trees, wind, and family

I am incredibly blessed to be able to participate in our church worship team. It is a dream come true for me. The worship team members have been welcoming and supportive of me, the newcomer. I find them easy to get along with, low-key, and helpful.

We do have challenges, though: from the usual technical hiccups (that I am convinced are prayed in for the personal holiness of our AV techs), to the busy schedules of many of the team members. The fact that any of us show up and have a set ready each week is nothing short of the grace of God.

We have misunderstandings sometimes, too. Little things that can feel like slights if left to fester without treatment. Our very own font of wisdom (and many times, humor) reminded me recently that “We make comments like family because we work so closely week in and week out. We get so comfortable we sometimes say things like real siblings.” This was a comforting insight and a reminder to do what the Bible says: treat your fellow Christians as family. Family are people we’re in the long haul with, people we lean on, people we go through stuff with, and not just the easy stuff. Family can have real staying power when we lean in instead of pull back.

If you don’t know about the “Biosphere 2” project, I encourage you to check it out. It is a real-life sci-fi story and it is fascinating! As I was reflecting on my experiences on the worship team, a detail from the project came to mind: trees need wind. Without wind, trees do not develop “stress wood” and they cannot stand up under their own weight. Stress wood is developed by the consistent pressure of wind against their form as they grow.

Small, everyday conflicts between people can be like the wind that helps us develop our own stress wood. Many times I avoid conflict* at all costs. But as I grow and become more of me, the space between a triggering event and my response expands. Instead of reacting instantly to the perceived conflict, there is a moment to choose what I will do next. The more I can take a moment, the more opportunity I have to reach out to the Holy Spirit and trust God.

Developing “stress wood” is helping me understand that conflict is not a cosmic warning for me to run the other direction or lock myself in a bunker. I fail a lot, but that means I am practicing, and practicing is how I get better. I do need one other thing, though: a TON of grace. Grace from those I have offended or run away from, grace from my friends and family, and grace from God. With man it is impossible, but with God, all things are possible.

Friend, if I have offended or hurt you, lean into the wind and let me know.

Holy Spirit, help me make it right, I’m afraid, but I know you’ve got me.

*This is very funny because I have caused a lot of conflict in my lifetime. Bless my heart!

Cups

slow loss

There are some types of loss that happen slowly. The dwindling ability to recall details, the quiet siege of cancer, the agonizing decision to stop driving, the growing list of friends and family that are no longer with you, the long-endured pain that has no remedy, the children you earnestly longed for that have yet to be given, the breakthrough in your loved one’s addiction that is yet to be experienced. Liminal spaces, exhausting days, tough nights. The waves crashing up against the rocks of your hopes, day in and day out.

In 2020 my father was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. For a few years he actually seemed more like himself than ever before, just a tad bit slower. He was optimistic and looking forward to all the days ahead. He was so focused on Jesus and using every moment to pray, read, and encourage others. He was grateful. It was a beautiful transformation, to be honest.

But it is 2025 now. This kind of cancer is not cured, it is held at bay by a cocktail of chemicals that take their toll. My Dad has become intimately acquainted with suffering. He clings to the promises of God, but he is tired. He encourages people, but he is in pain. He texts his kids, grandkids, and friends on regular basis, but he gets sick often.

I spent a couple of days with my parents at the beach recently. My Dad slept most of the time. He shuffled around a little, but he was not feeling well at all. We went out to eat and we played 2 games of Rummikub, or as my Dad says “Rumble-cube.”

As I drove home after the trip, I yelled and cried. I was so angry at the cancer that had taken my Dad from me. I was finally living close enough to my parents to do things with them, but now they could not do the things I wanted to do with them. There was nothing to look forward to, he wasn’t going to get better. I began to question the value of a life lived in pain. I questioned the value of “hanging on” to life and asked what the definition of living was anyway. After all of my yelling, crying, and questioning, I finally stopped. Do you know that moment when a baby cries themselves out? That moment finally came for me.

In the quiet and the still, I received my answer: My Dad’s life had always been and would always be valuable. He was still my Dad. He still had dignity and worth. His life had never been valuable because he made me laugh, helped me with homework, did well at his job as a civil engineer, or almost always made his famous hook shot on the basketball court. His life had always been valuable because he was made in the image of God and God valued and loved him.

My feeling that there was nothing “after” to hope for, was far from the truth. My Dad may never heal from this cancer in this life, but even if he did, he’s still about to turn 85 years old. At some point we will both diminish and depart. But when we do, and as we hurt in the slow loss we’re experiencing, I take comfort in knowing we will be together again and we will no longer suffer.

Who knows, maybe God will let him make bridges, French drains, water gardens, and hook shots in heaven. Or maybe it will be something altogether better. I am excited to find out.

Friend, the truth is, even if you get what you want here and now, it will end if it is tied only to this life. You are already valuable, you already have worth. Don’t spend your precious days pining for something temporary, cling to the eternal.

“Good job!”

Our main women vocalists (on the praise team) were busy serving elsewhere in the church one Sunday and so I led one of the songs. Later, one of the women texted me and said she had listened to the service and told me “Good job!” I thanked her and felt a measure of gratefulness for her words.

And then I decided to go back and listen to the song and see how I sounded. In comparison* to this woman’s voice and experience, my singing was just…bad…

I was brought to tears by the kindness and humility of this incredibly talented woman who had taken the time to reach out and encourage me. I don’t think she was trying to do anything big in that moment, she was just being herself. But as she did that, I was able to feel so loved by her and by God. Her “Good job!” gave life to a part of me that was faint and giving in to faulty thinking.

I was reminded that everything I do for God is feeble and small and shaky. Everything I do for Him is like a toddler picking flowers from his father’s garden and presenting them back to him as a gift. And because our Father is gracious and humble and loving, He says “Good job!” and means it, every time.

Friend, there is no level of artistry or skill you can achieve that can impress God, but oh, how He loves for you to bring your best. So bring your gifts; He is kind.

*Yes, I agree, I should not compare myself with others. And I agree, leading worship is not primarily about “sounding good.” This is transparency, the good, the bad, and the ugly!

pillow forts and butterflies

pillow forts (the power of pretending to be real)

Over the years, being an unconnected, self-taught, outsider artist and musician, I have received a message over and over: you do not belong. But as I have shared in a few of my posts, that message led to another message: if you don’t belong, make a place to belong and invite others into it. I am finding that this “making a place to belong” is a lot like making a pillow fort.

When I was little I loved to make pillow forts and to pretend all kinds of scenarios in them. They were very real places to me. I have never stopped making pillow forts. I was going to say I have never stopped making them in a figurative sense, but two Christmases ago I made the fort below in my parents’ living room. Bless.

My figurative pillow forts are things like hosting a “tiny conference” at work*, writing and recording music, facilitating art adventures, sharing this website, and writing a discipleship workbook with my Mom. These things may at times look and feel a little bit like the fort below, but that’s ok. I don’t mind pretending I am real. It gives me permission to do things instead of just think about doing things.

The latest fort

This fort was fondly made with bed sheets, bull clips, walking sticks, and aprons.

raising butterflies (the power of sharing beauty)

There was a very lovely human being I worked with years ago who raised Monarch butterflies. Each year she provided food and shelter as they hatched, grew into voracious caterpillars, entombed themselves in chrysalises, and finally emerged as beautiful butterflies. At the right time, she would release them out into the world to live their best butterfly lives.

She could have kept the butterflies for herself. She could have created an enclosure where they pollinated her garden and where she could enjoy them. But she didn’t. She was participating in something bigger and more wonderful than just her own garden. Like many people, I like butterflies and I appreciate this particular species' process, but Jennifer? She got it, way down deep in her soul.

As I was pondering Jennifer and her butterflies, I began to feel a kinship with her process. I felt like I was fostering my own butterflies in the form of color and sound. I was making space for each to grow and change, and then I was sharing them with the world. They were little points of beauty and thoughtfulness that could perhaps pollinate the creativity, peace, or faith of another person. They could go far or they could fade. They were not mine to control, they were mine to share.

Friend, give thanks for the gifts you have and share them with us.

Make a pillow fort, literally or figuratively, and nurture and release your butterflies.

We need you, there is space for you.

*For our final keynote speech as part of a public speaking program at work, several of us rented a conference room, provided snacks, and introduced each other like we were speakers at a tiny conference. Our theme was Women in Leadership and we each wrote and gave a speech about an aspect of the theme. It was so much fun and we helped each other succeed.

story behind the song: visible

Many years ago, two amazing leaders* led a train wreck of women through the book Emotionally Healthy Spirituality (affectionately called EHS from here on out). Bless their hearts for graciously loving us through those years!

It was a miracle that I showed up for the group meeting each week. I think I kept showing up because I was experiencing an incredible level of care, authenticity, and privacy among these women. Real work was being done in this group and it left a lasting mark on my soul, in a good way. It also set the bar for any future groups I would be a part of or lead. This was part of my soul’s Kintsugi.

In 2020, I wrote the song “visible” as a sort of a lyrical version of my EHS experience. It was a way to remind myself of what I had learned so many years ago in that group study. It was also a way to express the weight of social media I had been feeling.

My first problem with social media, aside from the algorithms engineered to increase strife and the torrent of misinformation, was how completely overwhelming and exhausting it felt to try to keep up with so many human beings. It felt like I was walking into a huge room full of people, most of whom I loved, without any way to hug and pay attention to each one as much as they needed or I wanted. Instead of drawing me out, it made me want to hide under a rock.

My second problem with social media, was that I began to feel the same darkness and despair I felt when I was a teenager and I walked into a record/CD shop. When I saw the myriad of recordings for sale, my soul shut down and I stopped pursuing music completely. Back then a voice said, “What’s the point of your music and art? There is so much music and art out there already, why should you bother raising your tiny, uncertain voice in the midst of that roar?” Years later, when social media came on the scene, the voice came back again. Instead of feeling inspired, it made me want to quit.

Since that EHS group, God has used many things to solidify my identity in Him, my faith, and to increase my emotional and spiritual health enough to recognize the voice of the destroyer. He used: Bible study, a second (possibly remedial) EHS group, authentic friends and family trying to live healthy emotional and spiritual lives, loving leaders who prayed for us and encouraged us to live into our God-given gifts, books like Adorning the Dark and Walking on Water and Boundaries, experiences like Meow Wolf and The Country Music Hall of Fame, conversations in Cindy’s office, coffee with Carm, Sunday afternoon with Heather, retreats with the lady leader group, the confident weirdness of Stephanie, and the steadfast care of the Jens**.

In 2020 when I heard the voice again, I paused and got up in the balcony. I looked at those intimidating and discouraging phrases. It was true, there were already many artists and musicians in the world. It was true, there were more talented and more trained and more connected artists and musicians than myself. It was true, I had one voice and I was limited.

But it was also true that I had something to say and that I had learned a few things. It was also true that God had given me permission to be here. I was writing songs, singing, and painting for God and for me. This is what He had given me to do. This was for my healing and maybe for the healing of someone else. I was doing what He asked and nothing else really mattered.

Friend, I will leave you with a quote that has stuck with me from EHS and summarizes so well what I am trying to say here:

“Rabbi Zusya, when he was an old man, said, ‘In the coming world, they will not ask me: Why were you not Moses? They will ask me: Why were you not Zusya?’”

— Pete Scazarro, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality , Ch 2

Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Pete Scazarro

* Cindy and Carm - The fearless leaders of a whole bunch of fun-loving, sometimes-hard-to-love, sometimes-running-away ladies. Also known as The Reverend Mother and Sister C.
** The Jens - A mythical type of human being named Jennifer; often known to congregate in somewhat loud, somewhat troublesome, and always hilarious groups of two or more. Often soliciting frowns from the leadership. But oh, the hugs and the compassion!

The Flash

Years ago I had a guilty pleasure in the super hero genre: The Flash. Judge me if you will, but the Flash checked a lot of boxes: good guys that (almost) always won the day, relationships that matured and grew over time, family values, true love, strong characters (including less-represented people groups), cool outfits, science, exciting action without egregious violence, and drama that resolved over a reasonable amount of time (mostly). It was just plain fun.

But during an episode of The Flash I had a sudden realization: there was no God in this story. As soon as my eyes were open to this, I saw it everywhere. I could not un-see it. This realization left a deep sadness in me that I could not shake so I stopped watching the show. The Flash’s universe only had “bigger” entities than the hero and none of the “bigger” entities were anything like God. None of them were loving or all-powerful. None of them knew what was going on and none of them had a overall plan for good. There was no hope of heaven. There was no purpose but to survive until the next challenge appeared.

The next realization that came to me was: I had been seeking refuge in this show and it fell woefully short. I was trying to press the weight of my soul onto a made-up story about a God-less universe. All of my trauma, all of the cares of my day, all of my anxiety about not being the friend/sister/daughter/pet owner/wife I wanted to be, all of my fear of insignificance.

It seems so silly now. Of course a fictional story cannot bear the weight of my soul! It was never meant to.

There are good and beautiful things in this world that we can enjoy while we are here. There are some very compelling and uplifting stories that have been written. But none of them can satisfy or provide refuge for long if we just consume them like drugs. None of them were meant to bear the weight of our souls, friend. The only way we can experience satisfaction and be sheltered is to receive the gifts of beauty and good from God with gratitude, not apart from Him.

Let’s seek refuge in Him.

to benn

Once I called you stubborn.

Your Mom set me straight on that account: “He is persistent,” she said.

You Mom has a magical way of re-framing words so that they cast light on someone instead of raising doubt about them.

I loved her un-relenting faith in you.

How I wanted so badly, deep in my soul, for someone to believe in me like your Mom believed in you.

It was beautiful.

Time went on, I went away.

I’m sorry I left you.

You were loved.

“I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.”

— Jesus, John 10:28

The Three Muskeeters

Were we really playing chess?

story behind the song: darkness

I was invited by two amazing women to volunteer with Baptist on Mission after the 2024 flood in western NC. We stayed at Biltmore Church in Arden, NC. That church was incredibly generous and kind during our tenure there as volunteers.

The three of us had arrived on Monday and it was now Thursday. We had worked long, hard days in close quarters. Most days I was up by 4:30 am and in bed after 10 pm. I was tired. I was emotional. I was confused by memories that kept creeping in about a camp I attended when I was about 8 years old. These memories kept bubbling up during my interactions with two volunteers in particular.

Working closely with others was taking a huge toll on my mental and spiritual health. Physically, I was exhausted from working long hours. My routine had been interrupted and I was sleeping on the floor of a classroom. I felt like I was failing to be helpful and I felt like I didn’t belong.

Our fearless leader asked us to take a break that day. Grateful for her wisdom and knowing I needed this, I set off to find a quiet, secluded spot where I could be alone and probably cry. With my Bible, guitar, and a favorite book of poetry in tow, I wandered over to a corner of a secluded parking lot. I sat down on a curb next to a little maple tree and began to let myself feel what I was experiencing.

I felt like I had been exposing my true, dysfunctional self to the ladies that I would have to go back to church with on Sunday. What would they think? Was I damaging or offending them? And what was with the weird flashbacks to camp when I was about 8 years old?

I opened my Bible to John 4 and read a beloved story: Jesus and the woman at the well. This woman had lot of emotional baggage, but Jesus reached out to her. He was not offended by her, He knew her. He answered her questions and asked His own, and finally, in an incredible twist, He flat out told her that He was the Messiah.

I opened up the book of poetry I had brought with me “Beneath the Flood” by Jen Rose Yokel. I read my favorite poem, “In Praise of Limits,” out loud to the wind and the leaves rustling around my feet. The words of this poem comforted me so much.

I could not contain myself, I began to praise God for His extravagant kindness to this woman and to me. I was not meant to carry all of this, but He could. Praise became a weapon against all of this tiredness and confusion and helplessness. I started to sing and this song came out: darkness.

In this song I told God I would praise Him even in the midst of the terrible loss caused by the flood. I would praise Him even though I was confused about the camp memories. I would praise Him even though I was hurting because of the “un-belonging” and uselessness I was feeling. As I sang, He reminded me that He was happy I was here to help others. He had asked me to be here, I had His permission to be here.

When I returned from my break, I was refreshed. I was able to walk the church halls doing chores with confidence and joy. I devised a sincere, albeit weird way to apologize to the two ladies I may have offended. And in an over-the-top expression of His love for me, God began healing some of the trauma from the camp experience I had been remembering.

Friend, God literally gives you permission to be here. So, let’s be here and fight the darkness with praise and truth.

Beneath the Flood by Jen Rose Yokel

story behind the song: oblivion

It was 2020, need I say more? Blaming 2020 isn’t exactly fair, though. For me, complex feelings don’t usually fall into my soul over night. Many times they come from “long ago.” There may be some new behavior that brings to them to light, but they have probably been brewing for quite some time. They have just reached critical mass and suddenly I realize they are there.

So back to 2020…So much had been going on for…years. I was on an emotional healing journey* and moving forward with my authentic actions, but I felt heavy inside. Very heavy. Very dark. I was struggling with knowing why I believed some of the things I believed about God and the world and I was asking God, “How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to know what You want me to do? How am I supposed to know you? The world feels like it is falling apart, where are my instructions?”

And then I remembered that God has been speaking to everyone, even me, since the beginning of the world. Sometimes He spoke more directly than others, but He shouted from the mountaintops when He sent His Son, Jesus. And to make sure we did not feel abandoned when Jesus went away for a time, He gave us His Spirit and the Bible.

After I remembered these key points, my next authentic action was to write a song to remind myself. Even when things felt and looked dark and hopeless, they were not. Not only do I have an entire written record to review as much I need, I have the Holy Spirit to make those records come alive again and again.

Like many of my songs, oblivion is a reminder for myself and I am sharing it with you so you can know as well: God is here, He has a plan, you’re part of it, and He has left you and me all of the direction we need through the Bible and His Holy Spirit. Take heart!

*I heartily recommend EHS (Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Pete Scazzero) and I heartily recommend you work through it with true friends or a counselor.

Link to Pete Scazzero’s book site: https://www.emotionallyhealthy.org/product/emotionally-healthy-spirituality-update-revised-edition/

Community

Along with this sacred echo of “if you don’t have a place to belong, make one” I have been hearing about the beautiful necessity of community for many years. At times I have been forced into community and at other times I have joyfully entered in; mostly I have wandered in quietly and sat as far away as possible.

If I tell you I am a loner, you might peer curiously at me and wonder if I was making it up. Dear Friend, you can be around a lot of people and still be completely alone and on your own. In fact, sometimes I look around a room and wonder who else is in the same spot as me? How many of these people long for true, abiding connection and do not have it? How many of them do not even know it’s a thing?

God very graciously, over-the-top blessed me with some new friends. They are thoughtful, gentle, kind, compassionate, and a little weird. They are smart, witty, funny, and productive (in the sense they practice their crafts actively, not just talk about doing it). I could never have dreamed of calling these people friends, yet by an act of God, I am sure, they like me. You may ask why I give God credit for these friends, it’s a fair question. I guess you’d have to know me better to understand, but here is what I figure: I am weird, awkward, tire easily, disappear sometimes, have wild ideas, and have a lot of trauma to work through.

In short, I’m not exactly a friend magnet.

But these friends were right there where I could not miss them and they accepted me. When I spend time with them, I am refreshed and revitalized, not drained. They are not what I deserve, they are gifts from God.

If you are lonely or separated from others, ask God to give you friends and a community to be a part of.

Self Portrait of the Artist

To be fair, I really respect possums and hope they are not offended by the comparison.

The Sawdust Festival

My friend told me about a little place that started years ago: The Sawdust Festival. There wasn’t room for these artists elsewhere, so they set up space outside of town on a little lot. You can read all about their history on their page, it is lovely. The thing I took away from The Sawdust Festival story is the sacred echo I had heard from the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Meow Wolf story: if you don’t have a place to belong, make one and invite others into it.

I haven’t visited the festival yet, but I hope to do so one day. The festival is pretty big now and I’m happy for them! Way to go!

Country Music Hall of Fame

I was in Nashville with a dear friend and her daughter. We were there for a meeting or conference or something. I was just there because I wanted to be near my friend. What I did not want was to go to the Country Music Hall of Fame. I am not a fan. I went anyway, because I knew that sometimes things surprise you and it was better than sitting around alone.

I found myself wandering around an exhibit called We Could: The Songwriting Artistry of Boudleaux and Felice Bryant. It was about a couple who wrote a lot of songs back in the day. I mean, a lot. They wrote things I had heard before, I knew their work, but had never known them. But it wasn’t how prolific they were that caught my eye: it was their manuscripts and notebooks.

When I saw the manuscripts and notebooks, I suddenly realized that I was a songwriter. I felt connected to a group of people called songwriters. I had many pages that looked just like theirs, strewn around my home. My compositions had little scribbles of notes and strikethrough sections just like theirs. Something clicked inside of me, I was a songwriter. I belonged.

I pondered this as I wandered around the rest of the museum and then I came across another exhibit: OUTLAWS AND ARMADILLOS: COUNTRY’S ROARING ’70s. This exhibit featured country singers that felt pushed out of the country music industry by the newer sounds coming into the country music mainstream. They wanted to keep singing “their” version of country music, but were finding it hard to do so. They felt like outsiders. So, in true rebel fashion, they made their own label and produced their own albums.

Here it was again, a group that felt excluded. A group that felt like they were on the outside. A group that did something about it. They created their own space to belong. Talk about a sacred echo: Meow Wolf, The Sawdust Festival, Outlaw Records.

This lesson began sinking into my heart and soul. I couldn’t believe it, the Country Music Hall of Fame had changed something in me. Something started to heal. I had found permission to write and play my music.

Meow Wolf

In 2018 I was on a plane long enough to watch a movie and I had no idea what to watch. I scrolled through the new releases and the visuals for a documentary caught my eye: Meow Wolf: Origin Story. I had no idea what this was, but the colors were beautiful and so I dove right in.

I was delighted. A group of misfit artists, outsiders in a city of fine artists, came together to create a magnificent and over-the-top temporary art installation. It wasn’t just the end product that had me enraptured, it was the community they formed and the space they created for other outsider artists along the way. They made “belonging.” They had no place to be, so they made a place. They made themselves official, they put themselves inside of their own art circle.

The deep wound of being an outsider artist started to heal a little that day. I was inspired to keep painting, to keep drawing, to keep on keeping on. It was ok that I wasn’t a fine artist, what wasn’t ok was for me to tell myself I wasn’t good enough to paint. I would never tell anyone else not to paint, but yet here I was, telling myself that every day.

After learning about Meow Wolf, some of the energy that had been tied up in feeling like a loser, was freed to let me actually…explore art!

I am so grateful that I was on a plane and the airline had that documentary. I am grateful that a group of ragtag oddball artists made themselves a little place to belong. I am grateful they shared that place with others.

Adorning the Dark

In 2018, I found a book called “Adorning the Dark” by Andrew Peterson. I think I found it because I had been daydreaming about attending Hutchmoot. Simply attending the event would have been a dream come true. I didn’t dare to think I could be a part of the Rabbit Room or become friends with any of “those people.” They were the cool kids. They were published, they performed live, they were known. I was not.

So when I started reading “Adorning the Dark” I must admit that I had a little bit of a chip on my shoulder. It was as it always had been, I was an outsider. I was doomed to live on the outskirts of life and I would never “amount to anything” or be able to share my thoughts, my music, or my art.

But as I read this book, something inside of me changed. Andrew became a mentor and guide to me. I found him to be approachable and gentle, he was kind and thoughtful. As he described his feelings and shared his music writing process, I found myself more, well, more myself than I had ever felt before. And I felt something else: kinship.

The feeling of belonging, of not being alone, is very powerful. I felt it when I read this book. And it started healing something in me and I found myself calling myself a singer and songwriter, an artist, a poet. My work found respect with the one person who should know to respect an artist, me! Andrew’s book gave me enough courage to begin writing in earnest and recording on my phone. I now have 35 songs, 11 completed and 24 still being nurtured into their final form.

I do not know what the future holds, but I do know that I walk into the future a more complete “me” than ever before and, I am not alone.

Andrew Peterson’s book site: https://adorningthedark.com/

Adorning the Dark by Andrew Peterson