always rejoicing.  

Living always with the hope of glory.  

And these shining words: “Christ in you, the hope of glory” resounding in my soul, last week, this week (continuing on with Colossians in a Year: 2 Verses a Week)… this hope resounding, remaining.

My dad loves to say, “Life is hard, and then you die!”  

My adaptation: “Life is sometimes mud puddles, but if you look there are glimpses of glory, to make you long for heaven... and then you die and are enveloped in Christ and His glory for always!”  

 

“...Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

Colossians 1:27

Five Minute Friday: "Motherhood should come with...

GO.

Motherhood should come with...

...an instruction manual.  A book that tells you how to change diapers, change your idea of personal space, change your idea of how many hours of sleep you actually need, versus how many you want.

...a healthy dose of humor, and a warning against perfectionism.  A list of unending ideas of how to learn to play, for those of us who don't naturally know what to do in that area!

...a lifeline to God, that keeps you connected to His strength day and night, that allows you never to get impatient or "yelly" with your kids, no matter how exasperated you feel.  An intravenous of peace.

...a measure of wisdom beyond what you normally possess, that enables you to choose between impossible decisions like "rescue the boiling pot on the stove or wipe the blood off my son's lip?" or "quick bring the laundry in from the rain or break up a rolling tumbling fight?"

...another measure of wisdom, more visionary this time, that lets you see into the future like a prophetess and provide for your children exactly the tools they'll need to succeed at what God is calling them to do... a special second sight that lets you identify gifts early, nurture them perfectly, encourage them faithfully, and see your children become all they were created to be.

(Hmmm... interesting that most or all of this I already have, and His name is the Holy Spirit?  What if I'm just not appropriating it?  ...)

STOP.